The 9th Fontanta Book of Great Horror Stories (1975)

THE MAN WHO LIKED DICKENS

By Evelyn Waugh

Henty is the last survivor of the ill-advised and equally ill-fated Anderson Expedition into deepest Amazonia.  Exhausted and fever-ridden he stumbles into the remote plantation of McMaster, a sort of benevolent Kurtz-like figure who has (quite literally) bred his own little jungle community.

McMaster tends his visitor back to health, asking only in return that Henty read aloud a few chapters from Dickens to him.

But a few chapters become a few books.

Waugh's lightness of touch sprinkles this one early on with passages which put me in mind of Jerome K. Jerome's Three Men in a Boat!  Particularly when the author relates the trials and tribulations of the hapless Anderson Expedition team members, as they fall by the wayside one by one, in the most unlikeliest sets of circumstances

But things take a distinctly darker turn, once it becomes clear to Henty that he is being held against his will - and likely to be held indefinitely.

TOMORROW'S CHILD

By Joyce Marsh

In a post-nuclear apocalypse London, a youth cowers in a doorway watching the few remaining burned and disfigured humans being picked off by insects mutated to massive dimensions.

Rather in the manner of Debt Paid in Pan16, this one comprises an entertaining story, neutered a touch by a Just-Say-No anti-drugs message tagged on to the end.

The numerous times God is dragged into the thoughts of the youth intrigued me.  To whit:

 "Mankind...had unleashed the ultimate fury to destroy God's creation with nuclear explosions"

"He was determined to live...and find others...to remake man in God's image"

"he thanked God that his mind was clear and his body still whole and clean" 

For, I could not quite make up my mind whether the author was suggesting in such a situation only God could provide a way through, or if she was gently mocking such beliefs.

Her description of the over-sized insects roaming the city, as the "New Lords of Creation" possibly suggested the latter.

In either case, this troweling of religion into the narrative did bring a welcome additional layer of complexity to a diverting, if hardly original, read.

THE HORROR AT CHILTON CASTLE

By Joseph Payne Brennan

An American is spending a few months in Europe, travelling around attempting to unearth his genealogical roots.  

Following trips to Kilkenny, London and Chesterfield, he pitches up in the village of Wexwold.  Nearby is Chilton Castle, the ancestral home of the Chilton-Paynes family, of whom the narrator is a distant relative.

Enjoying an ale at the village inn, he strikes up a conversation with a chap whom he learns is the Factor of the castle.  And, as a blood relative of the recently deceased Twelfth Earl of Chilton, the narrator is invited to attend the "once in a generation" opening of the castle's "secret room".

If one was looking to identify a horror story which best represented the term "Gothic", one could probably need look no further than this one.  For pretty much all of the standard Gothic boxes are ticked here: 

• Castle setting 
• Violent thunderstorm
• Oppressive atmosphere
• Ancient legend or mystery
• Skeletons (quite literally, here) in the family closet.

One could almost suggest the author was parodying the genre, for his repeated use of the word "nitre" whilst down in the tunnels, did make think of The Cask of Amontillado.  Although, I would suggest this tale to be a modest homage, rather than Brennan poking fun. 

I can recall whilst reading the description of the long subterranean descent to the secret room, thinking that the story had better deliver here.  Otherwise a major anticlimax was in the offing.

But I would go so far as to suggest the author nailed it, as they say.

The only real issue I have with the narrative is the all too convenient convergence of circumstances the reader has to swallow, (even if the narrator does wonder if the meeting was "preordained").

For not only has the narrator arrived at the village within a week of the previous Earl dying; his death initiating an opening of the room.  But he also done so on an occasion when all the closer relatives have failed to show up.  And then, the only person who could possibly extend an invite, just so happens to drop into the inn.

Perhaps I should add Wild Coincidence, to my Gothic Elements list?

THE SILVER MASK

By Hugh Walpole

50 year old Sonia Herries, single and independently wealthy, is returning from a dinner party, when she accosted in the street by "the handsomest young man of all romantic stories"

She, even to her own surprise, invites the hungry chap (Henry, we learn) home for something to eat.

And so begins a chain of events which will lead to the loss of her liberty, wealth and (one assumes, eventually) her life.

I found it hard to get inside the head of Sonia for much of this one; to attempt to work out just what the hell she was thinking.  The prose does talk about her "impulse kindness" and "maternal tenderness".  But I would have thought Henry's assertion that he was "a pimp, and thief...anything bad" should early on have set fairly decibel-rich alarm bells ringing.

And yet, on a number of occasions immediately after ejecting Henry from her house, following another of his increasingly regular visits, she immediately begins to hope she will run into  him again on the streets.

There is no sexual aspect to the relationship, even if Sonia's fickle friends suspect so.  Rather it appears Henry is looking to make rather more material gains.

The manner by which he achieves his aim is a touch unrealistic, but the incremental manner by which he insinuates his parasitic relatives into Sonia's house is inexorable.  And the lady's inability to prevent it tangible.

Having said that, more than once during my reading of the tale, I found myself recalling that old Monty Python sketch where Graham Chapman is unable to prevent his flat being invaded by an increasing number of obnoxious and unwelcome visitors.

https://vimeo.com/322682680

DARK DREAM

By Elizabeth Fancett

We are down by the seaside here, and a woman has had a nightmare that her husband was killed by a shark whilst surfing.

Convinced this is a premonition, she cannot wait for him to return from a trip to warn him.

Most readers will have sussed where this one is going, once the woman has her conversation with the "new to this beach" lifeguard, for that final sentence revelation to be too shocking.

But Dark Dream is a beautifully and sensitively written tale for all that.

Although, if I place my cynical hat on for a moment, I do wonder if Mary Danby would have included this entry, had Peter Benchley's novel Jaws not been published the previous year.

THE BANDAGED MAN 

By Rosemary Timperley

In the five years since he was paralysed in an accident, Louella has grown to loathe her clingy and possessive husband Robert.  She is thus very susceptible to the charms of the much younger John, with whom she begins an affair.

But when John wearies of all the subterfuge, she decides to murder Robert.  So, after plying him with a heavy sedative, Louella douses his bedroom room with paraffin.  She then sets the place alight, before tripping off to a New Year's Eve shindig with John.

But Robert is a tenacious individual.

On the surface, a Revenge-from-Beyond-the-Grave one this, although it could just be that some form of guilt-induced psychosis is at play.  Although quite where Louella's conscience arrived from I don't know, as there was precious little evidence of it earlier in the narrative.

And as for the doctor who, without any preamable, jumped in with "Some sort of telepathy going on perhaps" - he should be struck-off forthwith. 

THE YELLOW WALLPAPER

By Charlotte Perkins Gilman

A young mother, who suffers from a (in her own words) "slight hysterical tendency" comes to believe there is a woman trapped behind the pattern of the yellow wallpaper in the her bedroom.

So she makes it her goal to set the captive free.

Drawn from her own experiences of postnatal depression Charlotte Perkins Gilman paints a picture of the domestic role of 19th century wife as little more than that of a prisoner in her own home.  Subservient to her husband in every way, including in matters of her own health.

The question the reader has to ponder is: was the narrator mentally unstable from the outset.  Or did her doctor husband's persistent instance that she was ill, make her so?  

I rather think I could guess what R.D. Laing would have to say on the matter. 

THE GIRL FROM TOMANGO

By Rick Ferriera

Sinclair has returned to the (?Caribbean) island of Tomango, to meet up once more with Lily, a local girl with whom he had fallen in love with, a month earlier

On their final night together, the pair had enjoyed a passionate tryst on the smaller adjacent Turk Island.  Sinclair tracks down the local who had ferried him across to the island that evening, and listens in mounting disbelief to what the old man has to say.

For not only is he Lily's father, but he had chosen to abandon her on the island as a punishment for being "All bad".

Nevertheless, the pair set out for Turk Island together, to find the girl.

A pleasing bit of silly hokum this one, with an oddly fatalistic ending.  Surely the hotel manager and/or the hotel waiter, who both knew where he was off to, would swiftly raise the alarm?

The author's prose style is easy on the eye.  And I really rather liked the way the story changed completely from Nevil Shute to Shaun Hutson, when the old boatman casually stated "and you must remember 'bout the carrion crabs".

As if anyone could forget.

THE HOLLOW MAN

By Thomas Burke

A London restaurant owner is about to shut up his establishment for the night, when in walks Gopak, an old friend he has not seen for some time.  

Not seen, in fact, since he murdered him and buried the body in Africa fifteen years earlier.

I found this one a fascinating read, despite the fact nothing terribly much happens at all.  A surprisingly well-preserved fifteen-year old corpse pitches up at his murderer's eaterie, and sits quietly in the corner for a few months, before both decide the best course of action is for the pair to re-enact the murder.  Which may allow Gopak the peace he craves.

Exactly how Gopak found himself reanimated, and how he found his way to England, the author deftly swats aside by having the corpse being decidedly hazy on the subject.  "I don't - know" being his mantra.

I initially thought the resolution to the quandary both men had found themselves in to be just too convenient - then I noticed the little seed of doubt the author had planted into my head.

For I noted the restaurateur's "thin, haggard smile" at Gopek's disappearance, reflected the "watery smile" Gopak himself would give when talking to the daughter of the house.

MISS BROOD'S SPECIALITY

By Roger F. Dunkley

Miss Brood's speciality of the title is an aptitude for accurately foreseeing bad things happening to others.

When she enjoys one of her rare "optimistic precognitions" that she herself is about to be romanced into matrimony by a tall dark stranger, she goes to bed deliberately leaving her front door unlocked to allow her paramour access.

The good vibes she is feeling surely rules out any visit from the local axe killer who is on the front pages.

Roger Dunkley had sprinkled the Pan collection with a trio of duffers, and here he was up to the same trick with Mary Danby's collection.

THE SECOND NAIL

By Stuart Cloete

Jim is in the process of dumping his latest in a long line of flings.

But this girl is different - she grew up in Zimbabwe, where she knew an old witch doctor N'gala, who gave her a little something she could use "if you are injured by a man".

One of those tales of the Hell Hath No Fury types, which works rather well I feel.

The heroine's internal thought process are maybe a touch on the self-pitying side in the first half of the narrative, but once she brings out the shoe box, I think most readers would have sat up and taken notice.

And whilst I don't think there is any doubt where on the doll's anatomy she hammered that second nail into, the reader is still left wondering if the girl's story was true.  Or if she was simply engaging in a particularly apposite piece of psychological warfare.  

THE SANGUIVITES
By Kay Leith

Professional couple John and Meg are doing-up their recently purchased cottage in the village of Ashton-Carvel.

Cutting back an overgrown briar (which their elderly gardener appears singularly reluctant to do) Meg uncovers an ancient, and rather valuable-looking, jewel-decorated shrine.

John has just returned from a subsequent trip to London to arrange a visit from an expert from the museum, whereupon a group of the most beautiful and exquisite people the couple have ever seen pitch up their door.

These, we learn, are The Sanguivites and they are rather keen their shrine is not disturbed, nor made public.

We are two lines into this one when the phrase "baccy money" alerts us that we are clearly looking at a rather more contemporary piece of writing, than generally comprises the Fontana collection.

It is diverting enough, I suppose, but I could have done with a few more details on John and Meg's sexual assignations with their respective Sanguivite.  

And, halfway through the story,  the author also does that irritating thing of interrupting the narrative to signal unequivocally that a happy ending is most decidedly not in the post:

"that is where Meg went disastrously wrong.  Had they treated their find as an amusing curiosity.....nothing more might have happened".  Instead "Meg and John were deprived of the right to shape their own future."

I really never understand why authors feel the need to do this sort of stuff.  I appreciate it can jack up the sense of foreboding, but there are subtler ways surely.  There are plenty spoilers out there on the internet, without an writer inserting one into their own work.

Anyway, suffice to say, things for John and Meg do not end "happily ever after".  Although, I suppose, given the alternative they were presented with, at least there was an "after".

A TERRIBLY STRANGE BED

By Wilkie Collins

The narrator and his friend are holidaying in mid-nineteenth century Paris.  Bored with gambling in the high class casinos, they decide to visit a more down to earth establishment.

The narrator enjoys marvelous luck, eventually forcing the establishment to close early for the night.  By this point the narrator's friend has left, so he (and his winnings) are taken under the wing of an old French soldier, with whom he shares two bottles of champagne by way of celebration.

After a subsequent (drugged) cup of coffee, the narrator is persuaded by his new friend to stay overnight at the gambling house.....in a terribly strange bed.

I have no way of knowing how this one was received when Wilkie Collins persuaded his good friend Charles Dickens to publish it in his oddly titled weekly periodical Household Words.

Today the narrative all sounds so quaint: two nice-but-dim toffs slumming it for the evening, to experience "a little genuine, blackguard, poverty-stricken gaming".

Quite why the narrator's friend should abandon him, once his winnings begin to roll in, I cannot fathom.  And the whole business of the printing-press/four poster bed contraption, just comes across as improbably contrived.  Given the old soldier's victims were generally already drugged into a stupor, I should have thought a simple pillow held over the face would have done the trick.

But, hey, where would the story be in that?

HOMECOMING

By Sydney J. Bounds

Mickey, depressed after being dumped by The Girl, decides to end it all, utilising that tried and tested combination of sleeping tablets and bathtub!

Upon regaining consciousness he assumes he has been unsuccessful.  But not a bit of it.  For he is informed by one of the two white-coated chaps standing over him, "You were truly dead - certified and in the grave for seven days".

Six-and-a-bit pages of the sort of chucklesome light relief Martin Waddell and Conrad Hill once brought to the Pan collections.

Here, Bounds has his protagonist escaping from the pair of resurrectionists, and stomping around the countryside like a latter day Frankenstein's Monster - complete with pitchfork wielding yokels on his tail.

For a premise so rich in possibilities, the final scene is a touch anti-climactic, perhaps.  But then again, smelly Mickey and the mini-skirted teenager with the "well-shaped legs" were never going to live happily ever after.  Were they?

THE NATTERJACK

By Mary Danby

Townie Celia Parrish has retired to a small cottage on the edge of a coastal marsh.  She loves the "scents and sounds of nature".  Well, all except the croakings of the frogs and toads who inhabit the marshland.

One morning, during the breeding season, a toad "the size of a football" arrives on her kitchen doorstep".

Another pleasing, if hardly groundbreaking, yarn by Ms. Danby to close out Font9.

The only blank we are left to puzzle over is, was there any sexual aspect to what had befallen Celia.  The repeated reference to the toads' (or natterjacks') breeding season would suggest so, as would Jack's caressing of Celia's face in her kitchen.

But perhaps the demure Ms. Danby felt that toad/human intercourse was a scene she would rather shy away from.  

Bertie's 1970's Pans, by contrast, would have painted any such scenes in unflinchingly vivid colours though, one can be sure.