In the late 1970s we would regularly visit my father’s family up in Cape Cod. There were many things up there that held a ten-year-old’s interest; bike paths, unusual wildlife, Revolutionary War memorabilia, cousins and their friends, the beach (where I developed my dislike of the ocean via a couple of hideous sunburns). For a bookworm like me my grandmother had an awesome kid-friendly encyclopedia set that I eventually read volume-by-volume, cover-to-cover. I especially remember fascination with articles on different countries; for some reason Lichtenstein stands out as one I read over and over. Anyway, another obsession that bordered on the unhealthy was created in me by a nondescript gray-green book with no title on the binding. When you opened it up, it was a horror anthology. This one.
Just like that helpless moth spiraling about that pretty flame, I savored each story, slowly, enraptured, only putting the book aside to eat or sleep. Knots twisted up my stomach knowing that in each and every tale certain doom and damnation awaited the friends – and the not-so-friendly – I met in these pages. I didn’t understand a lot of what I read, but the strong visceral reactions those short stories elicited were dangerously compelling. My uncle noticed my attachment, and in a feat of what I considered ultimate generosity, told me to take the book home with me and keep it. I did, but quickly lost track of it.
One of the stories, “Levitation,” has been anthologized countless times, and I reread it a few years ago in a different, much more massive and modern horror short story anthology I somehow got for free. This inspired me to research the author, Joseph Payne Brennan (1919-1990), and my investigation quickly led to what is considered by hardcore horror critics a classic anthology, Nine Horrors and a Dream.
The problem is, Nine Horrors, despite its weighty status among true believers, is out of print. My library doesn’t carry it. Online sites will charge a college tuition for the extremely rare copy. So I put it on the Acquisition List, where it sat dormant for two years. Until I found it last month at a large, unnamed New & Used Book Store. Over the past four or five weeks I’d read a story here and there, usually late and night, curled up on the sofa after the whole house has gone asleep and with only a single 40 watt light bulb to keep away the nasties …
Nine Horrors and a Dream is a throwback to the dark and dim New England horror of H. P. Lovecraft and the stories from the Weird Tales pulp magazines from the 30s, 40s, and 50s. Every couple of years I get the itch to let myself wander among these landscapes. Each of Brennan’s stories is crisp, clean, Spartan in its telling. Atmospheric and moody, like an old black-and-white gothic movie. Often they take the noirish approach of the gritty young writer revealing an inexplicable event he’s just witnessed or heard about from allegedly reputable sources. While they’re not graphic as some modern works are (and as we’re desensitized to in today’s age), I usually find, as many do, that when done right the suggestion of something terrible is often more terrifying than the outright exposition of it. In this area Brennan, who was also a fairly accomplished poet all through his life, joins an elite group of horror masters.
“Slime” is the first story, a short novella (or a long short story) which also, in addition to “Levitation”, made me seek out the anthology. It’s a creepy little yarn of a giant, hungry, amoeba-like monstrosity risen from the ocean depths to begin relentless feeding on the poor unlucky inhabitants of a New England town. The description of the creature, from a technical point-of-view is masterful: dreadful and spine-tingling. It’s the first appearance, the originator, if I’m not mistaken, of the blob monster motif, later seen more prominently in King’s “The Raft” and Koontz’ Phantoms.
A couple stories had that macabre, “gotcha!” twist, where the protagonist finds himself trapped in a quite nasty and completely unavoidable predicament. “The Calamander Chest”, “Death in Peru” and “Canavan’s Back Yard” all fall into this category; only in one does the main character escape a truly unpleasant death.
“I’m Murdering Mr. Massington” is a story where, in some crazy and twisted metaphysical way, the reader actually becomes an accessory to a murder. I had never read a story like this before, and it left me a little unnerved.
“The Hunt”, too, was unnerving, in its simplicity. A straightforward description of a sympathetic and hapless old man ceaselessly pursued by something – not someone – evil and out for no good. It doesn’t make sense, nor should it, because things like this don’t happen in our civilized world. But in this world, they do. Poor Mr. Oricto! The final dozen sentences were some of the most horrifying I have read in a very, very long time.
Nine Horrors and a Dream gets an A. Since the book is fragile, being over fifty years old, I’m keeping it in the plastic sleeve it came in and will definitely reread these strange tales periodically.
By the way, this little book earns the LE award for the best title of an anthology, hands down. The unanswerable question is, which tale was the dream …
Just like that helpless moth spiraling about that pretty flame, I savored each story, slowly, enraptured, only putting the book aside to eat or sleep. Knots twisted up my stomach knowing that in each and every tale certain doom and damnation awaited the friends – and the not-so-friendly – I met in these pages. I didn’t understand a lot of what I read, but the strong visceral reactions those short stories elicited were dangerously compelling. My uncle noticed my attachment, and in a feat of what I considered ultimate generosity, told me to take the book home with me and keep it. I did, but quickly lost track of it.
One of the stories, “Levitation,” has been anthologized countless times, and I reread it a few years ago in a different, much more massive and modern horror short story anthology I somehow got for free. This inspired me to research the author, Joseph Payne Brennan (1919-1990), and my investigation quickly led to what is considered by hardcore horror critics a classic anthology, Nine Horrors and a Dream.
The problem is, Nine Horrors, despite its weighty status among true believers, is out of print. My library doesn’t carry it. Online sites will charge a college tuition for the extremely rare copy. So I put it on the Acquisition List, where it sat dormant for two years. Until I found it last month at a large, unnamed New & Used Book Store. Over the past four or five weeks I’d read a story here and there, usually late and night, curled up on the sofa after the whole house has gone asleep and with only a single 40 watt light bulb to keep away the nasties …
Nine Horrors and a Dream is a throwback to the dark and dim New England horror of H. P. Lovecraft and the stories from the Weird Tales pulp magazines from the 30s, 40s, and 50s. Every couple of years I get the itch to let myself wander among these landscapes. Each of Brennan’s stories is crisp, clean, Spartan in its telling. Atmospheric and moody, like an old black-and-white gothic movie. Often they take the noirish approach of the gritty young writer revealing an inexplicable event he’s just witnessed or heard about from allegedly reputable sources. While they’re not graphic as some modern works are (and as we’re desensitized to in today’s age), I usually find, as many do, that when done right the suggestion of something terrible is often more terrifying than the outright exposition of it. In this area Brennan, who was also a fairly accomplished poet all through his life, joins an elite group of horror masters.
“Slime” is the first story, a short novella (or a long short story) which also, in addition to “Levitation”, made me seek out the anthology. It’s a creepy little yarn of a giant, hungry, amoeba-like monstrosity risen from the ocean depths to begin relentless feeding on the poor unlucky inhabitants of a New England town. The description of the creature, from a technical point-of-view is masterful: dreadful and spine-tingling. It’s the first appearance, the originator, if I’m not mistaken, of the blob monster motif, later seen more prominently in King’s “The Raft” and Koontz’ Phantoms.
A couple stories had that macabre, “gotcha!” twist, where the protagonist finds himself trapped in a quite nasty and completely unavoidable predicament. “The Calamander Chest”, “Death in Peru” and “Canavan’s Back Yard” all fall into this category; only in one does the main character escape a truly unpleasant death.
“I’m Murdering Mr. Massington” is a story where, in some crazy and twisted metaphysical way, the reader actually becomes an accessory to a murder. I had never read a story like this before, and it left me a little unnerved.
“The Hunt”, too, was unnerving, in its simplicity. A straightforward description of a sympathetic and hapless old man ceaselessly pursued by something – not someone – evil and out for no good. It doesn’t make sense, nor should it, because things like this don’t happen in our civilized world. But in this world, they do. Poor Mr. Oricto! The final dozen sentences were some of the most horrifying I have read in a very, very long time.
Nine Horrors and a Dream gets an A. Since the book is fragile, being over fifty years old, I’m keeping it in the plastic sleeve it came in and will definitely reread these strange tales periodically.
By the way, this little book earns the LE award for the best title of an anthology, hands down. The unanswerable question is, which tale was the dream …
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