Long Intervals of Horrible Sanity: The Official Blog of George Wilhite Horror Author
George Wilhite is an aficionado of the horror genre.
His fascination began as a child, watching "Creature Features" late at night with his father while enthralled by the fiction of masters like Poe, Lovecraft, King and Straub.
Follow Wilhite and Guests as they preview and discuss their own work and all aspects of horror and other speculative literature.
Skullface emerges from his unmarked grave in a copse on the Isle of Wight and spends nine days walking around the island, as well as making difficult journeys to the mainland, saying goodbye to all he knew. Every night he withdraws into himself and relives his past, coming to terms with all he was, all he did and how and why he ended up in that unmarked grave. It's a powerful potent book.
On Reviewer stated: "This is a darkly original take on a zombie revenge horror tale, told from the point of the view of the person who has come back from the dead and with very good reason for wanting that revenge. It is compulsive, page turning reading because you want to discover what happened to them in life as much as what is keeping them after death. The humans are as horrifying it turns out as any monster could be. At points there is very black humor, at others beautiful turns of phrase and sometimes simply a sad poignancy. It is written with a powerful voice and characters which, as with Frankenstein's monster, allows you to retain empathy for the protagonist no matter how disturbing the tale and question fundamental things such as the nature of humanity. Truly unique."
Dorothy Davies has written many stories, articles and books, but has never written anything like this before. She says "it took a lot out of her and she is still having difficulty in settling to other writing projects, even though this has been out now for some time."
Here are the buy links for the paperback and ebook directly from Horrified Press's shop at Lulu:
Hardin was the world’s most public figure but even he had secrets. One of the
most notorious pugilists who had ever professionally boxed he was as least as
well-known as the star of one scandal after another. Now most of them stemmed
from how sadistically cruel he was to his professional boxing opponents but his
glee at inflicting pain applied to his personal life as well as his many wives,
children, servants, baby mamas, and assorted paparazzi could attest to but even
this wasn’t enough. When he wasn’t being paid millions to pound another heavy
weight boxer into bloody hamburger or was pimp slapping anyone that was in his
personal orbit then he kept busy by taking out his volcanic aggression on all
the denizens of the animal kingdom that he could lay his hands upon. His screw
loose about hurting animals had first come on him as a toddler. He had started
out with the insect kingdom then worked his way up the food chain from there.
Pets didn’t live long under his tutelage and eventually just maiming them then
killing them lost its thrill. It was about this time that he caught a repeat on
the cable of the Roots I miniseries and became obsessed with the character of Chicken
George and the so-called sport of cock fighting that George was the master of.
idea of this truly got Hardin ’s juices running and it wasn’t long until he and
some other neighborhood bad boys were indulging in clandestine matches between various dogs that they coerced
into fighting one another to the death. Decker
didn’t find any of this very strange because every since he had been able to
walk he had always went around pounding on everything and everybody with his
fists. In some ways these events had defined his whole identity and were the
only way in which he and his demented lifestyle of cruelty could find social
acceptance. So it was that he rose up through all the hard scrabble of the
amateur ranks of boxing until at twenty-one he was the undisputed heavy weight
champion of the whole entire world. Now all of this should have been more than
enough of an adrenaline rush and ego gratification for most mere mortals but Decker
Hardin had always considered himself far, far, more than that. In time he had
come to see his boxing as just another extremely well-paid job that was far too
easy for him to accomplish and so he came to look for the danger and thrills
that he so craved with his private animal fighting activities.
end he had purchased a large rural estate that he dubbed Fist City in New York’s
Catskill Mountains where he personally bred, trained and made fight for select
audiences the most vicious of pit bulls. Rumors about what went on there
circulated for years and clogged the internet and airwaves like the rankest of
sewage. Finally someone was able to smuggle cell phone footage out that
resulted in a judge issuing a warrant to raid the compound. What the
authorities found there even shocked and offended the street hardened officials
that took the place down and since Hardin was in the process of skinning a dog
alive who hadn’t fought hard enough and was surrounded by several more such
dogs that he had lynched for insubordination there was no way he could talk his
way out of what so obviously went on there. When the investigation and trial
was over he found himself down in prison for a two year stretch. Now
considering what some murders receive for prison time these days this might
have seemed extreme on the surface of it but Decker Hardin had made a complete
fool of himself throughout his whole trial mocking and showing contempt for the
judge at every turn. It was little wonder that he drew such a stiff sentence
coupled with a fortune draining fine too yet still he took it all in his cocky
stride and not even the fact that this latest boondoggle had landed him in with
the general population of a serious butt ramming prison had thrown him off for
very long. His Tarzan-like savagery and mastery of the sweet science of
flooring another human guaranteed that he never became any man’s bride while
incarcerated. Once this salient fact had been established time passed well
enough. He kept his newly shaved head down, got his GED and converted to the
Black Muslim faith and when he wasn’t busy with all this he trained hard on the
prison weights and worked out on the boxing equipment in its sparse gym and so
in that way the two years went by in something of a blur then one bright
morning he found that he was back on the streets again.
shunned nearly broke and freshly divorced against his will he felt a deep need
to clear his head and so retreated to a small hunting cabin that he had managed
to hold on to which was even deeper up the Hudson River Valley than Fist City
had been. Since he was a convicted felon he couldn’t own a gun but that hardly
prevented him from stalking, hunting and catching fresh meat. This was easily
accomplished with crossbow and machete and a series of snares and traps that he
set with upmost precision. Something about how primal and Neanderthal-like all
this was appealed to his inner animalism and he was soon relaxed and at peace
with himself once again.
It was on
the third day of his return to nature that something extraordinary happened. While
he was out checking his snares Decker discovered hanging by its heels and
groaning in an unearthly voice an animal he had never seen nor abused before.
Tiring immediately of the strange noises of whatever this thing was that was
making them he boldly stepped up to it and delivered a roundhouse right to its
jaw knocking it into unconsciousness. Cutting it down and using its rope snare
to bind it securely he then threw it over his shoulder and took it back to his
cabin for his further contemplation. This accomplished he after a little
surfing of the net on his portable laptop could come to no other conclusion
than that he was now the proud possessor of one genuine Big Foot!
true the thing seemed to be half the size that other supposed sighters of this
creature claimed it should be but it was in every other respect exactly what
people had touted it to be and so Hardin blew off its lack of stature as being
akin to fishermen exaggerating how large the big one that had gotten away on
them was. Sometime near sundown of the same day as he was pan frying some fresh
venison and canned pork and beans for his dinner, Decker and his still bound
and now gagged “pet” were startled by the shattering of his locked front door.
Before Decker could even blink he saw that the source of all this was yet
another Big Foot inches taller than the one who now lay helplessly on his
cabin’s rough hewn floor. With battle instincts borne from a life time of
violence Hardin reacted instantly
gripping the sizzling cast-iron frying pan in his own now burning palm he spun
around and caught the uncomprehending charging Big Foot square in the head with
it knocking him cold as it fried half of his unearthly looking face away in the
process. An hour later when the thing that most said was only a myth returned
to groggy half consciousness it found itself now too laying helplessly
restrained and gagged next to the other of its kind that it had so boldly
attempted to rescue and there towering over both of them was the truer savage
of them all Decker Hardin now smiling a golden grill studded grin as he yakked
away animatively into his private cellular phone.
Garnett, Garnett Purcell its Decker, yeah Decker Hardin. You won’t believe what
I’ve got for you my man.”
luckily Garnett Purcell in between running for the Presidency on the dime of a
very strange and confused third party and publicly making a fool out of himself
by insisting that the seated President wasn’t really a citizen of America had
quietly picked up Fist City at auction as a favor to his long time amigo Decker
Hardin and that had given the disgraced former boxer a grand idea. Now Garnett despite
all the strange things that he normally believed in was incredulous about what
Decker told him he had captured because the fabled businessman had never
believed anything of an occult or otherworldly nature and so literally being
from Missouri he had his private helicopter take him up to Hardin’s cabin if
only to put an end to all this nonsense once and for all.
once he metabolized that all this was true was full of ideas about how to
exploit it. Being an educated man he thought of endless possibilities in a
variety of different ways. The pair of Big Foots of course could be sold for
top dollar to any zoo in the world. They could also be put on display as the
center piece of a new amusement park and a reality show starring them on TV
would surely be a ratings grabber and all of these were but a few of the
practical applications that might grow from such an enterprise. Why the
endorsements and licensing revenues from this alone could make a man richer
than any ten oil sheiks put together.
Yet none of these propositions seem to hold
any appeal for Decker who had other plans and in the end these two amazing
animals belonged to him and not Purcell. Now what “The Two-Fisted Tornado” as
he was popularly nicknamed was interested in doing with them seemed extremely
risky and almost stupid to Purcell but he found that he could not just walk
away from all this and so he agreed to be the chief facilitator for Decker’s
brutal and obvious scheme and so the world’s strangest cock fight was arranged
to take place at Fist City on New Year’s Day. Not only would it have an
audience composed of the world’s wealthiest ticket holders but the event would
also go out via satellite as the priciest pay for view event of all time.
of this had to be done in a very clandestine way because of course in every
sense of the word it was illegal and this is where Purcell and all his
connections shined the most brightly. Through it all the eccentric millionaire
stayed at Fist City with the sadistic ex-boxer and his two prized catches that
they had transported and appropriately caged there. Hardin was ecstatic as he
took complete charge of training the two Big Foots to fight each other to the
death. He took pleasure in whipping and torturing them to bring out their
killer instincts. To this end he tricked them into slaughtering guard dogs and
stray cats in order to get their own blood lust up and yet through it all they
seemed to not what to hurt one another even under the stroke of Decker’s cattle
prod or even after he would pummel them unmercifully with his well schooled and
seemed hopeless until he discovered through trial and error that alcohol had a
really bad effect on them and was pretty much the only thing that put them into
the correct frame of mind to do what he demanded. So he started them on a regime
of heavy whiskey consumption just prior to the match and yet through it all
they spent hours loudly crooning something unintelligible over and over again
at the top of their lungs that drove everyone who was in ear shot around the
bend and nothing could be done to quiet them down once they got started.
Finally New Year’s Day arrived and Decker
never stopped smiling for even an instant as he anticipated all that was to
come. The worldwide viewing audience was the largest ever recorded and t he
live audience was a who’s who of every mover and shaker from every strata of
those who ran the world. Garnett Purcell for obvious reasons did not publicly
acknowledge his vast connection with all of this but he was there for every
second of it none the less. Decker Hardin had no such qualms. Already once
again a multimillionaire because of all of this he was planning to abandon
America forever by chartered plane in a few hours for a riotous retirement in
the Philippine Islands which had no extradition laws whatsoever. So he brazenly
played his public swan song for all that it was worth openly and proudly introducing
the whole event and flamboyantly MC-ing it all.
Big Foots were drunker than anyone had ever seen them before and Decker had
been shocking them and slicing them with a box cutter to work up their ire.
Both of them seemed ready to kill the first thing that came within arm’s length
of them once they were released from their respective cages. Then as if it was some
kind of hallucination the event began in earnest. First Decker came into the
large caged arena and made a long and rambling speech detailing how he had
captured these two things of legend and then the two Big Foots were released
from their respective cages. At first it looked like they were going to do all
that was expected of them then things took a most unexpected turn and they
instead began cuddling and comforting one another as if they were small and
more than the audience could take and they began to boo and shout and throw
things at the objects of their disappointment. Decker insane with rage ripped
off his tuxedo and lacy shirt and jumped bare-chested into the center of all
this. He began wildly beating down the two animals who were cowed and acted
scared of him. Their only response to all this was an even more loud and
plaintive version of the sad vocalizations that they had been repeating
endlessly since they first arrived at Fist City. Hardin’s nauseating rampage
continued for a long time as the event he had put so much of his heart and soul
into unraveled about him and became reduced to a mockery of all that it was once
meant to be.
when it seemed as if things couldn’t get any stranger they did as two other Big
Foots appeared out of nowhere dripping wet and more enraged than anything that
Decker had ever seen in all of his many years of seeking out violence. These
new Big Foots too were singing a deeper and more throaty version of what the
other two had been wailing out for so long and as they rose up to their full heights
they stood revealed as being as large as Big Foot’s were generally portrayed as
being. As all this was happening Decker laughed sardonically realizing far too
late exactly what his two prized fighting animals really were. Now that he was
face to face with their parents Hardin tried to laugh it all off and groove on
the absurd irony of it all. As the adult Big Foots tore into the crowd viciously
as they went about trying to save their offspring Decker realized that all this
was going out to a worldwide audience and since it was all on film people would
be watching his humiliation and stupidity till the end of time. Finally as the
adults got to him personally it was revealed for all to see that compared to
them he was no stud, no champ, no tough guy or hard ass but was indeed when
confronted by a superior foe who was out for blood was just another man who
realized far too late exactly what fear meant.
During a recent stay in the hospital
I had many enjoyable conversations with my nurses and other technicians that
worked there. Since it was almost time for the new TV shows to start that
subject came up often and while we agreed on Gotham, The Flash, etc. as being
worthy new entries into TV land almost everyone was surprised at my interest
and enthusiasm for a similar new show called Constantine until I explained that
I the reason I liked the character so much was because I was one of the few
people who first knew about him and that to me it was like watching one of my
children grown up and finally make good.Way back in the 1980s I was very involved in comic books both as a
creator and as a historian of it too and because of that I knew many of the
great creators back then personally and none more so than the master artist
Alfredo P. Alcala.
Alfredo had long lived alone since
he had come to America and was very dependent on other people to help him get
simple things done like grocery shopping, getting his clothes washed, etc.
Early in my relationship with him my family and I soon started helping him out
with things like that to the point that he came to call us his American family.
Besides this I soon graduated once he got to know me into doing a lot of work
for him to help him get his comic books out.Among other things I would handle all the business phone calls on his
constantly ringing telephone and would keep track of and properly store his
original art when it was returned to him by the postman and I would do some cleanup
work on his pages such as erasing lines
that weren’t needed and applying whiteout here and there and god help me
because one of my so-called friends had told him that I had inked a lot of the
backgrounds on my first published comic Hero Man he for a time wanted me to do
that on his stuff too but luckily Alfredo soon realized that as an artist I was
a good comic book writer and general secretary for his business affairs.
One thing that fascinated me about
Alfredo was that he never read any contemporary comics most of which he dismissed
as …well I won’t quote exactly what he said about them since my young
grandchildren will probably be reading this but anyway he absolutely didn’t
care anything about the modern comic book scene and so I was soon drafted to
explain to him who these people were that he was drawing as well as everything
about them such as their powers, their weaknesses, and their backgrounds.Now fortunately I was at the time very well
versed in the entire history of the comic books and could accurately quote all
about them off the top of my head which is why I guess I worked for several
years at Amazing Heroes, The Comics Journal, and Comics Interview where I was
one of the editors for awhile.This part
of my responsibilities to Alfredo often proved to be somewhat funny to me
especially when he would call me late at night on the phone to ask me about
this and that character. Luckily I was usually able to help him out once he
gave me a few simple hints about them such as their names and he was very
grateful for it too because it meant he never had to look at any of the many
free comics that were delivered to his door every day and which he routinely
gave to my more than enthusiastic grade school age sons and instead would spend
his time studying all kinds of artists from the Renaissance and before.
Now what does all this have to do with
John Constantine one might ask and his brand new TV show? Plenty, a moment ago
my wife and I did some preliminary research online about Constantine in preparation
for this article and in my opinion much of it was inaccurate to the events as I
recall them. For one thing Alfredo’s art and the genesis of Constantine is
barely mentioned and it should be mentioned because I recollect he had a large
hand in jelling the final look of Constantine as we know him today.
Here’s the way I remember it. Alfredo
was working on embellishing Swamp Thing around the time of Constantine showing
up there which excited me greatly because it was one of my favorite comic books
as was anything written by the great Alan Moore and poor old John at first
didn’t seem to have any kind of a iconic look about him until Karen Berger
called up one day and asked if Alfredo might give him a specific look to which I
replied that “Oh you mean you want him to look exactly like Sting instead of
occasionally like him as he does now?” and she enthusiastically agreed with my
guess.To that end I dropped into a
local newsstand and was able to procure several fan magazines that had really
good pictures of Sting in them and I took them with me the next night when I
came to see him.At first Alfredo didn’t
want to listen and didn’t care and since he hated all modern rock and roll he
tried to tell me that people wouldn’t like the character if he looked like this
Sting guy and that he should perhaps make him look more like Robert Mitchum
instead. Luckily I was able to talk him down on that and the fine drawings that
Alfredo did of Constantine set the standard for the book and probably account
for the reason why he did the embellishment on John’s first couple of solo
issues over in Hellblazer as well.Oddly
enough while Alfredo never did take to Batman where he also did a lot of work
as he came to know and understand Constantine he actually liked the character
which I guess isn’t strange because everyone involved with the original version
of this character was deeply into the occult including yours truly and so how
could Alfredo help but fall under the spell of this rough hewn but lovable exorcist?
Years flew by after this and eventually
I moved on to other popular culture projects that didn’t involve Alfredo and
then in April of 2000 Alfred died. There’s something almost shameful about how
little he is remembered or respected today not only for his great artistry but
for his forceful and unique personality which earned him the nickname “the
Elvis of the comic books” and whenever I’m given the chance I try to see what I
can do to correct that.While Alfredo
was involved in lots of movies and television shows his name was deeply buried
in the credits and so he felt disconnected from much of the work that he was so
well paid to do but I strongly suspect that he would have been very proud of
the new Constantine TV show where once again his name is nowhere to be seen. As
for me I quite like the show and think thatMatt Ryan,the great Welsh actor
that plays John is a perfect choice and when people ask me why I’m so excited
about all this I tell them how could I not be I was one of the first twenty
people in the world to ever meet Constantine.
Today at my blog, I am showcasing Poet David S. Pointer
His latest collection “Beyond Shark Tag Bay” is another stellar example of his highly evocative poetry, downloaded from his own twisted world. While one is tempted to label this realm steampunk or cyberpunk, tropes from these genres are more like seasoning he spreads on the layers of his own completely original universe.
I recently chatted with David and asked if he had always considered himself a “speculative poet”: I started out as a political/social justice poet. My first poetry publication in 1990 in "Pleiades" journal was a horror poem though. When I took the surgery technology program and we dealt with human anatomy, I couldn't hold back on the horror and Sci-fi genre pieces any longer. Most of David’s poetry I have had the pleasure to read, including them in my own anthologies, and posting them here at this very blog, are speculative in subject matter. Elsewhere,I have called his poems whirlwinds, driving you deliriously down to the end, taking in the overall effect, and then you go right back to the beginning to savor the Devil in his details.
Shark Tag Bay” contains some wild and intriguing alternate histories of Poe and
Einstein, and the American West and Victorian England. Again, Pointer adds his
own twisted and often dark comic take on these varied subjects.
unique quality of this book is that every poem is this collection has a Spanish
translation. I asked David about this:
I decided to go with Spanish translations because screaming and bleeding is a
complex diverse issue with a changing American readership.
Shark Tag Bay” also contains some fabulous cover art and interior illustrations
from Justin Jackley. (as seen below) If you like what you see, check
him out at -- www.justinjackley.com or
am not alone in my enthusiasm for Pointer’s work. Nathan J.D.L. Rowark,
Editor-in-chiefof Horrified Press
David S. Pointer is a poet who has a
talent for language exploitation. His words bend and twist like a river and
David uses this skill to take the reader upstream - away from the mediocre
everyday. David delivers free form masterpieces that fire the imagination and
wake the senses. “Beyond Shark Tag Bay is a collection full of such gems and a
must for all poetry fans and fans of fictional expression in general. Prepare
yourself to be left breathless.
recently co-founded Thirteen Press, an imprint of Rowark’s Horrified Press.
David has already been accepted into several anthologies completed or in
progress by Thirteen, including At the
Stroke of Thirteen, Steamworld, and The
Here is a link to all Available Thirteen Press Titles:
Horrified Press volumes featuring his work areRon Koppelberger’s Silent Fray anthologies
and Fractured Realms, a fund raiser
for autism by Suzie and Bruce Lockhart.
of us at Thirteen Press are excited to continue working with David Pointer.
Anytime I ask him for a poem on any subject, upcoming holidays and such, for my
blog, he comes through with something highly original and in his own visionary
asked David what he is up to next:
I am thinking maybe I might do a weird
western chapbook or book with French translations.
I am sure either choice will yield an excellent and highly original book well worth your time. Here
are some links David provided to learn more about him and his work:
A SIGNED COPY OF POINTER’S COLLECTION SUNDRENCHED
This is another terrific recent publication by David S. Pointer. Click on the Rafflecoptor Link Below to enter to win a signed copy! You can enter once a day by either following my blog or leaving a comment on this post.
Contest Ends May 31, 2014 at 11:59 PM
BACK OF BOOK BLURB:
David Pointer is nothing if not prolific. But it doesn’t
pay to just be a prolific writer. A good prolific writer, however, is a step
above the rest. Here we find the fortunes of David Scott Pointer. David’s work
appears in a plethora of publications and collections. He’s begun to receive
the accolades his work deserves. As a publisher, I’ve always felt fortunate to
have a poet such as David gracious enough to want to work with and share his
gifts. As a writer, he’s always been generous and humble about his work and
what he has to offer to the reading public. As a poet, he has offered us a body
of work rich as diverse and plentiful. His voice and style of writing has
grown, reaches vast topics and intricately and understandably weaves into a
seamless strand of poetic thought. Vibes of surrealism and post-beat rhythms in
a cadence of the genuine poetic beat, David’s work is also brave. He is the
only writer I’ve known to openly and eloquently address such current issues as
the Presidency, government and politics, the economy, and health and history.
The reality is captured in verse, an invaluable insight in the time of coward
academics, the underground raises up, offering to us another child of Apollo
granting insight and enlightenment through art and poetry.
Michael A. Casares, Virgogray Press