Reviews of Old and New Stories. Mostly Old

Review of “Mysterious Maisie” by Wirt Gerrare: Halloween Countdown

For October 19

Plot:

With her father recently deceased and her mother in failing health, seventeen-year-old Laura must earn a living. She is not (her sister Maggie writes) fit to be a teacher. Even if she were, hearing what Maggie has to say about her own post as an assistant mistress of a high school has put her off from that course.

She offers her services as a paid companion to a lady or an invalid. The agency fixes her up with one Miss Mure, a train trip from her home.

Laura calls the neighborhood “dingy.” Her first glance of her employer’s house is not anymore uplifting. The house “looked old and badly kept.” The garden in the front was shabby.

Laura’s first encounter with the maid Agnes adds a dimension of weirdness. Agnes keeps a pet four-foot-long crocodile. She warns Laura to stay out of the kitchen if she’s not around.

Agnes tells her tales of hauntings in the house. Laura doesn’t believe her and resents her attempts to scare her. Why the crocodile? Why doesn’t she keep a dog?

“They won’t stay,” Agnes tells her.

Someone comes into her room that night and doesn’t answer her call. She figures it’s Agnes, but for what reason?

Agnes tells her she’s been with Miss Mure for fourteen years. Their employer is a spiritualist.

She is an ogre, Laura decides when she meets her. She’s tall and heavy.

Laura’s primary duties consist of reading to Miss Mure, who has bad eyesight. What types of books are these? And the Latin ones? Laura can read Latin, but she understands very little.

Then there’s the night of the séance.

Thoughts:

The tale is told as a letter addressed to Dr. Horace Vesey, an occult investigator. His reply, if any, is not supplied here. Maggie has collected Laura’s journals and letters and sent them to Vesey, seeking to understand what happened to her sister.

The events build suspense, although the reader understands from the beginning that Laura is already in a bad way. The household grows increasingly weird and threatening often without explanation.

Laura’s journal refers to things so terrible she refuses to give details. A half-human “horror” arrives, which she never completely describes. Its keeper beats it.

With all the mysterious goings on—the footsteps, the doors opening and closing—Laura accepts that the house is haunted.

Laura suspects something more sinister is in the works. Her mail to her family is not being posted. She is not allowed out of the house. Men arrive and seem to drag a girl away—who is she? Where are they taking her? Agnes locked her in the room until the whole affair was over.

Why would she do that? What do these people have in mind for her? Agnes tells her she won’t escape but will soon be “an angel.”

When she brings this up to Ms. Mure, she’s told that she’s imagining everything. Is she going crazy? …maybe.

The story resembles Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s “Good Lady Ducayne”(but not its perfectly Pollyanna ending), published a year later.

The ending of the present story is neither as miserable nor as happy as it could be.

Bio: Wirt Gerrare (legal name: William Oliver Greener) (1862-1935) was a British gun expert, journalist, and author. He wrote fiction and nonfiction, including Rufin’s Legacy: A Theosophical Romance (1892), about a Russian spy who astral projects, and Phantasms: Original Stories Illustrating Posthumous Personality and Character (coll 1895) on the exploits of Horace Vesey, occult detective.

I could not find an online text version of this story.

I could not find an audio version of this story.

Title: “Mysterious Maisie”
Author: Wirt Gerrare (legal name: William Oliver Greener) (1862-1935)
First published: Phantasms, 1895
Length: novelette

Review of “The Mark of the Beast” by Rudyard Kipling: Halloween Countdown

For October 18

Plot:

It’s New Year’s Eve in India during the Raj. Strickland of the police; Fleete, newly arrived and unfamiliar with native customs; and the unnamed narrator are tying one on—especially Fleete. His family’s property is in the hinterlands, so he usually doesn’t come into town.

He ends up staggering home because his horse fled. Forget that stiff upper lip. Fleete is ‘faced to the point that Strickland and the narrator feel obligated to escort him home. They pass a temple where devotees are chanting a hymn to Hanuman, the monkey god. Before his companions can stop him, Fleete enters the temple and smashes his cigar ashes on the forehead of the red stone image of the god.

“Shee that?” Fleet asks the others. “Mark of the B-easht. Ishn’t it fine?”

The worshippers are shocked and angry. A figure, “white with leprosy,” hugs Fleete.

After that, the priests grow sober. One steps forward and tells Stickland in English, “Take your friend away. He has done with Hanuman, but Hanuman has not done with him.”

The Brits should realize something is really wrong when the horses in the stable panic at the same time Fleete stumbles in.

Thoughts:

The story is (surprise) imbued with colonialism and a cruelty that is hard to read. Fleete pays a price for his drunken desecration, but the narrator and Strickland pay a greater price to restore him—not because he’s a close friend, but because, by Jove, he’s an Englishman, and they can’t bear to see what he’s become. He keeps scaring the horses.

Strickland (the policeman) asks the narrator, “I’ve done enough to ensure my dismissal from the service, [um, to say the least] besides permanent quarters in a lunatic asylum. Do you believe we are awake?”

A twist at the end has everyone (except Fleete) wondering if they’re not a little nuts.

Nevertheless, this is an unpleasant tale about unpleasant people. I disliked it because of its violence, even if the details are more implied than described.

Bio: Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936) was an Indian-born British journalist, novelist, poet, and short-story writer. Among his best-known works are The Jungle Book, the poem “If,” and (sadly) “The White Man’s Burden.” He wrote some ghost and supernatural stories later in life, such as “The Phantom Coach.”

In 1907, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.

The loss of his only son in WWI deeply affected him. In his poem “Epitaphs of War,” he wrote, “If any question why we died, Tell them, because our fathers lied.”

The text can be read here:

The story can be listened to here:(31:06)

Title: “The Mark of the Beast”
Author: Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
First published: The Pioneer, July 12 + 14, 1890
Length: short story

Review of “The Listener” by Algernon Blackwood: Halloween Countdown

For October 17

Plot:

In a series of diary entries, the unnamed narrator tells the reader how he took new rooms in a less-then-affluent part of town. The lodgings lack “modern conveniences,” presumably running water and electricity.

He’s a writer with several irons in the fire, and—whaddya know—he’s poor. Not that he had to be. He’s isolated himself from a sister with a rich husband and friends who are better off than he.

Thus, the poor quarter. The quiet suits him, but he soon finds himself getting irritated easily, almost as if someone were whispering things in his ear. He slacks off on his regular exercise. People stare at him. The cats in the alley eye him.

During the first storm, he realizes how drafty his rooms are and huddles in a greatcoat by the fire while the winds dance through the apartment, almost as if they were beings.

On more than one morning, he wakes to find his clothes strewn about. The landlady—or her assistant—never put his things back where they belong.

He becomes convinced that another man, a former tenant in the building, is following him, listening to him, waiting for the chance to take over his body.

Thoughts:

This is an eerie tale, and the suspense builds nicely. The reader can see the poor main character going to pieces despite some moments of triumph. He sells an article to a magazine, which then invites him to write another. At times, especially when he gets his regular exercise, he feels better and displays optimism. These turns don’t last long, and it’s back to footsteps on the stairs and knocks on the door with no one there.

Underlying all this is the narrator’s knowledge of insanity in his family. Could he be going nuts?

When a well-to-do friend writes that he’s coming for a visit, the narrator expects the no-nonsense friend will tell him his dreams and fears are all poppycock. He’ll be fine—right?

Author Blackwood excels in building suspense. The diary form and the possible insanity of the narrator echo Guy de Maupassant’s “The Horla,” but the stories have little else in common.

The ending is, alas! not the story’s strong point. It resolves little. It’s almost like a cruel joke. Damnit, Algernon. You had me going there for a bit.

Bio: Algernon Blackwood (1869-1951) was a prolific British writer and broadcaster of mystery, horror, and supernatural tales. Before he turned to writing, he spent time in Canada and the US farming, running a hotel, and gold mining in Alaska. He also worked as a newspaper reporter in New York City. He wrote of this time in a memoir, Episodes Before Thirty (1923/1934).

Many of his writings are atmospheric, heavy with unknown or poorly understood menace, such as “The Willows.”

The story can be read here:

The story can be listened to here:(1:10:43)

Title: “The Listener”
Author: Algernon Blackwood (1869-1951)
First Published: The Listener and Other Stories, 1907

Review of “Kecksies” by Marjorie Bowen: Halloween Countdown

For October 16

Plot:

Two young gentlemen (so to speak) are returning from Canterbury quite drunk and obnoxious. The reader gets the impression they annoy even their horses with their attempts at singing.

They’ve miscalculated, however. A storm blows up. Nothing to worry about. Sir Edward Crediton is the local landowner, and one of his tenants will put them up whether they want to or not.

About the time the rain comes, they arrive at the cottage of elderly Goody Boyle and barge in, demanding shelter. Goody Boyle is not happy to see them, for she knows what kind of people her guests are but dare not refuse them because, as her landlord, Sir Edward could turn her out in a heartbeat—and he’s mean enough to do it.

While Crediton and his companion Sir Nicholas Bateup express their gratitude to Goody Boyle with terms like “trollop,” “curst witch,” and “ugly slut,” they learn that the two candles she has set out are for a recently deceased person.

He’s not a relative of their hostess but one Richard Horne, with whom Sir Edward has history. Horne pursued his wife, and he threw him out into the wilds.

Goody has to leave them to see about the burial and find his friends. Yes, he had friends.

“That is, gentles, if you care to remain alone with the body of Robert Horne.”

Yeah, yeah, no problem.

She leaves.

Ned gets an idea. Why should Robert have all the fun? Ned will lie under his sheet. When the mourners come in, he’ll sit up and scare the living daylights out of them. What a great prank.

Horne’s body? They pitch it into a patch of hemlock, or, as it’s known in these parts, kecksie.

Whatever could go wrong?

Thoughts:

This is a nice bit of gothic-ish horror, set in the 17th (?) century, with the open landscape and the storm coming up from nowhere. Sir Edward calls Goody Boyle a witch and says the devil’s “phiz” (face) has been seen through the windows of her cottage before they enter. Is she a witch? She warns the two young men abusing the hospitality of her home that Horne was a strange man.

“There was no parson or priest to take the edge off his going, or challenge the fiends who stood at his head and feet,” she says.

The men do not heed her warnings and pay a heavy price. There is some justice to that, even if the punishment far outweighs the crime. Innocents also pay, which only adds to the horror.

The story is an old-timey pulp tale. The author does not explain everything. Black magic, vengeance, and maybe even the devil are involved. What more does a reader need?

This is an enjoyable little tale, but I wouldn’t call it great.

Bio: Marjorie Bowen (legal name Gabrielle Margaret Vere Campbell Long) (1885-1952) was a prolific British author of horror, historical fiction, mystery, and crime fiction under various pseudonyms. After her father left the family, she turned to writing to help support her mother and sister (the Encyclopedia of Fantasy refers to them as “extravagant.”) and later her own children.

The story can be listened to here: (37:21)

The website also has the text.

Title: “Kecksies”
Author: Marjorie Bowen (legal name Gabrielle Margaret Vere Campbell Long) (1885-1952)
First published: Regent Magazine, January 1925

Review of “The Horla” by Guy de Maupassant: Halloween Countdown

For October 15

Plot:

The story is presented in a series of journal entries. Things start happily. The narrator appears wealthy enough to have servants and something of an estate.

He contemplates the invisible though our are senses too poor to perceive it: “we can see neither the inhabitants of a star nor of a drop of water; our ears deceive us, for they transmit to us the vibrations of the air in sonorous notes.”

The narrator feels a sense of dread that he cannot account for and has trouble sleeping. He consults his physician and sleeps slightly better, but odd, troubling—if trivial—events occur.

He notices water disappearing from a carafe in his room during the night. Who but he could be drinking it? He doesn’t recall doing so. Is he sleepwalking? He devises a series of tests. Even in his locked room, water and milk disappear.

The water and milk stop disappearing—but other weird things happen. His neighbors start having trouble. The servants accuse each other of losing items.

The narrator becomes convinced an invisible being is in the house, causing mischief. He doesn’t know why. Is he nuts? Is he hallucinating?

When he believes he has the being, the Horla, locked in a room, he sets fire to the house.

He could have warned the servants.

Thoughts:

So, is the narrator (call him Pierre) nuts? Has some entity snuck into his house to drink his milk and water? The latter doesn’t sound particularly likely.

Is it a pleasant story? Not particularly. The strength of Maupassant’s tale is that he can take prima facie humdrum incidents like disappearing water and milk, add a couple of unlikely events, and build a horror story that leaves the reader wondering whether Pierre is off his rocker or whether there really is some sort of evil life-force-sucking vampires wandering around. Maupassant skillfully builds the tension. The reader feels for poor Pierre but knows this can’t end well.

Maupassant suffered from migraines and, toward the end of his life, hallucinations (which he sometimes depicted in his writing) brought on by drug and alcohol use and syphilis. In general, he wrote without judgment or comment on his characters’ actions.

An earlier version of the story was published in 1886 under the title “Lettre d’un Fou” (“Letter from a Madman”) in a daily newspaper, Gil Blas. It was shorter, different in structure, and had a different (but no less depressing) ending. Several revisions followed over the next couple of years. The version usually read today appeared in 1887 in a short story collection and was translated into English in 1890.

According to Wikipedia, the 1963 movie Diary of a Madman is based on “The Horla.” Maupassant’s story is believed to have inspired (in part) H. P. Lovecraft’s story, “The Call of Cthulhu.”

Bio: Henry-René-Albert-Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) was a prolific French short story writer and novelist. He studied under Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880, Madame Bovary). While he’d published a few things in obscure journals, the work that made his reputation was “Boulle de Suif” (“Ball of Fat”) (1880). Another of his well-known stories is “La Parure” (“The Necklace”). After a suicide attempt, Maupassant was confined to an asylum, where he shortly died at the age of 43.

The story can be read here.

The story can be listened to here.

Title: “The Horla”
Author: Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893)
First published: (in French) 1887; English translation 1890

Review of “The Great God Pan” by Arthur Machen: Halloween Countdown

For October 14

Plot:

Dr. Raymond wants to show his friend Clarke his new method of seeing “beyond the veil.” The physical world as we know it is an illusion, but with a little bit of brain surgery, one can see reality, or as he claims the ancients referred to it, “seeing the god Pan.”

Because he can’t very well do brain surgery on himself, regardless of how brilliant a surgeon he is, he needs a volunteer. That volunteer is his adopted daughter, Mary.

“As you know,” Dr. Raymond tells Clarke, “I rescued Mary from the gutter, and from almost certain starvation, when she was a child. I think her life is mine, to use as I see fit.”

After demonstrating Mary’s verbal consent (like she’s going to say no?) to Clarke, Dr. Raymond chloroforms her and slices her scalp open to make “a slight lesion in the grey matter.”

When Mary wakes, she first wonders about something invisible to the men, and then terror fills her face. She collapses.

Days later, Dr. Raymond says what a pity it is but pronounces Mary “a hopeless idiot.”

Years pass, and a series of tragedies follow a woman named Helen V., who likes to walk in the woods alone. People around her seem to die of fright. Later, a string of men she keeps company with—wealthy men—die by suicide.

Thoughts:

Machen’s writings often deal with the mystic and the occult. Here, he uses the idea from the classical world that coming across the divine was terrifying. Poor Mary—whose name should resonate among those familiar with Christian ideas, I imagine—is at first awed by what she sees, then driven insane.

Dr. Raymond’s reaction is instructive—Shrug. Ah, geez. What a pity.

No grief, no regret, or even sympathy. Only toward the end of the book, after perhaps a dozen people have died horrible deaths because of what he’s done, does he take any responsibility. He made my skin crawl more than any of the “horror” elements of the story.

While Machen isn’t popular currently, he was enormously influential with many horror and weird fiction writers in the early and mid-20th century. His idea that the physical world conceals true reality, protecting humanity from it, is part of what inspired H. P. Lovecraft’s idea of cosmic horror. The idea that reality is a mask for a deeper reality grew from classical Neo-Platonism.

Dr. Raymond is a mad scientist, experimenting in places where he shouldn’t—and knows he shouldn’t—on a person whose humanity he had no right to disregard.

Yet, in the end, this is referred to as a mistake. The evil that follows the mistake is regarded by one and all (…men…) with horror and revulsion. I wouldn’t want the person committing the horrors over for dinner, to say the least. Nor would I want the doctor anywhere near my property.

As for recommending the story, I’m on the fence. It offers more sadness than horror, though there is plenty of horror. And more than a dash of misogyny. So—caveat lector.

Bio: Arthur Machen was the pen name of Arthur Llewellyn Jones (1863-1947). Machen, the son of a clergyman, was a Welsh translator, actor, and author. Among his best-known works are “The White People” and “The Three Imposters.” “The Great God Pan” was his first major success. His 1914 short story, “The Bowmen,” gave rise to the Angel of Mons urban legend.

The story can be read here:

The story can be listened to here (2:05:07)

Title: “The Great God Pan”
Author: Arthur Machen (legal name Arthur Llewellyn Jones) (1863-1947)
First published: 1894
Length: novella

Review of “The Gorgon” by Clark Ashton Smith: Halloween Countdown

For October 13

Plot:

Traveling after the death of the only woman he loved, the grieving main character in this short tale comes across an odd character in the crowded streets of London. The old man reminds him of Charon, ferrying souls to the Underworld.

The modern-day Charon locks eyes with him. “I can see that you have a taste for horror,” he says and offers to show him the head of Medusa.

How does he know the old man has the real Medusa’s head? (The real head of a mythological creature? Yeah, you can’t be too careful there.) What’s it doing in London? And isn’t there a problem inherent with looking at Medusa’s head?

“Charon” promises he can view it in a mirror, so no worries about the being turned into stone thing.

And his questions about time and place? Well, that shows how little he knows about how time and space work.

“It is inexplicable to me that I should have accepted his invitation,” the narrator tells the reader, “…and I could no more have refused his offer than a dead man could have refused the conveyance of Charon to the realms of Hades.”

Against his better judgment, the young man follows “Charon” through twists and turns, away from the crowded streets into deserted areas.

Once they arrive, the narrator notices several peculiar things about the house, but none as odd as the realistic life-size statues of black marble.

Wait a minute. Ya don’t suppose?—Naaah.

Thoughts:

Like everything of Smith’s I’ve read, this story is full of lush and, at times, lurid imagery. The main character is inevitably drawn to something repulsive and mortally dangerous, yet he cannot—and does not wish to—resist.

While it may strike readers in 2024 as over-the-top in its sensationalism, this is a fun little tale. The main character bites off more than he can chew, but we know he survived to narrate the whole affair: “I have no reason to expect that anyone will believe my story,” he begins.

I liked this, even if it’s not for everyone. It is Poe-ish in tone and outlook.

Bio: Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961) was primarily a poet but is now best known for his weird fiction, much of which was published in Weird Tales. His prose tends to be extravagant. His protagonists are often drawn, against their better judgment, toward some dangerous or forbidden object. He also painted and translated works.

The story can be listened to here: (38:51)

The text is included on the podcast page.

Title: “The Gorgon”
Author: Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961)
First published: Weird Tales, April 1932

Review of “The Fall of the House of Usher” by Edgar Allen Poe: Halloween Countdown

For October 12

Plot:

The unnamed narrator arrives at the home of a childhood friend, Roderick Usher, after receiving a letter requesting that he come and cheer the friend up. Usher is not well and appears anxious and depressed.

The narrator’s first glance of the house is dispiriting. It is old and covered with moss yet appears stable despite its air of decay. He halts his horse by a still “tarn” (lake) and contemplates the reflection of the house. When he looks up, he notices what appears to be a crack in the masonry of the house, running from the roof to the lake.

Nah. Just his morbid imagination.

On his way in, he passes the family physician, who “wore a mingled expression of low cunning and perplexity.”

Roderick greets him warmly and explains that his affliction involves overstimulation of the senses: he can stand only the dimmest light, the blandest food, and particular garments. The only music he can bear to listen to is from stringed instruments.

Adding to this is the sorrow over the illness of his sister, Madeline, who is not long for this world. Among her ailments, she suffers from catalepsy. (An actual medical condition ) but sometimes used in 19th-century literature as an affliction that mimics death.

Over the next few days, Roderick and the narrator read and paint together. Roderick plays dirges on his guitar. They do not speak of Madeline, nor does she appear again.

The day comes when Roderick tells the narrator Madeline has died. Together, they lay her body in the family vault underneath the house for two weeks before final internment to keep her safe from “certain obtrusive and eager inquiries on the part of her medical men.”

And then Roderick loses his mind.

Thoughts:

This piece is a heavy and atmospheric gothic work, lending the reader the idea that house and occupant are one. (Makes you want to go clean out the attic, doesn’t it?) As much as he would like to help, the narrator can do little to stop the oncoming tragedies despite realizing they’re some self-fulfilling prophesies. He refers to Roderick as a “hypochondriac” more than once.

Some commentators say that Poe implies an incestuous relationship between Roderick and Madeline. They were twins and close, but to say they had sex adds only unnecessary salaciousness to the story, IMseldomHO.

Roderick believes himself and his sister, the last remnants of the family, are doomed. He does nothing to resist that doom. It’s as if he’s saying, “Yeah, might as well play guitar, paint, and write depressing poetry until I die.”

This story has been adapted for film going back to silent movies.

This is not one of my favorite Poe stories; it is so heavy, and the beginning tells you the end. On the other hand, when I read it as a kid many years ago, I found it a page-turner, wondering what would happen to poor Madeline and Roderick. Would the narrator escape?

Bio: Edgar Allen Poe (1809-1849) was the son of two actors. After his father deserted the family and his mother died of tuberculosis, two-year-old Edgar was taken in by the wealthy Allan family. He briefly studied at the University of Virginia and West Point. His most well-known works include “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Black Cat,” and “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” The last is sometimes cited as the first detective story. The work that made him a household name in his day was the poem “The Raven.”

The circumstances of his death are still unclear. He was found in a tavern, appearing drunk, wearing someone else’s clothes, and died some days later in Washington University Hospital. According to the Poe Museum, twenty-six different theories regarding the cause of his demise have been published.

The story can be read here:

The story can be listened to here: (55:41)

Title: “The Fall of the House of Usher”
Author: Edgar Allen Poe (1809-1849)
First published: Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine, September 1839

Review of “The Face” by E. F. Benson: Halloween Countdown

For October 11

Plot:

Hester Ward is a happily married mother of two small children. Still young, she’s good-looking (and aware of it), healthy, and prosperous. Yet after a dream like those she had when she was younger, she senses catastrophe approaching. She sees no point in telling her husband, Dick, about anything so silly.

They go out for dinner and, after a lovely evening, return about midnight. Hester falls asleep instantly. Dick sleeps in her dressing room, which opens onto her bedroom, leaving the door open for air because of the heat.

In her nightmare, Hester stands on a seashore, looking up at a church on a cliffside. The waves have worn away the earth under the church. Masonry and gravestones line the cliff bottom.

She has been here many times before, and although she tries to flee, she cannot. A pale oval light, the size of a man’s head, approaches her. It resolves into a face. Hester sees thin red hair. The lips form a cruel smile. “I shall soon come for you now,” a voice says.

Hester wakes up screaming.

At her husband’s insistence, Hester consults a doctor. The doctor finds her healthy and attributes her dreams to the unseasonable weather. He suggests a trip alone away from London to some quiet place she’s never been, where she’ll sleep better.

Thoughts:

This story is moody and atmospheric. Even by 1920s standards, Hester is not a hysterical woman. She tries to distract herself from her nightmares. They’re only dreams, and dreams don’t mean anything, right?

One thing I found interesting was a description that sounds a lot like sleep paralysis:

“…she tried to run away. But the catalepsy of nightmare was already on her; frantically, she strove to move, but her utmost endeavour could not raise a foot from the sand. Frantically, she tried to look away from the sand-cliffs close in front of her…”

The bad guy seems to have no connection to Hester. Why would he want to harm her in such a predatory way? Why single her out? Granted, it makes for irony that the place she goes away to for relief puts her in danger from the bad’un. Yet, the question remains—why her? Evil bad guy could have picked on a lot of people. IMseldomHO, this makes for a weakness in the story.

Nevertheless, overall, I liked this tale. The reader cares about Hester. She does her best in a world that doesn’t make sense. The few glimpses the reader gets of Hester and Dick’s married life show one of happiness. It would be nice to see them living happily ever after and playing with grandchildren.

Bio: E. F. (Edward Frederick) Benson (1867-1940) was a British author best known in his lifetime for his 1893 novel Dodo, satirizing British suffragist Ethel Smyth and his Mapp and Lucia series, which poked fun at the British upper middle class. These have been adapted for TV. In the 80s, British author Tom Holt wrote a couple of sequels. Benson is probably best known today for his short supernatural fiction.

The story can be read here:

The story can be listened to here: (36:10)

Title: “The Face”
Author: E. F. (Edward Frederick) Benson (1867-1940)
First published: Hutchinson’s Magazine, February 1924

Review of “The Death of Halpin Frayser” by Ambrose Bierce: Halloween Countdown

For October 10

Plot:

Halpin Frayser has been living rough, sleeping in the forest around Napa in California. After waking from a dreamless sleep one morning, he mutters, “Catherine LaRue.” The reader receives no further explanation.

Things haven’t always been so unfortunate for Halpin. He was raised in the South by an indulgent mother and a father who was often away, building a political career. Mother and son grow close, sharing a love of the (bad) poetry of a colonial ancestor.

When Halpin tells his mother of his desire to go to California for a couple of weeks, she tells him that the poet-ancestor came to her in a dream to warn her of Halpin’s death by strangulation.

Before anyone can strangle him in California, someone presses Halpin into the Navy. Only years later can he return to San Francisco. There, he finds himself friendless, but he’s too proud to take help from strangers, which leads to his sleeping in the wild and hunting for dinner.

He sleeps again, but this time he dreams. The woods he walks through have grown sinister. The trees drip blood. He feels rather than sees things watching him. Lastly, he comes upon his mother. Unlike the usual ghost, which is a soul without a body, she is a body without a soul. She doesn’t speak to him, but Halpin realizes she hates him. She clutches his throat.

Thus, the narrator tells the reader, Halpin dies in his dream.

Thoughts:

This is a sad, confusing little story with—as I saw it—no single correct interpretation. Who killed Halpin? And why? He was an unfortunate. Did he deserve such a fate? Perhaps he committed a sin not mentioned in the narrative, and this was payback? The story provides no clear answer.

Is his mother’s warning dream real or a masterstroke of passive-aggressiveness? Again, I could make an argument either way.

As with many of Bierce’s writings, things are not what they seem, and a twist appears at the end. Halpin is a spoiled rich boy out in the cruel world, but the world is cruel in unexpected ways. He tries to maintain the appearance of honorability after he returns from his time at sea.

Lush, if disturbing, imagery fills Halpin’s dreams in the forest. The depiction of the relationship between Halpin and his mother has the trappings of being sweet, but the reader gets the feeling of something a little off kilter. Like most of Bierce’s tales, this is a downer.

This is a story to admire for its craft, that is, for Bierce’s way of communicating more than the narration says. It’s a little hard to enjoy as a rippin’ good yarn.

Bio: Ambrose Bierce (1842- disappeared 1914) was an American journalist, writer, and Civil War veteran. Among his best-known works are “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge”—familiar to high school students in the U.S.—and The Devil’s Dictionary, a collection of sardonic definitions of common words. He also wrote a memoir, What I Saw at Shiloh, an unsentimental (at least) account of that battle.

There has been much speculation about his death. He is said to have gone to join the forces of Pancho Villa to observe the Mexican Revolution and disappeared, but a small ocean of ink has been spilled about hows, wheres, and whens.

The story can be read here:

The story can be listened to here: (38:40)

Title: “The Death of Halpin Frayser”
Author: Ambrose Bierce (1842-c. 1914)
First published: The Wave, December 19, 1891