The 7th Fontana Book of Great Horror Stories

THE BASKET CHAIR

By Winston Graham

Elderly Julian Whiteleaf is convalescing with his niece and her hubby, following a minor heart attack.  His bedroom houses an old basket chair which, so his niece informs him, played a role in a particularly gruesome murder/suicide tragedy many years back.

Whiteleaf, with his interest in the paranormal bristling, can hear the basket chair creaking in the night, and what sounds like footsteps in his room.

So, in the interest of psychic investigation, he sets up a little experiment.

I am not going to give even the remotest sniff of a spoiler here, for this really is an exemplary example of the art of short story writing from Winston (Poldark) Graham.   

The introductory preamble is perhaps a touch overlong, but once he gets into the stride the second half of this tale represents a masterclass in dramatic pacing and tension building.

And as for the wonderfully dextrous sting in the tale............loved it!

Volume Seven has got off to a flier.

COMRADE DEATH 

By Gerald Kersh

Sarek is an ironware salesman who moves from pushing "ploughs and tools" to guns, when his employer gets taken over by an armaments firm.

He thrives in his new environment and, with the help of some decidedly questionable sales practices, rises to become the world's most powerful weapons inventor and supplier.

Before being, as they say, hoist with his own petard.

The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Sarek and the Weapons from Hell, this one could have been called.  Well, perhaps not.  It is nevertheless a vicious satire on the weapons industry, with more than a little of the Dr. Strangelove about it.

With those fanciful encounters and bizarre conversations Sarek enjoys with a series of increasingly bonkers despots and dictators, there is almost a fairy-tale feel to the story.  An aspect accentuated by two huge leaps in the narrative: firstly ten years and, later, forty years.

Kersh does attempt to provide Sarek with some sort of motivation for his actions, by shoe-horning a modicum of love interest into the story in the shape of Cosima.  But this appears so incongruous, I am not sure it helps.

All in all, Comrade Death houses a thought-provoking, if rather unsubtle message.  But the story does not (despite all the destructive hardware on display) quite have the bite or spark of the author's contributions to the Pan series: Men Without Bones and Sad Road to The Sea.

THE MANNIKIN

By Robert Bloch

Winding down after a stressful year as a college lecturer, the narrator treats himself to a break in the quiet country resort of Bridgetown.

There he runs into a former student, one Simon Maglore, a brilliant if troubled individual, with an "earnest belief in the occult, and the esoteric".  He was also, the narrator recalls, afflicted with an unusual tumour between his shoulder blades, which gave him a stoop.  

At the chance meeting, the narrator is concerned to note a marked deterioration in the young man's appearance.  And also that the lump on his back loos to have significantly grown in size.

His immediate thought is "sarcoma" - but then hears tell of a local who claims to have seen the lump move of its own accord beneath the youth's clothes.

What a boon it must be to possess an extensive vocabulary.  For, prior to reading this story, the only meaning of the word "mannikin", I was familiar with was that of a showroom dummy.  And I kept expecting one to pitch up somewhere in Simon's house.

But of course, as I learned, the word may also refer to "a dwarf, pygmy, or man of small stature."  Such as the little chap growing out of Simon's back.    

In fact, I found there were a number of words unfamiliar to me as I wandered through this tale.  The author used "limned" on a couple of occasions to describe Simon's image against a background light.  Similarly, the adjective "lambent" is twice ascribed to Simon's eyes.  

Another term alien to me was "nyctalops" - although Bloch uses it here to describe someone who can see in the dark, when it generally refers to an individual with poor night vision.

The reader also has to negotiate such Lovecraftian gobbledygook as "Nyarlathotep", "Shub-Niggurath", "the Ritual of Father Yig", and the frankly rather pleasing sounding "Doel chants".  

None of these entities/practices actually make any appearance in the narrative, and appear to have been tossed into the mix by Bloch, with the sole intention of shoehorning the story into that frankly already overcrowded Cthulhu Mythos.

THE HORROR OF THE HEIGHTS

By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

A journal written by pioneering aviator Joyce-Armstrong has been found close to the wreckage of his plane.  Of the pilot's body there is no trace.

The journal relates a flight Joyce-Armstrong made up to 40,000ft, where he encountered bizarre life forms - some benign, some less so.

As may be expected from Sir ACD, this one is a perfectly spiffing page-turner.  Even before the "horrors" are encountered, which does not occur until we are two thirds of the way into the story, the reader is treated to an exciting, and remarkably detailed, account of Joyce-Armstrong's ascent.

Indeed, such was the verisimilitude, that it set me to wondering if the author had actually been a bit of an early Biggles himself.  But, the interweb yielded up no mention of him doing so.

Perhaps, as all good writers should, he simply engaged in a deal of diligent research.

FLORENCE FLANNERY

By Marjorie Bowen

It is 1800, and a close to penury Daniel Shute has left his creditors behind in London for his crumbling ancestral pile in deepest darkest Devon.  With him is his wife of one week, Florence Flannery, about whom he knows next to nothing.

Other than, one of his prime reasons for marrying her, is the fact the words "Florence Flannerye.  Born 1500" had long ago been scratched on a window pane in one of the manor bedrooms.

A different Florence, surely?

A tale of revenge this one, if not quite from beyond the grave, then certainly across the centuries.

Although any reader awake enough to have sussed out the D'Ailey/Daly/Paley connections before Daniel had, would have known the path this one was taking.

I found I rather liked both Florence and the manor's elderly housekeeper Goody Chase, with some of their interactions a delight to read:

"I'll take a cordial to stay my strength" (Florence) said, "for I've come a long way and find a sour welcome at the end of it, and that'll turn any woman's blood."

The old dame smiled, knowing her type well enough; for even in a village you may find women like this.

and

"maybe you'd be surprised to learn that Mr. Shute isn't my first husband" (Florence ) said, tossing her head.

The fat old woman winked.

"I'd be more surprised, m'lady, to learn that he was to be your last."

Regretfully, once Florence goes do-lally all the really entertainingly spunky dialogue goes with her.  And thereafter it seems to take an awfully long time for the narrative to reach the inevitable end game.

A VIEW FROM A HILL

By M. R. James

Academic Mr. Fanshawe is enjoying a holiday in the west country on the estate of his friend Squire Henry Richards.  The pair go out for a walk one evening, the visitor having borrowed an old set of binoculars from his host.

Rather oddly, Fanshawe appears able to see things through the glasses on a nearby hill, which are plainly not there to the naked eye.

The following day, he sets out on his bicycle to investigate.

It is probably heresy to suggest, but I do find many of M.R. James' stories rather formulaic: a professor or antiquarian on holiday comes across some relic or other, and freaky stuff starts happening as a consequence.  Sometimes things end well for the protagonist, and sometimes not.  

After reading a significant number of them one can find, or at least I do, they all sort of merge into one amorphous yarn.

This is one example of James' writing-by-numbers style, I feel.  For I knew I had read this one on a couple of occasions over the years - but could not for the life of me remember how it ended.

But the first-time reader, I would suggest, would rather enjoy the tale.  Fanshawe is a thoroughly likable chap, and the way both Squire Richards and his butler Patton fill in the blanks after Fanshawe's traumatic day trip, makes for a satisfying read.

And, anyway, who could fail to love a story where a pair of home-made binoculars are filled with boiled-skull soup? 

THE SNAKE

By Dennis Wheatley

The narrator of this one has found himself landed with a rather tedious house guest - an earnest young man called Jackson, whose interests and conversation do not appear to stretch much beyond mining engineering.

Knowing his neighbour Carstairs made his money in the same field, he invites himself and his guest over to his neighbours' house for the evening.  Carstairs and Jackson are just beginning to talk shop when a bat flies into the house, causing Carstairs to fall into a mad panic.

When the creature is finally ushered back outside, Carstairs relates a tale to his guests of his time spent in South Africa, hoping it may help explain why he is terrified of any aspect of the supernatural.

But, unbeknownst to Carstairs, he and Jackson have history.

The incident with the bat really just serves as an entrée to  Carstairs' gripping tale of his encounter with the gun-running scamp Isaacsohn, and his nemesis, the "super-snake-charmer" Umtonga.  

The slight problem with the narrative, though, is the leap of belief the reader is asked to make.

For, either the meeting of Jackson and Carstairs represents one of the greatest geographical coincidences in literary history, or Jackson's prime reason for visiting the narrator, all along, was simply to get access to Carstairs.  If so, given he has traveled all the way from Brazil one has to assume he must have had a very good Plan B.  For it was pretty much on a whim, that the narrator descended upon Carstairs.

I do appreciate this story was the first Wheatley ever had published - way back in 1932 - and that those were different times, but the casual racism does jar.  For we are fed:

"Young Jackson...looked a good half-dago himself".

then

"at times you'd even lower yourself to chum up to a black for the sake of a drink".

Wheatley also drops the N-bomb - those poisonous two syllables, I dare not post, lest I lose my home, house, wife, pension, life, liberty, reputation and car.

ANGEL FACE

By Celia Fremlin

Six-year old Simon has just learned about angels during his Religious Instruction class at school.

He pesters his step-mum incessantly for more information about them, eventually waking in the night convinced one is standing over his bed.

When he finds a picture of an angel in a book, he asks his step-mum why the one in the book does not have a beak!

On first reading this one seems a fairly straightforward human/bird transmogrification yarn.  A sort of feathery cousin to Mary Danby's contribution to Font5.

But the ambiguous ending really threw up a whole batch of possible explanations to what has actually taking place.

The most literal one being that Simon's step-mum had truly turned into some adult-sized vulture, and was about to do for the lad, for being such an annoying little oik.  This does seem rather extreme.

Alternatively, perhaps the woman had always been able to morph into a vulture and back, almost at will.  And she had been doing so for some time - she being the "angel" Simon had been seeing in his room for weeks.  And she was merely ascending the stair to do more of the same.  As you do.

But let's assume the avian transformation business was only happening inside her head.  Is it occurring through some sort of guilt-induced mania; she feeling a failure due to her own increasing impatience at Simon's behaviour?  A boy whom she never truly liked.

I note she states early in the narrative that "Simon would try the patience of an angel".  Whilst, later, her husband compliments her as being "an angel of patience".

I also considered the vulture as a metaphor for the change which has come over step-mom as she, at the end of her tether due to sleep deprivation, prepares to murder the boy.

I cannot make up my mind.

Also - whilst I am at it, why was Simon so afraid for his father to be told that he had been "Very, very good"?  I know the boy associated angels with goodness, but he had no reason to fear them at this early point in the narrative.  

A TALE OF TERROR

By Thomas Hood

An "Aeronaut" is preparing for a jaunt in his balloon, but his intended companion has failed to show up.

So he ascends instead with a stranger, who is soon keen to go ever "higher".

A light-hearted little vignette from an author better known, perhaps, for his pun-filled poetry.   The tale was initially published two hundred years ago (in 1821), and it feels it.

For there is so little "terror" therein, that I cannot help but suspect Mary Danby chose this one based upon its title alone, rather than actually having read the thing. 

THE OLD WOMAN UPSTAIRS

By Dylan Thomas

Helen has been caring for The Old Woman Upstairs for as long as she can recall - first with her mother, and now alone.  Having just turned twenty, and desperate for a life of her own, she resolves to murder The Old Woman and steal her cache of money.

But the ally she enlists to help her panics and runs when he sees the blood, leaving poor Helen just one option. 

This story was first published in 1934 as "The True Story".  Quite why Thomas had decided by 1939, that it was now a work of fiction is not recorded.

There are only three characters in the cast, and Helen's use of sex to attempt to bend the gardener boy to her will is foreshadowed by Thomas referring to him slyly ogling the "first shadows of her breasts".  The same term is used when, later in the story, Helen undresses in front of the boy.

But, in marked contrast to the rather demure language of the seduction, Thomas ensures the reader is made aware intercourse has not taken place, by bluntly describing how the boy "tried to finger her again".  Indeed, this single line appears so utterly out of place in the text, we can only assume the author mischievously placed it there to deliberately shock.

Quite why the boy reneged on the deal is not made clear.  I can only imagine he made his promise in the throws of lust (not the first male in history to do that!), but panicked when he saw what Helen had done.

TCHERIAPIN

By Sax Rohmer

Dr. Kreener is an eminent, if a touch maverick, chemist working away inventing and discovering sciencey stuff in his private laboratory.

His home has also become a Mecca for all manner of Bohemian and arty types in 1930's London.  Two of which are the artist Andrews, (a red-haired, alcoholic Scotsman - dont'cha just love stereotypes), and the renowned Sin0-Polish violinist Tcheriapin.

The pair loath each other and, on one visit, after being taunted by the musician over a woman who was a former lover of both, Andrews strangles Tcheriapin.

The other chaps in the room are pondering the best way to get rid of the body, in order to spare Andrews from the gallows, when Kreener invites them to witness "the result of a recent experiment". 

A desperately dull yarn, of which the title is probably the most interesting thing about it.

I cannot help but feel Sax Rohmer appropriated the name from the Russian musical Tcherepnin dynasty.  Four generations of whom have been composers, from Nicolai Tcherepnin, who was a pupil of Rimsky-Korsakov in the 1890s, to his great-grandson Sergei who dabbles in electronic avant-garde music to this day.

And not an anti-Chinese racist amongst them.

THE TURN OF THE TIDE

By C. S. Forester

Slade, a lawyer, has been criminally reckless in his financial dealings with a client's money.  Something which is going to come to light if he does not succeed in shutting up (forever) his younger colleague Spalding.

So, with a lawyer's eye for detail, Slade plans Spalding's murder and subsequent disposal of his corpse down to the minutest detail.

Or so he thinks.

Font7 being one of the few Fontana collections I had read back in my spotty youth, I knew where this one was going.  What I had not realised, until I re-read it this time around, was that Norman Kaufman had re-cycled the premise of TToTD for his entry to Pan11, Getting Rid 

And my complaint about Kaufman's tale also applies to this one: rigor mortis does not reach its peak until twelve hours or so after death.

THE SECRET ONES

By Mary Danby

Three stowaways - a husband, wife and her sister - sneak off a recently docked ship.  Hoping to begin a new life in a different country, they are initially disappointed to be met with hostility and hatred.  The trio eventually find somewhere they can be safe and secure.  

But sis-in-law has her eye on her sister's hubby.

Although this one is, on the surface, a yarn of a love triangle, the twist in the tale/tail is telegraphed by the volume cover.