Chamber of Darkness | Issue 8

Chamber of Darkness | Issue 8 | Marvel Comics | December 1970

I am the Invisible!
Professor Karlos Konak wants to rule the world. When his experiments on invisibility fail, he takes the logical next step of any self-respecting scientist—he resorts to witchcraft! Fortunately for him, the local witch possesses a pair of lenses that could potentially grant Konak his dream of becoming invisible. So after bullying his simpleton lab assistant and overpowering an old woman, will the professor ascend to his position of “King Konak”? This quick opening story retreads the all-too-familiar caution: Be careful what you wish for!

Believe It…or Not!
After his spy plane is struck by lighting, pilot Johnny Boone veers off course and crashes outside Moscow. However, the streets are strangely deserted, and he finds himself being pursued by a shadowy figure. A cold war fable that posits the notion that crossing the Iron Curtain equates to crossing the divide into the afterlife, this tale purports to shock by reviving the old chestnut of a twist, “Oh my God! He was DEAD ALL ALONG!

*Footnote for those who care about such mundane things as logic. Since Johnny disappeared into the realm of the mystical and vanished, no one could have possibly been in a position to return and tell this tale as framed.

A Thousand Years Later…
A scientist takes an immortality serum and lives a thousand years into the future, when an epic plan is hatched to save an overcrowded earth by populating the stars. Ennui around an everlasting life actually takes a backseat to the ultimate decision over staying behind on Earth while the rest of the human race escapes into space. The choice is made easier for our scientist when he discovers an alluring woman is also staying behind. But wait, is this the future or the distant past, as our Adam-and-Eve couple walk hand-in-hand into the sunset.

The Beast That Walks Like a Man!
A war rages between the populace of Jupiter and Mars. A Martian intelligence team discovers that a scientist on Earth has discovered an advanced weapon that could turn the tables of war to their favor. They send a Martian warrior to capture him, but events turn out differently than expected. Oh, and along the way the Martian crashes a Halloween party and wrestles an alligator.

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The Beetle

The Beetle
Richard Marsh | Consul Books | 1967 | 253 pages

Originally published in 1897, The Beetle spins a tale of supernatural horrors over the course of four distinct sections, each featuring a narration of the often overlapping events from a different character’s point of view. It merges a few popular genres into a mash-up of mystery, serial pot-boiler, and detective fiction into a tale of revenge by an ancient cult.

The first section is the most moodily atmospheric, establishing the arrival of a strange, malicious presence through the eyes of a destitute man. Robert Holt, an unemployed clerk turned away from a public housing shelter, breaks into a run-down cottage seeking a temporary refuge for the night. Inside, he encounters a grotesque, but magnetic, creature who quickly places him under a kind of mind control. Unable to fight the mesmeric spell, Holt is directed to travel across the city and break into the house of Paul Lessingham, a young and quickly rising star in the House of Commons.

Holt is a broken man traversing the landscape of a squalid neighborhood, dirty, barefoot and dressed in rags. He is a tragic character whose plight already makes him invisible to polite society, but is further shielded by the unyielding drive of a remote mind. Confronted during his burglary, Holt escapes capture, strickening Lessingham simply by repeating the instructed words, “The Beetle!

With the story established, the middle sections of the book stall out the momentum, introducing Paul Lessingham’s fiance, Marjorie Lindon, and rival for her affections, Sydney Atherton. The Beetle’s shape-shifting villainy is revealed, but any evil machinations are temporarily tabled in favor of the chamber drama between these two characters. Lessingham is already understood to be the ultimate focus of the Beetle’s revenge, and the shift in perspective just seems to circle around the initial burglary and other shared incidents without adding much illumination. Many pages detail the latent love triangle, but the romantic angle just conflates the importance Marjorie holds to Atherton and Lessingham as an impending victim.

The attitudes of the era in which the book was originally written are not only reflected in Marjorie, but in Atherton as well. Twenty or so years before the horrors of World War I, Atherton good-naturedly works as an inventor of chemical weapons capable of killing entire armies—and nearly kills an associate with a clumsily broken capsule of poison gas!

Interestingly, Paul Lessingham occupies the core of the revenge story, but does not have a dedicated section expressing his character’s point of view. A cool and effective orator and politician, Lessingham falls victim to crippling hysterics at the sight of simple missives from the Beetle.

The final section switches the action to detective mode, as private investigator Augustus Champnell takes up the challenge to find the elusive Beetle and save Marjorie’s life. Precipitating the headlong chase is Lessingham’s story detailing his original encounter with the Beetle twenty years prior in Egypt. His capture and escape from the clutches of an ancient cult brought him first hand observations of a secret society engaging in ritual human sacrifice, underscoring the Victorian fascination with the exotic and deadly dangers of the orient.

The pursuit of the villain on the British rail system finally amounts to something of a glorified game of trainspotting, with a deus ex machina train crash offering a resolution to the proceedings the protagonists seem incapable of providing themselves.

The Glory Hand

The Glory Hand
Paul & Sharon Boorstin | Berkley Books | 1983 | 289 pages

After her mother’s violent murder, thirteen-year-old Cassie Broyles enrolls in Casmaran, an exclusive summer camp in the wilds of rural Maine. Cassie soon discovers all is not as it appears at Casmaran, starting with her initial meeting with Miss Grace, the ancient, wheelchair-bound headmistress. The reclusive crone welcomes her with an inappropriately erotic kiss.

Cassie’s fellow campers are little more than one-dimensional cut outs, with a single defining trait describing their behavior. Chelsea is a Beverly Hills fashion plate; Jo is a poker-playing daughter of a Wall Street high roller; Melanie is a radio and television obsessed nerd who longs for Pac-Man and episodes of Dallas; and Iris is a Christian social outcast. All are tormented by a group of seniors led by Abigail, an overly developed beauty whose initial rounds of bullying lead to a series of strange hazing rituals.

An unnerving incident at the lakeside pavilion leads Cassie to wonder what strange powers the seniors possess, as several girls from Cassie’s circle—including her best friend Robin—seemingly fall under Abigail’s spell. The girls’ story is interrupted by the intrusion of another flatly developed, clichéd character. Jake Lazarus, a Jewish bohemian New Yorker (and deli-sandwich lover) renting a cabin from Camp Casmaran as an artistic retreat, spouts line after line of aching dialogue that attempts to pass as naturalistic.

While menstruation as a source of horror was arguably effective in Stephen King’s Carrie, here it is awkwardly detailed as a condition of ritual selection. Disappointingly, the elements of a coming-of-age horror set at camp never really gel into a successful story, but are still somehow inherently appealing. The main interest revolves around the adolescent protagonist, investigating weird clues and navigating the sinister landscape at Casmaran in an attempt to emotionally connect with her deceased mother. Jake’s story, however, and his wife’s attempt to intervene, seem like a distraction.

In an odd turn, the Curator of European Musical Instruments at the Metropolitan Museum of Art briefly plays the role of supernatural detective, consulting reference books and adroitly piecing together the hellish shenanigans at Casmaran—finally exclaiming, “You’ve got to get … out of there!”

Spoiler alerts are probably unnecessary, since following the rather obvious roadmap drawn by The Glory Hand eventually leads, of course, to a ***SATANIC COVEN*** debauching in the woods to celebrate the Grand Sabbath. A few final twists limply try to posit the is-she-or-isn’t-she-under-the-demonic-spell question, but fail to generate much suspense. Even the possible complicity of Cassie’s Senator father, circling back to the book’s prologue, ultimately lacks much impact considering his general absence from the story.

Also, points deducted [-1] for the obligatory killing of a kitten.

The Nightwalker

The Nightwalker | Thomas Tessier | Signet Books | 1979 | 183 pages

Bobby Ives, a disabled Vietnam veteran living in London, struggles with strange, seizure-like episodes, and is haunted by vivid memories of a previous life on a Caribbean island. Experiencing unusual sensations in his hands and feet, he succumbs to violent outbursts that he is unable to rationalize. Slowly opening up emotionally to his English girlfriend, Annie, Bobby is nonetheless frustrated that she continually rejects his offers to move in with him. However, an inexplicably shocking act on the streets of London begins a dark journey that is seemingly beyond his control.

After a series of impulsive attacks on unsuspecting victims in Hyde Park, Bobby fears that he cannot control the rising bloodlust inside himself. Rejecting a conventional diagnosis of migraines offered by his psychologist, Bobby turns to Miss Tanith, a psychic he discovered in the classified ads, in order to confirm his own suspicions regarding his affliction.

Lupus naturae. Loup-garou. You carry the sign of the wolf.”

The nature of Bobby’s lycanthropy mostly treads an ambiguous line between the physical and the psychological, with a few circumstantial bits of evidence suggesting an actual–if not complete–transformation. Beyond the supernatural, what remains is a dark exploration of a murderous mind, with enough self-awareness to attempt a measure of control over its violent impulses. As such, the standard genre tropes are refreshingly absent, with the exception of the introduction of a silver dagger—the ultimate magical weapon to fatally pierce the heart of the werewolf.

The introduction of Angel, a young punk girl Bobby meets panhandling in the park, adds a few seventies-era dated elements to story, particularly during their visits to the club scene. The conflicted protagonist and the psychic establish such a throwback vibe to the classic werewolf tale that the intrusion of a—however limited–punk aesthetic seems jarring, as do the rather explicit sex scenes. Ultimately, Angel just seems like an extra character added for Bobby to potentially victimize.

The Nightwalker is suffused with a weary fatalism, reflected in the older-than-her-years Miss Tanith, who reluctantly joins the effort to control Bobby’s disease while resigned to the nature of fate to take its predestined course.

Strange Seed

Strange Seed | T.M. Wright | Playboy Press | 1980 | 239 pages

Newlyweds Paul and Rachel Griffin relocate to Paul’s childhood home in rural New York, but the house and surrounding woods exert an uncanny spell over the couple, and hold a terrible secret that not only threatens their marriage, but their lives.

Strange Seed continues the post-Harvest Home trend in the nineteen-seventies featuring urban dwellers unwittingly falling into the trap of rural horror, but offers a satisfying variation. Rather than a secret network of occultists, the terror experienced by Paul and Rachel manifests from the forest itself, and takes the innocent shape of a small child. What follows is a (very) slow burn suspense tale; an initial act of vandalism and various echo-like voices from the forest set the stage for the most effective chill in the book, when Rachel discovers a naked and dirty child huddling in a small recess in her kitchen.

The mute child seemingly bewitches the couple with a strangely magnetic charm, as they take him into their protective care. Meanwhile, Paul becomes more distant as memories of his father’s death haunt his waking mind and lure him to incursions deeper within the woods. Rachel’s fascination with the beatific nature of the child’s features flirts with crossing over the boundary from an assumed parental pride into an almost erotic attraction.

The revelations surrounding the actions by the previous occupants of the house and their own experience with foundling children of the forest, plus a shocking act of violence by the reclusive caretaker, add some additional interest to the creepy atmosphere. Beyond the general climate of unease, however, Strange Seed has little to offer in overall shock value, as Paul and Rachel become virtually crippled with an overwhelming lethargy, unable to act or leave of their own free will.

Readers waiting for a final pay-off will likely be disappointed, as a final twist fails to surprise, and does not alter the already established dynamics of the story.

Since this title is only the first in a series of novels, whether or not the additional books successfully expand the initial foray into rural horror and establish a greater lore surrounding these enigmatic children of the forest is an open question.

Cast a Cold Eye

Cast a Cold Eye | Alan Ryan | Tor Books | 1984 | 350 pages

Small, isolated communities always seem to harbor terrible secrets, and the western Irish village of Doolin is no exception. American writer Jack Quinlan travels to Doolin for background research on the Irish Famine for an upcoming historical novel, but soon discovers the tragic victims of the past are hauntingly present in the lives of the villagers.

The barren, windswept coast of Ireland provides an evocative setting for a chilling ghost story, as Jack experiences visitations of mournful, skeletal figures on the roads and in the countryside around his cottage and the village. Grainne Clarkin, a bookstore clerk he met in a brief stopover in Dublin, occasionally comes to visit him for weekends in Doolin, providing a native Irish romantic interest for Jack that occasionally verges on fetishistic.

He studied her face, her dark eyes, her perfect white skin, her black hair, her fragile build combined with a full ripe body.”

The ongoing will-they-or-won’t-they subplot is finally consummated on a stone slab outdoors during a ferocious rainstorm in an overblown climax that would seem more in keeping with a lurid romance novel. Meanwhile, a group of village old-timers engage in cryptic blood rituals after suffering a few deaths from their ranks, the splattering of the bottled blood around their gravesites echoing the splashing of Grainne’s virginal blood on the rain-soaked ground.

Jack’s ghostly encounters are genuinely creepy; skeletal men by the side of the road, emaciated children crying out to their separated mothers, and ethereal tunes following him across the barrens. Cold to the touch, but seemingly corporeal, these spirits ultimately vanish, leaving Jack to question his own sanity. Protective of Grainne, he reaches out to the local priest for help, but to little avail.

Jack ruminates on the perception of Ireland through the lens of outsiders, particularly those like himself who reach back to their familial homeland in order to find some connection with their lost ancestry. The novel itself is steeped in an emphatic Irishness, although perhaps also filtered through the perspective of an outsider. The breadth of history is argued to be a constant, living presence in the lives of the Doolin villagers, but the Famine in particular serves mostly as a shallow context, a convenient reference point for a group of specters, however effective.

Doolin does, of course, harbor a dark secret, but Cast a Cold Eye refreshingly avoids sending its outsider protagonist down the fatal Wicker Man path. The villagers are just as terrified as Jack Quinlan, and although perhaps suspicious of his motives and Dublin girlfriend, ultimately accept him into their fold.

All events converge and resolve in a satisfactory way, generally avoiding easy genre pitfalls and potential clichés as the days reach toward the quintessential horror boilerplate–-the showdown on All Hallow’s Eve.

Dark Seeker

Dark Seeker | K.W. Jeter | Tor Books | 1987 | 317 Pages

The blue-tinged darkness flickering at the edges of Mike Tyler’s vision constantly threatens to expand and overwhelm his perception of reality, kept at bay only by a strictly regulated series of pills. His medicated state serves as a dark legacy of murders committed in an altered consciousness as part of a cult, directed by a Manson-like guru who dosed his followers into a raised, hive-mind level of awareness with an experimental drug. The capture of his wife, after years on the run from police, triggers a crisis that encourages him to stop his medication, and succumb to the seductive call of a psychotropic past.

Mike’s jailhouse visit with his wife provides the foundation for the core dramatic tension in Dark Seeker. Accepting her own fate, she pleads with him to rescue their son, who—she claims—was stolen away from her by another former cult member just prior to her capture. The story awakens powerful memories in Mike of their son—and of his tragic death just weeks after being born.

A rather convenient explanation involving a changeling sets Mike off to find his missing son. Disposing of his pills, he lapses back into his enhanced mindset, hoping to merge awareness with the other former cultists and discover the location of his son. But Mike knows that something else lives in that psychically enhanced darkness, a presence he remembers as The Host, whose murderous agenda seems to have only grown over the years.

Most of the horror derives from brief visitations from The Host, his liquid black eyes and long teeth swimmingly superimposed on the edge of vision. One sequence involving a corpse in a car could almost play as dark slapstick, with the physicality of an inert body thwarting the attempts at its manipulation and disposal.

A grim and gritty view of Los Angeles provides the backdrop, its geography-of-nowhere landscape of chain link fences and freeway underpasses defining encounters between former cult members, destitute homeless, and former abuse victims desperately attempting to build new lives.

The Host serves as something akin to a bogeyman, its mysterious nature and origins secondary to the shock value derived from fleeting glimpses and unexpected arrivals. Readers looking for some explanation of this enigmatic evil figure will probably be left disappointed. Instead, the dramatic quest for family drives Dark Seeker, through the mirrored domestic units of Mike’s tenuous present and tragic past.

Ratman’s Notebooks

Ratman’s Notebooks
Stephen Gilbert | Lancer Books | 1967 | 191 pages

The unnamed narrator of Ratman’s Notebooks lives at home in a rundown estate with his elderly, pestering mother, and is bullied at work by his manager, Jones, a pettily vindictive man who was once an underling to the narrator’s father, the former owner of the company. His only friends are the rats who live in the garden, spared from his mother’s extermination order with a last minute change of heart. Among the growing nest of rodents outside, the narrator builds a special bond with Socrates, a clever white rat with a remarkable aptitude for learning.

Quickly developing a system of communication, the narrator begins a training regime for his army of rats, with Socrates serving as his general. Frustrated and belittled at work and at home, he eventually experiences a moral epiphany, realizing that he no longer feels compelled to abide by the legal or ethical norms imposed by society. The initial foray into criminal action involves breaking into a supermarket to feed the swelling ranks of his rodent followers, followed by monetary heists to pay off his family debts. However, the ultimate target is Jones, whose shocking act of violence escalates the narrator’s desire for revenge.

The narrator’s genuine affection for Socrates occupies the core of Notebooks, but the introduction of a rival throws a potential internal conflict into the account of criminal exploits and revenge. A young, dark-haired rat named Ben shows the same affinity for learning as Socrates, but seems less inclined to accept the friendship of the narrator, who fears that his role as leader may someday possibly be usurped.

Ratman’s Notebooks was the basis for the cult 1971 film, Williard, and the character of Ben continued on as the “star” of Ben, its 1972 sequel. Interestingly, although the first film was faithful to the source material, the sequel transformed Ben from a dubiously loyal character to a die-hard companion to a chronically ill child.

The adventures of Ratman’s gang, documented by sensationalized newspaper accounts, are entertaining centerpieces here. From home invasion to strong-arm robbery on the street, they inevitably grow to a culminating act of bloody revenge that makes an ultimate redemption a fatal choice. It all adds up to a stunning portrait of a descent into madness—one that the protagonist eventually chooses to escape from—but avoids the common trap of explaining away everything as simply existing all in the deranged mind.

Tear him up,” I whispered softly.

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The Visitor

The Visitor
Chauncey G. Parker III | Signet Books | 1981 | 244 pages

“…uh…it was more like maybe you should be talking with one of them psychological guys instead of me, know what I mean?”

With his wife and children away in Maine for summer holiday, bank executive Bart Hughes engages in an ever-escalating battle of wills against a vengeful rat in his Upper Eastside New York brownstone.

A quickly observed blur from the open garden door into the kitchen drives Bart to fear that a vermin has entered into his apartment. The intruder is crafty, however, stealing the bait while avoiding Bart’s strategically placed traps. After consulting with handyman and old-time neighborhood sage, Clete Washington, Bart shifts the method of attack to poisons, deployed various deadly concoctions designed for a gruesome chemical kill.

The fight isn’t one sided. The rat chews through the water hose leading to the washing machine, flooding Bart’s kitchen. Telephone and other utility wires are also fair game, triggering the apartment’s security alarms. When Bart discovers a nest in his cellar under the water heater and kills all the young rats within, the fight between man and rat becomes more ever more violent—and personal.

The epic contest shrinks Bart’s world down to his barricaded bedroom, although that defended space reveals itself to be unsecure. Even with the seemingly intelligent counterattacks, demanding an absurd level of sophistication from a rodent, the proceedings never fall entirely into camp, since the corresponding impact on Bart’s life has measurable consequences.

Essentially a successful two-character chamber piece (one character happening to be a rat), The Visitor effectively distills the action down to Bart’s growing mania. Every violated cupboard or compromised food item drives him to another level of intense desire for retribution, while further removing him from his wife, already at a distance via her phone calls from Maine. Deriving from more than a simple, inherent fear of rats, Bart’s growing horror stems from his lack of control and sense of violation.

Bart’s fixation on eliminating the rat grows into an obsession, jeopardizing his job and family. A previous history battling mice suggests his unreliable quality as a narrator, with his entire struggle perhaps simply a descent into mental illness. The resolution ultimately clarifies any lingering doubt regarding psychological ambiguity, perhaps even hinting at a greater menace.

Beware the discovery of those telltale black pellets resembling large grains of rice.