Malfi immerses you in a cold surroundings, with a person with strange abilities. A group of men on a fishing boat at sea spot a young stranded naked gMalfi immerses you in a cold surroundings, with a person with strange abilities. A group of men on a fishing boat at sea spot a young stranded naked girl in artic conditions stranded on ice. What is she doing in the middle of nowhere? Where is she from? Most people when they see a stranded person and naked would not turn their cheek and not help them to safety, they had really had no reason to not help. When see is rescued and onboard the vessel all things seem to deteriorate and go wrong starting with the gps system and on-board computers not working. The most important tools at sea are navigation systems and communications. Stranded now with a girl with no name help is needed and speedily. The story was engrossing and interesting he achieves in making you feel the fear, isolation and cold weather. Malfi seems to be turning out many good reads lately with some creative settings and characters.
Merged review:
Malfi immerses you in a cold surroundings, with a person with strange abilities. A group of men on a fishing boat at sea spot a young stranded naked girl in artic conditions stranded on ice. What is she doing in the middle of nowhere? Where is she from? Most people when they see a stranded person and naked would not turn their cheek and not help them to safety, they had really had no reason to not help. When see is rescued and onboard the vessel all things seem to deteriorate and go wrong starting with the gps system and on-board computers not working. The most important tools at sea are navigation systems and communications. Stranded now with a girl with no name help is needed and speedily. The story was engrossing and interesting he achieves in making you feel the fear, isolation and cold weather. Malfi seems to be turning out many good reads lately with some creative settings and characters....more
A band of men, comrades, flying dark under the radar, immersing the reader in the scene middle of things about to go askew plunging peaks and survivalA band of men, comrades, flying dark under the radar, immersing the reader in the scene middle of things about to go askew plunging peaks and survival at the forefront with many outcomes inevitable with all the batshit crazy things a high octane charged ride commencing viscerally infusing you along the paths taken.
These men:
“Every man on board knew this. Ten operators kitted out in military camouflage, without name tags or any visible sign of rank. Mercenaries heading for an unsanctioned black ops mission aboard a luxury jet flying dark. Hard men with chiseled faces, stoic men accustomed to danger, but unaccustomed to fear.”
Down, down, they go, the survivors tread forth as strangers on strange new land of snow equipped with Ak -74’s, are there any other denizens of the land they can seek assistance from or be in danger from?
“The strange, dense calm of the forest was as ominous as the storm that had taken them down.”
With only 90 minutes to nightfall, bringing dangers including a severe drop in temperature, solutions of paramount importance for survival. Seeking of assistance of importance because many will not go looking,reasons being:
“Their mission—arms smuggling and black ops destabilization, in and out in seventy-two hours—was completed in total radio silence for reasons of deniability. Their flight plan simply did not exist. No one would automatically come searching for them.”
Daniil Oleg Radimir Liev Avva and Timurq live, how many will fall.
Prose potent and visceral with all necessary details and word economy laid forth to keep you immersed. Mystery and terror lays in wait.
Tell me this excerpt does not peak your interest:
“Their voices echoed strangely. Inside this third ring, the mountain floor was devoid of snow or even dead leaves. Wind swirled about them like voices whispering in ancient languages, but the ground was remarkably clean—as much as they could see in the settling darkness. “A tumulus,” said Daniil suddenly. “The word I was looking for—an ancient grave in honor of a fallen great. A warrior or some notable.” “It’s a labyrinth,” said Liev. “Maybe they were trying to slow down a charging enemy. Defend the core while the attackers negotiated their way in. Trying to keep them out.” Yuri leaned against the wall and recoiled fast. The others turned. Barely visible against the dark stone, rows of spikes hammered out of dark iron jutted from the stone, pointing inward toward the center. “Or maybe,” said Daniil, “they were trying to keep something in.”
Yes i see that its short maybe too short some new readers saying but its done well the shortness and they didn't tell anything in the wrong way, just more please sir.
Coincidences occurring, sinister things, along with the 4th of July menacingly looming, marking an anniversary of a dreaded secret fate past but neverCoincidences occurring, sinister things, along with the 4th of July menacingly looming, marking an anniversary of a dreaded secret fate past but never dead re-emerging. Maybe it’s too late for the truth to set them free?
The complexities and anxieties that something is afoot from realms of unseen interjecting into the characters lives ensuing a need to stay for the tales end, a novel of length, one of lucid nicely done storytelling keeping you immersed with trepidation through dreams, hallucinations, hauntings and the present, with things occurring upon on a group of five once upon a time teenage friends, in a small town, dealing with the past that is never dead and with what price they have to pay as fates shifting, a turning to a strain of macabre, a haunting and macabre metamorphosis of a few denizens of Kingsport.
The writing reminiscent of four authors that have penned similar tales those of Ray Bradbury, Stephen King, Joe R. Lansdale, and Robert McCammon, if you enjoyed those authors you would enjoy this.
This is out now in June of 2024, would have been great to have a review out early as one had access to it, so many books and only so much time whilst life calls in other ways via slave of the money, ones striving to survive an adequate life, with the powers that be have where they want you, ensuing a more tired state at times and a slowing down and delaying great cathartic times enduring the reading musing and reviewing. But that will change, one hopes. I have not read enough of Malfi’s works and have many on my tbr for years waiting with joy and trepidation to be read. Reading now Horror Movie by Paul Tremblay (review will be in link here maybe in few days time) another same publisher release, also reading it a little later than scheduled and enjoying it.
Opens with a scene of one interloping of previous trodden ground, a home of past living in search of a microwave, a Duane Oshun in his ex-wife’s home Opens with a scene of one interloping of previous trodden ground, a home of past living in search of a microwave, a Duane Oshun in his ex-wife’s home uninvited, one May in Utah. From Utah to Montana 29 year old Duane, a newly divorced man with a son of 13, with things he leaves behind and heart at battle with trying to forge a new life, a new chapter of ones life commences as a new denizen of a town will arrive wandering and inquisitive in a small town and a drive to a church may deliver some gifts of employment, friendships and social connections as one tries to start a new life. With the new territory and chapter of life in the small town he questions if he may be happy in solace in a cabin built by ones own hands who’s new job entails cutting wood, logging, seeking happiness and solace in a cabin in the wilderness recovering from fall out of divorce would be splendid and with son to visit and live amongst beauty of the earth. There is one interloper that also has a cabin one that paths will inevitably intersect each other and these sentences lead you with grace and a great anticipation on the how of these fates cross path one strain true and straight from the pages of dark history of the evil that men do.
Plight of men and women separated and new love to be found, old beef, grudges and enemies, the protecting of the forest and stopping of poachers, and other dangers lay in wait. A Bear dangerous enough too, that does appear in this small town and tale but also a far more dangerous being to society one with rage and anger about to show its ugly head in the wilderness. Incorporated alongside the characters pursuit of a life and meaning and other trials there be a nicely crafted twisted portrait, the complexities and frailties and the wickedness of this man once whom terrorised the population, all embedding within the reader a memorable historical literary treat. The author successfully juxtaposing the reader amidst wilderness and tragedy and vividly evoking the duality of nature and man with the beauty and ugliness, good and evil.
There be various greatly formulated sentences, words in line to describe various environments, emotions and scenes unfolding. A few examples are in the excerpts i have selected @ more2read ...more
Many have fallen, nations destroyed, but earth itself is in imminent danger from a force, an ancient battalion of Shoggoths serving the Outer Gods theMany have fallen, nations destroyed, but earth itself is in imminent danger from a force, an ancient battalion of Shoggoths serving the Outer Gods there will be Shoggoths’ chimeras up against the NecroTeks. Lost, a crew the Lost Souls, and an ai with consciousness are the last hope. A terror ancient and of present danger descending upon the characters amidst this cosmic tale with the dead awakening and necromancy cycling, a phenomena ensuing with a metamorphosis afoot in an epic tale. A grande cosmic extravaganza undertaken with a band of warriors named lost souls embracing necrotek in this first instalment in a brave bold new world beyond the known Jonathan Maberry has crafted with cosmic war, horror, mechanical monstrosities and ancient gods.
An odyssey with all the needed ingredients and elements laid down with the great orchestrations of a well crafted author into a prose that was a joy and ease to read, along with all the cosmic philosophy, the complexities and aspects that come with it, masterful laid down with care and clarity. Something just getting started with this first book that will have you waiting with great joy for its continuation, of which the author is crafting at this moment.
This would convert well to screen and hope someone does adapt it and do a good job of it. By the time he has written and published the second instalment I will have hoped to read and completed Hyperion, Dune, and The Foundation.
We humans on earth try to survive and make do and good within our own perplexing lives and frailties but unfortunately things break, and can and can’tWe humans on earth try to survive and make do and good within our own perplexing lives and frailties but unfortunately things break, and can and can’t be undone, and one may seek out cures of all kinds and if all else fails there is one on a distant moon involving a home and spiders. Book a seat on a shuttle to this destination, seats are limited and expensive!
One day in 1923 a Veronica Brinkley was voluntarily handed over in custody by her husband for Treatment of the Melancholy at Barrowfield home. The complexities of her dilemma upon earth along with the anxieties and frailties of what to come are well crafted necessary elements hooking the read in upon a moon amongst spidery matters and frightening minutes within a metamorphosis of one Veronica with a deeply effective human tragedy.
Upon a moon amidst the immeasurable cosmos denizens of human and spider entities be awaiting with a infusion of human frailty and the macabre and ancient holy wonder in a mesmeric manifestation of gothical grotesque excellence penned by Nathan Ballingrud with a phantasmagoric procession of monstrous delights.
Starring: The Brinkleys Veronica Brinkley Dr. Barrington Cull Charlie Duchamp Goodnight Maggie Bentley Myles Orderlies Soma Alabaster Scholars
The uncanny and disquietness and yet very human emotion running parallel with vivid visceral masterful evocation with the reader carrying on the dreamThe uncanny and disquietness and yet very human emotion running parallel with vivid visceral masterful evocation with the reader carrying on the dreams and nightmares.
The author a capable conductor of the familiar and unfamiliar, executing with intimate and precision storytelling, juxtapositioning the reader amidst different realms and worlds with a myriad of characters consuming hypnotically under his wings within visionary works, enter The Brian Evenson Zone!
Greyness Games Help me Things be controlled People being instructed. Help help Paralysed character A freedom wanted Head and bodies and memories Memories feed, knowledge gained Scary bedtime story time Servants and masters Mother and father Brother and sister Twins Family and unfamiliar Frailties and complexities Existential crisis Fears and hopes Need and wants Strange and uncanny Vivid and visceral Insidiously consuming First person narrations Terrifying good. Goodnight, sleep tight!
I am disappointed in the delivery of this novel, editing needed indeed. There are many irrelevant matters inserted alongside very fine psychological aI am disappointed in the delivery of this novel, editing needed indeed. There are many irrelevant matters inserted alongside very fine psychological and philosophical observations and sentences strung together and then the meat of the story lost, derailing one self and despising this want and obsession for a killing of a whale. My expectations where high due to many authors I hold value in placing this at their top of list of best reads. There are present great writing but also whale fat that needed dissecting, of which I would never want or pursue, leave whales alone, no killing needed....more
Complexity amongst the oddities and absurdities in the metamorphosis, entropy and satire with first person narration and interior-monologue, writing tComplexity amongst the oddities and absurdities in the metamorphosis, entropy and satire with first person narration and interior-monologue, writing that flows well and mesmerised in this unique journey of mothwomam, one who faces a paradox of choices for survival amidst existential dread and in a world gone absurd not too different from the reality of the last two years we be living in the real world except for the alien and moth entities, in a great weird tale of which readers of strange and weird worlds that appreciate fluid storytelling would love her prose a joy to read constructed with a great style and choice of words with the humorous and weird.
You like aliens, loved Star Trek, watched a pbs series The Power of Myth and Mothman prophecies whilst slightly dreamy and have interest in levitation, telepathy, and time travel, you have attend conventions, you love moths and live under a president called Tr**p and possess a weird imagination then you just may just be able to write this story. I won’t be reading mothman prophecies the book, the film was adequate enough, and this mothwoman. Bye for now have a Mothman convention to attend.
The story opens with a haunting description and invitation to a remote dwelling The Vicarage where behind the walls lays a history of which will soon The story opens with a haunting description and invitation to a remote dwelling The Vicarage where behind the walls lays a history of which will soon be initiated and unraveling with the occupant an elderly wheelchair bound Flo and her carer in this folk horror.
There will be intrigue instilled within the reader with various mysterious elements of which at the centre resides an elderly women named Flo of 89 years of age, one who had once two children and a husband and now alone, a victim of a stroke three years previous and a dementia sufferer, mysterious happenings to be revealed and discovered amidst the presence of her carer Jess one who is determined to investigate and uncover Flo’s past.
A two sitting read that was a haunting folk horror read that consumes and transports. With eloquent prose style the author frames the scenes vividly with atmosphere and tension, there be malevolence and the sinister and at the same time empowering and entrancing with a tragedy at Nerthus House, The Vicarage by the Grove, with horrors and decay something needing aligning however sinister it maybe.
First published in Penthouse magazine in March 1977, then in the authors story collection Night Shift in 1977.
Fifteen hundred miles on a journey via First published in Penthouse magazine in March 1977, then in the authors story collection Night Shift in 1977.
Fifteen hundred miles on a journey via motorway from Boston into Gatlin Nebraska to end up in road with corn on all sides then an incident and finding a corncob crucifix made of dried corn, in your proximity there is a town almost abandoned except young folk, and that sign on the white Church that read “THE POWER AND GRACE OF HE WHO WALKS BEHIND THE ROWS,” inside there is sight of a portrait of Jesus “grinning vulpine,” these are signs to get into your car and turn back away from here you are not welcome.
Sinners and sacrifices, holy and unholy aspects, cult and uninvited cross paths, young and old in battle. Burt and Vicky in their T-Bird driving into a terrible fate amongst these horrific aspects of this small town with children with redrum in mind all for the corn and He Who Walks Behind the Rows. King masterfully conjures this with all the necessary storytelling aspects and details needed, and its one of his good ones, placing you in all the atmosphere and trepidation one needs to make this one helluva terrifying folk horror story.
Excerpts
“He turned the ignition off and got out. The wind rustled softly through the growing man-high corn, making a weird sound like respiration.”
“He had a strong sensation of being watched. It was a feeling he had read about in books, mostly cheap fiction, and he had always doubted its reality. Now he didn't. It was as if there were people in the corn, maybe a lot of them, coldly estimating whether the woman could get the gun out of the case and use it before they could grab him, drag him into the shady rows, cut his throat—“
“It was a crucifix that had been made from twists of corn husk, once green, now dry. Attached to this by woven cornsilk was a dwarf corncob. Most of the kernels had been carefully removed, probably dug out one at a time with a pocketknife. Those kernels remaining formed a crude cruciform figure in yellowish bas-relief. Corn-kernel eyes, each slit longways to suggest pupils. Outstretched kernel arms, the legs together, terminating in a rough indication of bare feet. Above, four letters also raised from the bone-white cob: I N R I.”
“YOU ARE NOW ENTERING GATLIN, NICEST LITTLE TOWN IN NEBRASKA—OR ANYWHERE ELSE! POP. 5431.”
“But they must do something different out here, he thought. The smell was close but not the same. There was a sickish-sweet undertone. Almost a death smell. As a medical orderly in Vietnam, he had become well versed in that smell.”
“The Christ was grinning, vulpine. His eyes were wide and staring, reminding Burt uneasily of Lon Chaney in The Phantom of the Opera. In each of the wide black pupils someone (a sinner, presumably) was drowning in a lake of fire. But the oddest thing was that this Christ had green hair . . . hair which on closer examination revealed itself to be a twining mass of early-summer corn. The picture was crudely done but effective. It looked like a comic-strip mural done by a gifted child—an Old Testament Christ, or a pagan Christ that might slaughter his sheep for sacrifice instead of leading them.”
“He climbed the four carpeted steps to the pulpit and looked out over the deserted pews, glimmering in the half-shadows. He seemed to feel the weight of those eldritch and decidedly unchristian eyes boring into his back. There was a large Bible on the lectern, opened to the thirty-eighth chapter of Job. Burt glanced down at it and read: “Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said, Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge? . . . Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding.” The lord. He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Declare if thou hast understanding. And please pass the corn.”
“There seemed to be one train of thought around here, and Burt didn't care much for the track it seemed to ride on.”
“The girls were dressed in long brown wool and faded sunbonnets. The boys, like Quaker parsons, were all in black and wore round-crowned flat-brimmed hats. They streamed across the town square toward the car, across lawns, a few came across the front yard of what had been the Grace Baptist Church until 1964. One or two of them almost close enough to touch.”
“Out there, in the night, something walked, and it saw everything . . . even the secrets kept in human hearts. Dusk deepened into night. Around Gatlin the corn rustled and whispered secretly. It was well pleased.”
There be a new type of reality for denizens of a village with a history for suffering and greed of ownership, hate, words and prejudices amongst the pThere be a new type of reality for denizens of a village with a history for suffering and greed of ownership, hate, words and prejudices amongst the people of Catholic, Protestant, and Pagan beliefs, for what will traverse upon the land with histories of evil that men had done coming to fruition ungodly acts and ungodly remedy needed with some courage and love amidst mans attempt at destiny maker with the horrific results that transpired.
Starts with mention of power and parish burning and mass figures just idle not putting fire out, an old fierce pull of history and evil that men do and politics being laid down for the first instance with scene vivid a poetically potent prose with “Blasphemous orange blaze” and “deaths does stalk this night.” Down the minutes you taken from mother and son with elevation and phantom hag tragedy with Boyles of Crookedwood and all sundry of macabre oddities and upheavals with crazy shit and foul language behaviour that may wake the life out of your solemn resting soul in mind bending horror journey with disturbed humans these evil meddling souls in an unforgettable poetical tale.
Finely crafted conjuring of words laid down, one on the edge, on that journey, not wanting turn eyes away from the narrative for worldly menial matters right to its final last word, poetically taken under the wings directed amidst the disorder with a poetical orchestration in a fine ballad of hypnotic mesmerisation of phantasmagoria with human despair and destinies needing correcting.
“Please Come to the Fun, it said in large letters. Parades, it went on, Street Masquerade, Bands, The Winter Raffle, and The Coronation of the Winter “Please Come to the Fun, it said in large letters. Parades, it went on, Street Masquerade, Bands, The Winter Raffle, and The Coronation of the Winter Queen.”
“What buries itself before it is dead?”
An annual festival in the town of Mirocaw an anthropologist and scholar will be amidst on a project researching the significance of clowns in diverse cultural contexts. Our unammed protagonist is one that has an affliction of seasonal despair and with varying complexities, a dark malady and melancholiness, he will traverse mysteriousness in the new terrain and discoveries.
There was once a professor Thoss who was a teacher of the anthropologist, he had a certain greater deeper knowledge that he did not seek to impart in his teachings, of which one anthropologist knew he possessed and hoped in time will reveal but had not published anything for twenty years since his leaving of the academic circle. He was the one that set him on this inquisition.
There were signs of this being a town to not enter, the empty hotel in Townshend where he took residency of and welcomed by a woman that resembles one dead twenty years, there was the “frail stores” and “starved-looking houses” as he entered the town the “gaunt faces of pedestrians,” despite even knowing of the seasonal holiday suicides and pagan ritual aspects of the festival that Dr. Thoss mentioned in his article on the festival.
A town where ghetto clowns and oval-mouthed pallid clowns roam, a sense something more archaic afoot, he must find some answers, he finds small feelings of mania and purpose in all his complexities and thus forth acts on taking up of a gruesome clown disguise for further enquiries and investigations in the festival within the festival, what follows he may run or be satiated on a solstice night an “apex of darkness.”
An insidious uncanny tale with a malevolent metamorphosis unraveling in this scientific perilous sojourn in a town with a festival with morbid souls and oval-mouthed pallid clowns. First person narration with visceral and vivid prose psychological imbuing, hypnotic reading onwards to its finality and afterwards with ruminations on truths behind the masks. Herein lays forth a cheerless jester in all the formations of disorder of the world.
Names and aspects contained:
Unnamed anthropologist Dr Raymond Thoss Elizabeth Beadle Samuel Beadle hotel owner in Mirocaw
Cambridge Massachusetts Anthropology Clowns Town Mirocaw Festival A greater deeper knowledge Harlequin article Suspect Holiday suicides Gaunt pedestrians Frail stores Starved-looking houses Adopted Yuletide customs Pagan aspect to festival Townshed hotel Tramp-like figures The Winter Queen Ghetto clowns Oval-mouthed Pallid clowns Pure ones
Behind one picket fence in suburbia a family goes about there usual day, they are in imminent danger due to an unexpected chaos with interlopers, perfBehind one picket fence in suburbia a family goes about there usual day, they are in imminent danger due to an unexpected chaos with interlopers, performers of a show unlike anyone seen, a capitalisation of fear will commence. These invaders arrive to create a film with family as un-casted but cased individuals, each with there soon to discover roles cast in this display of fear, victims that shall be known as victim #1 #2 #3 and #4 invaders #1 #2 #3 #4 all in the purpose of entertaining eventually some-kind of audience and cult that is rising. Shocking chilling and macabre moments with original and unusual storytelling techniques that may have you the reader be audience and witness in it’s initial telling to the invasion and charnel main event. The direct narration and invitation is evident from the beginning of the story: “Get a good brainstorm going. Figure out where it could all go right. Figure out where it’ll all go wrong. Between the highs and lows, you’ll see that it’s a performance. The house targeted becomes the stage.”
In a possible another story here, once one ponders and ruminates over this work, me thinks at what lengths would people go for entertainment and feelings, with all the escalation in numbers in front of a camera, what is left, and what future lays ahead with this strain of entertainment ? a t…tok on a whole another level and may just have you think twice next time when you press record, where is all this heading, the numbness, the eyes that don’t turn away, a world that has lost feeling and another death is nothing, numb and at same time still looking for more entertainment. It maybe a cautionary tale that books are the best entertainment in the future, and sway away from the camera more, lesser in-front of the camera. This little discourse away from more direct reviewing forgive but a little outlandish thoughts.
Many will be is watching/reading, without leaving prematurely, in a twisted captivated fashion to learn how this chilling show will end.
Yes, lock your door, double check, they do stir these thoughts this kind of story. One hopes these performances do not lead to any trend or copycat macabre encore. Welcome to the cult of The home invasion club.
(Here on goodreads I don’t really want to use stars, when I review and like a book I give five stars and if I don’t review and it but have read it I just add as read without any stars.)
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