Return to Koontzville

 

So last month I re-read a bunch of Dean R. Koontz novels – or Dean Koontz, as he goes by since I was actively reading him. More like I just read them, minus the “re”, as something like 90-95 percent of the plot, characters, and specific scenes seemed new and fresh to me, since they’ve been long misfiled in my memory. Four novels I burned through, all originally read between 1989 and 1993 – the last over 31 years ago, when I was but a young innocent lad. Since that ’93 Koontz I’ve put away around 980 more books by my reckoning, but who’s counting?

 

It was an experiment in the same spirit as my Tom Clancy re-reads earlier this year. Those nine monstrous doorstops of Jack Ryan took me five months to slog through, but, truth be told, that slog was an extremely enjoyable ride down nostalgia lane. Would the Koontz experiment have the same result?

Yes and no.

 

I put away four novels in 32 days. Each was around 360 pages, so I averaged 45 pages a day, so, yes, they were page-turners. One took about 12 days and the other three took less than a week. As usual, the closer I got to the end of a novel, the faster those pages burned through my hands.

 

Here’re the synopses, in reading order:

(minor spoilers)

 

Midnight (1989) … My first foray into Koontzville. My buddy, the horror aficionado who got me into Stephen King in high school, recommended this to me and I remember reading it while still living at home with my parents – and being floored by it. Couldn’t put it down, and was utterly fascinated with the main twist(s). What appears to be werewolves haunting a quiet, cozy seaside town turns out to be some evil nanotechnology run amok, and Koontz pushes it to its ultimate regression. A sinister and warped genius of a bad guy versus an FBI agent and the sister of the first victim isolated in the town and being hunted. First novel I think I read where computers really come into play.

 

The Bad Place (1990) … Again read at my parents’ house. This was a crazy one about an insanely psychotic family of psychics with teleportation ability versus a husband-and-wife private eye team. Gory, weird and surreal. How do you fight something with godlike powers? (more on that down below). A nasty journey through the past provides a plausible explanation for how the psychos were bred. A lot of colorful side characters, too many of whom meet brutal ends. Great ending. This was my favorite Koontz back then, and after the re-read still remains my favorite.

 

Cold Fire (1992) … This was read in my apartment before I returned to college. Didn’t remember much of it, save for that it was a much occluded mystery. A man seems to be called by God to be here or there at a moment’s notice to save the life of an insignificant person. During one such seemingly random event, a (naturally unattached attractive) female reporter sees this happen and begins hunting around into the man’s past. They meet on an ill-fated plane and fall in love, and fall into the mission of continuing these rescues and trying to find out why they happen. Especially since something evil has entered both their dreams and is slowly making inroads into waking reality. A mystery involving a windmill, a few misdirections, and before we know it we’re questioning whether there are aliens or demons or who-knows-what puppeteering the man for unknown purposes. (Though I guessed the true reason rather quickly – rare for a Koontz novel.)

 

Dragon Tears (1993) … Didn’t remember much of this, including whether or not I liked it – but it turned out to be the gem of this re-read session. Two cops (male and female, naturally, and attracted to each other, check) stop a random shooter at a burger joint and find themselves … ready for it … sit down … they find themselves inexplicably being stalked by a god-like entity who can not only stop time but wants to end the cops lives in the most brutal fashion imaginable, as the male cop finds out when he checks on a friend later that day. The entity is called “Tick Tock”, since he gives an ultimatum to his victims in hours, and the clock begins ticking immediately. This had the best surprise as to the origin of Tick Tock – I literally slapped my forehead and grinned at the sneakiness of Koontz’s writing ability.

 

My grades:

   Midnight – B+

   The Bad Place – A+

   Cold Fire – B

   Dragon Tears – A+

 

Bottom line is I enjoyed the Koontz re-reads, but noticeably less than the Clancy re-reads. Could be ’cuz horror is not really my thing anymore (but, then again, neither are techno thrillers) save once-a-year at Halloween. Could be ’cuz my memory skewed overly positive on the first-time reads, so no re-read could ever match up. I dunno. But, like Clancy, I don’t think I will revisit Koontz again. (Man, the finality of that statement kinda hits me weird, no?)

 

Would I recommend? Yes! If you are into old-school horror and want an alternative to Stephen King, check him out. He can be gross, he can be gory, he can be formulaic, but he is always highly imaginative and always surprising. I think the sweet spot for reading Koontz is the late teens. Maybe a senior in high school. I read him in my early to mid-twenties, and it worked just as well. Unfortunately I don’t know anything about 21st-century Dean R., but just about anything he wrote between 1980 and 1993 is worth your investment in time, especially since they’re all page-turners of varying degree.

 

Remember,

 

Koontz : King :: Beatles : Rolling Stones

 

A Nightmare

 

Had a creepy nightmare last night. May I tell you? Okay!

 

My wife and I were on the boardwalk one evening and found ourselves in front of an old-timey movie house. We entered and discovered that a participatory play type of thing was scheduled – except, we learned, a play more like the Squid Game than any dinner theater. There was a huge group vying to get in, something like a hundred people, so the rewards definitely seemed worth it. We agreed to sign up and were ushered in.

 

The premise was simple and B-movie-ish: You had to keep your eyes closed no matter what. If you opened them, there very well could be the chance you’d be staring eye-to-eye with a demonic being. A black shadowy entity with glowing red eyes. And once you glanced into those eyes, even for a split second, you could not look away – and something very, very bad would happen, something involving a lot of gore.

 

The next building we entered turned out not to be that old-timey movie theater but a Catholic church. People were shuffling in but urgently taking up positions. The ideal position seemed to be as far up from the floor as possible, hence men and women of all ages standing on pews, on tables at the end of each pew, and in stained-glass window frames. My first instinct was to go up on the altar, but I was hesitant, but soon discovered others weren’t. So I raced up to the altar, the sanctuary as its called (giving my nightmare much spiritual and religious significance), passed the empty priest’s chair, and stood on a table (not the tabernacle) at the rear of the sanctuary, and forcibly closed my eyes as the “game” started.

 

We all began to hear surprised shrieks and short screams vaguely in the distance, but definitely approaching. Then it was quiet for a long time, and then I felt a dark presence come over me. Blanket me. Dark, oppressive, menacing, evil, touching but not-quite-touching me, moving over my head, from one ear to the other. Whispering to me with its rancid breath, daring me to be curious, open my eyes and take a look. Even to open them just to look down on the floor. Though severely frightened, I did not yield to the voice and kept my eyes forcibly shut, though my head was definitely aimed downward. After what seemed an eternity, the presence moved on.

 

Then a whistle blew and we were told we had a break. Our eyes could be opened safely and we could move around. I did so, and noticed people were talking about everything but what we’d just been through. Weirdly, I began practicing a golfing exercise I hadn’t done since my 20s, which I learned in the only golf lesson I took. This impressed a few people nearby for some reason, and I felt a large degree of hubris. I’m sure this has a deeper symbolic meaning, but it escapes me now as I struggle to get this all down before the dream fades.

 

An unexpected signal alerted us that the “game” would begin again. I dashed back to the altar and saw my prior spot was taken, so I had to rush to find a new one – this off to the right of the sanctuary. I sat on a table, and in grim expectation of being visited again, I noticed something unpleasant in my mouth. I fished around with a finger and realized that there was some debris of some sort between my cheeks and gums. I withdrew my finger and it was covered in what looked like chopped up tomato parts, but was warm and sickening to the touch. I wiped it on the side of the table, and pulled more and more of it out of my mouth.

 

Quickly the scene morphed into a third trial of the “game.” The break was uneventful and my dream did not linger on it. Instead, I sat in the open priest’s chair, directly behind the altar. That dark evil entity again descended upon me, but was much weaker this time. In fact, I was not scared at all, and it quickly passed by.

 

Then, I awoke. The house felt cold and it seemed pitch black outside, so it must’ve been four or five in the morning. Was it 3:15, the bane of my overnights? I don’t think so, but I can’t confirm, because I would not open my eyes. Turning over, I went back to sleep, and my cell phone alarm went off in what seemed a few short minutes later. Light crept in through the blinds. I threw the covers off, put on my socks, and got up to clock in to do some remote work, and get this down on paper before I forget.

 

Some Thoughts on the UHC Crime

 

1) Yes, we do live in a multi-tiered society as far as the justice system is concerned. Were I or one of my family members gunned down in NYC in a similar style, it is doubtful the entire local, state, and federal law enforcement industrial complex would move heaven and earth to apprehend the perpetrator.

 

2) I am appalled at the love the perp is receiving. As of last night a casual stroll of X (Twitter) showed about a 50/50 split between praise for the murder / murderer, and conspiracy theorizing (more on that below). No matter who the victim is or what the victim does, murder is always wrong and never justified. There are several conditions to this, however. Self-defense being the first that springs to mind. But our (admittedly multi-tiered) legal system is based on trial by jury, and no one has the right to be judge, jury, and executioner.

 

3) We live in a dumbed down world that is getting dumber by the minute. I say this in reference to the knee-jerk “everything is a conspiracy” mindset that washes over just about every major event that happens nowadays. As one who recognizes that conspiracies have existed in the past and can theoretically still occur, and groups can and did hide in the shadows, not everything that happens is part of someone’s Grand Scheme. The fact that the percentage of seemingly intelligent people believe the moon landing to be a hoax has been growing every year convinces me of this unchecked plague of dumbth.

 

4a) All the points above need to be taken with large amounts of NaCl crystals. Grains of salt, that is. The Internet is a weird place. Being anonymous, it’s a playground for the Societal Id, and that’s not necessarily a good thing. It’s like the movie Purge but for keyboard warriors. So I don’t believe its entirely true. I don’t think that if one questions a group of 20 people all face-to-face that 10 will praise this sick weirdo and 10 will say the oligarchy planted another Oswald. I think a lot of the Internet is spiteful, contradictory, ideological, drunk-uncle-ish, and/or just plain uninformed. A lot is feelings over reason. So it’s not an accurate barometer of a culture. 

4b) Yet I don’t deny people generally speak more truthfully in a setting of anonymity. If I had to put a number on it, I’d say the aggregate Internet response to any global event is likely to be around 60-70% truthful but with an intrinsic (as opposed to apparent) intensity of only 20-25%.

 

(And as I’ve always said around here, only 85% of what I type is full-on truth. The other 10% is stretched out a little bit here and there. The other 5%, however …)