When 23-year-old Vladimir Radu posted a video on social media outing himself as a gay vampire he didn’t know what to expect. 

Initially, he just wanted to tell his story and leave it at that. The video was simply a quick hello to the planet, he explained. “I didn’t do it to expose other vampires. I did it to expose myself. All I wanted was to be me, and I couldn’t do that living in the shadows.”

But you can’t go around saying you’re a vampire—a gay vampire!—and not expect some kind of unwanted attention. For example, days after his video went viral, Vlad became a celebrity to a clutch of vampire cosplayers who followed him around in their capes, frilly shirts and ugly polyester corsets. 

More dire, however, Vlad found himself in the crosshairs of Master Sven, the most notorious occultist in human history. Even to vampires, Sven was a nasty dude. He was in league with a host of hoary demons and was the champion of resurrecting long-forgotten forms of magic. He even created the modern-day porn industry, so you know he was a bad mammy jammy.

Sven’s nefarious plan (I think) was to assimilate vampires into mainstream society and create a master race of monsters. But Vlad, with his confessional video, ruined all of that.

Vlad openly rejected his family’s undead legacy. He represented a new generation of non-binary vampires who didn’t want to drink human blood. With his new-found infamy, he had unwittingly become an avatar for change. 

Like Coming Out of the Closet, the previous novel by author D.A. Holmes (read my review here), Bottoms and Bloodsuckers was a breezy LGBTQIA+ coming-of-age story that fiddled around with horror tropes for laughs. 

Without a doubt Holmes’s book was funny, but he didn’t shy away from shocking the reader when the opportunity presented itself. The late-night fight at Denny’s pitting Vlad and his friends against a gang of occultists was ghastly. And visits to stately Radu manor were also quite spine-tingling. The image of Maria Radu sensually feasting on a corpse haunts me still. 

All of the carnage at Denny’s was mainly due to Vlad’s new servant and companion (i.e. familiar). Charlie Rockwell was a shaggy-haired, stoner popinjay who was tasked with protecting Vlad from harm. He was a lovable sidekick with an overly enthusiastic Jack the Ripper streak. Vlad wanted no part in vampire traditions, but he quickly realized that a familiar like Charlie could be useful in certain situations. 

Other significant characters are introduced in Bottoms and Bloodsuckers—in particular Daniel Mai and Jenny, a waitress working the nightshift at Denny’s. And, of course, everybody’s favorite goth girl Alison Grady returns to help her friend “Count Popular” navigate the tangled line between monster and man cub.  

[ Bottoms and Bloodsuckers / By D.A. Holmes / First Printing: May 2024 / ISBN: 9798322523369 ]

As advertised, there are two creature feature short stories included in this slim edition. It is, I believe, the first volume in a continuing series of retro pulp monster pocketbooks from authors James Sabata and Vincent V. Cava. 

Mostly, I feel Sabata and Cava are on the right track with their new project. Both of their efforts are suitably monsterific and raunchy, and I look forward to future volumes to come. 

But to be totally honest, I’ve got to say that the first story in Midnight Monster Madness stumbles out of the gate. “Hair of the Dog” is a facile tale of drug use and relapsed addiction with a familiar monkey/dog metaphor. It’s a little bit funny and weird, but it’s a throwaway effort nonetheless. Note to the author, next time try to remember Kurt Vonnegut’s number one rule for writers: don’t waste the time of strangers. 

Much better is “The Thing in the Sink.” It’s a story that begins with a sink full of dirty dishes—“A miniature city made of mucky dinnerware,” explains the author. “A bustling filthtopia.”

At some point, Neal (our hero?) notices something is living in the drainpipe of his kitchen sink. Beneath the cereal bowls and encrusted dinner plates he discovers a hungry eldritch monster born from rotten food, humidity and “whatever-the-hell-else.”

It was a hideous blob of orange goop with green fur and yellow spots. Its body pulsated rhythmically, rising and falling in a hypnotic fashion. The thing’s mouth was a round suction cup with multiple rows of jagged teeth. Inside the creature’s mouth was a pink protrusion shaped like a shiv. It would use this deadly body part to puncture your skull and squeeze the life juices out of your body like a tube of toothpaste. 

After a few moments of indecision, Neal decides what to do with the “sentient mound of sink scum.” He will provide food (like turkey sandwiches and other meaty items) for the monster to consume. And, later, he will contact whatever department of the FBI handles man-eating mold monsters. 

Neal’s plan sorta works. He successfully cleans up his kitchen mess and gets rid of his thoughtless roommates, but he pays a deadly price for his Little Shop of Horrors escapade. The last sentence of the story makes it clear that the sink monster is not going away anytime soon. 

[ Midnight Monster Madness, Book One: “Hair of the Dog” and “The Thing in the Sink” / By James Sabata and Vincent V. Cava / First Printing: April 2024 / ISBN: 9798884560352 ]

Like all great giant monster stories, the latest novel by Edward J. McFadden III begins with a big bang and ends with a big question mark. It’s a terrific book in many ways.  

But between the book’s prologue and coda, the author sidesteps numerous opportunities to escalate his post-apocalyptic narrative to an insane Mad Max level. That’s too bad.  

Here’s how it all starts: An explosion at a bio lab turns Staten Island into a war zone pitting local citizens against colossal mutant crickets. Over night, the “Crics” morph into Godzilla-size insects with ravenous appetites. Needless to say, it’s a dire situation with little-or-no chance for survival. 

Within hours, Long Island falls into total disarray with emergency services stretched to the breaking point. Everyone is afraid the Crics will spread to other New York City boroughs and they want the government to drop a Black Flag insecticide bomb on the area. Instead, officials quickly lock down the island—no one allowed in or out. 

McFadden’s story follows newlyweds Scott and Jenni Ward as they struggle to survive and escape the dangerous quarantined zone. During their journey, the pair encounter a riot of monsters and crazy survivalists. 

At this point, I wanted Crics to succumb to its doomsday genre—a genre that I love dearly. Did I get what I wanted? Yes, but not exactly. 

Scott’s first encounter in the cricket wasteland is with a neighborhood vigilante carrying an AR-15 and dressed in a motorcycle jacket, gloves, crash helmet and hip waders. The lone “bug soldier” doesn’t stick around very long because the Crics descend on him like ants on a fallen lollipop. 

Next, Bill the Bugman appears in his super tight apocalypse van. I was hoping that Bill would be a Road Warrior-like marauder—like the nutjob with the red mohawk in Mad Max 2. But in a twist, the Bugman turns out to be a decent guy trying his best to save his family and his neighborhood. 

Before the final showdown with the Godzilla-Cric queen (which is awesome btw), Scott, Jenni and the Bugman’s crew tangle with a New Barbarians-like motorcycle gang and a desperate horde of suburban outlaws. Naturally, casualties pile up quickly. 

Throughout the novel, McFadden dutifully touches upon issues of morality, civility, privilege and groupthink. Good on him. But honestly I would have preferred a gonzo version of Lord of the Flies with monsters, grotesque anti-heroes and a dollop of bizarro fiction absurdity. 

Like I said earlier, Crics ends with a big question mark: do the giant crickets make it off Staten Island? If they do, I’m hoping the sequel will feature a freaky phalanx of Mad Max road warriors trying their best to make sense of their new post-apocalyptic world.

[ Crics / By Edward J. McFadden III / First Printing: April 2024 / ISBN: 9781923165127 ]

Rome was an extraordinary place back in 1960. Economic prosperity culminating in the Dolce Vita era, Italian haute couture up and down the runway, the summer Olympics, the dawn of giallo cinema, Gina Lollobrigida, Sophia Loren, Claudia Cardinale and all the other iconic actresses. And more than anything else, there were dinosaurs from outer space. 

The Saurians arrived en masse five years earlier and quasi-colonized the planet. Explained author James W. Evans: “There were approximately 12 million Saurians on the planet now, along with a mothership the size of Sicily in high orbit, and a fleet of smaller saucers busy across the solar system.”

Saurian Empire technology changed the world completely. It introduced clean and limitless energy, flying cars and high-speed transit. Together, the dinos and humans successfully colonized the moon and began terraforming Mars.  

Most of the Saurian’s looked like anchisaurs, small and obscure dinosaurs from the early Jurassic period. But there were other dinosaurs in the mix as well—the allosaurus, for example. 

These allosaurs were second-class citizens used mainly for soldiers, scouts and slave labor. As a group, they were compliant and disposable. 

One allosaur named Rover was different, however. Because of chemicals or radiation (or just evolution), Rover had somehow become a sentient being. His work during WWII (including twisting Adolf Hitler’s head from his body) had earned him a lot of goodwill with the U.S. Government. 

During the day, Rover was a private investigator working cases involving marital infidelity and domestic abuse. But at night he strapped on a katana and a backpack filled with Batman-like gadgets and transformed himself into an ultra-violent vigilante named the Crimson Executioner. 

Inspired by the Dark Knight in New York and the Shadow from Los Angeles, the Crimson Executioner protected the working-class people of Rome from bandits, bagmen and bullies. By writing his nom de plume on walls using the blood from his victims, Rover’s nightly adventures blurred the line between giallo cinema and superhero comic books. I liked it very much. 

Beyond the solo adventures of the Crimson Executioner, Rover and his human sidekick Robert Levin were recruited by the Rome Police Department to help solve a gaggle of murder mysteries featuring beautiful (and bored) ambassador wives along with various coed libertines. 

Everything quickly becomes a jumble of clues and Rover and Levin don’t know what to think. The killer is either a maniac, a mobster, the member of a post-war Fascist motorcycle gang, a Russian hitman or the entire U.S. Government. 

At some point, the author has to step in and clean up the mess. The Crimson Executioner was pleased with the resolution and anxious to get started on his next adventure. Said the author in conclusion: “The allosaur smiled a terrifying smile that promised nothing but hell.”

[ Giallosaurus / By James W Evans / First Printing: March 2024 / ISBN: 9798321510810 ]

In 1924, British captains of industry partnered with political opportunists to begin construction of a shipping port on the Indonesian island of Java. Once completed, they hoped the port would facilitate a major trade route between England and the Orient. 

But even 100 years ago environmentalists were concerned about greedy profiteers raping indigenous flora and fauna for their own agenda. To make sure the construction on Java didn’t negatively impact the ecosystem of the island and its people, a naturalist by the name of Ernest Bartels was dispatched to oversee the situation. The poor academic had no idea what kind of mess he was getting himself into. 

Today Java is a popular destination site for tourists hoping to enjoy the island’s culture, scenery and beaches. (Personally, I’d like to see the magnificent Borobudur temple in person one day.) But 100 years ago it was a remote native paradise with inclement weather. In fact, author Gary R. Brand Jr. constantly reminds readers just how hot and humid it is on the tropical island day and night. 

It was also the home to the Ahool, a legendary regional monster that didn’t like the ongoing construction encroaching on its habitat. At night, the Ahool was sabotaging the project and viciously killing anyone in the vicinity. 

When Professor Bartels first learned about the Ahool, he wanted to hop on the next ship back to England. “I was only sent here to observe the wildlife,” he cried, “not fight monsters!”

Over the years, rumors of the Ahool were shrouded in mystery and hearsay. Was it a giant owl, like some people claimed? Or a giant bat? Maybe it was a surviving pterosaur? To confuse matters further, all countries had their own singular version of the colossal winged cryptid—the Kongamato, the Fangalabolo and the Guiafairo for example. 

The mystery was finally solved when Bartels and his beautiful Indonesian female guide confronted the Ahool in the Java jungle. “The creature’s face was unmistakable, with features of a chimpanzee and a bat. Its skin was dark and red. Long claws protruded from its arms and gray fur covered its entire body. Taller than most adult humans, its wingspan was wider across than three men.”

Everything culminates in a big explosive showdown between the monstrous bat-thing and the construction team militia. Although the Ahool puts up a tremendous fight, the shipping port is ultimately completed—“a testament to British advancement,” said the author. 

[ Cry of the Ahool / By Gary R. Brand Jr. / First Printing: March 2024 / ISBN: 9798851583681 ]

Back in 1859, Frankenstein’s monster had a brilliant plan to solve America’s slavery problem. By creating a race of zombie creatures absent of freewill—and therefore constitutionally compliant—he could successfully nip the U.S. Civil War in the bud (click here for more information). 

When you think about it, zombies would be helpful in a variety of jobs. For example, they’d be great data entry workers, assembly line operators, post office employees and animation inbetweeners.

As seen in a new anthology titled Dead Detective Society, zombies would also be great private investigators. They’re relentless and they’ve got a never-say-die attitude. “As a zombie detective,” said Dan Chambeaux, the hero of Kevin J. Anderson’s story “Mystery Meat,” “I am good at aimlessly shambling.”

Admittedly, not all of the detectives in this collection were zombies, but everybody was certifiably unliving. They were all “supernatural investigators operating on the fringes of society, lurking in the shadows, working strange cases with little reward. They were hardboiled zombies and ghosts, mythological creatures and ass-kicking vampires … whose normal was the bizarre and weird.” 

All of the characters shared the same origin story as well. More than a dozen years ago, a cosmic event shifted the world and rewrote the natural laws of science, magic and superstition. As a result, an assortment of undead P.I.s were solving mysteries wrapped inside mysteries. None more so than the protagonist in “The World Is a Secret” by Lisa Morton. 

“I was a patchwork person,” observed an individual with no memory to explain their odd appearance. Naturally, he/she had a lot of questions about their countenance and bigender condition. “Who was I really,” they wanted to know. And: “Was I more or less than the sum of my parts?” Those were hard questions to answer and the mystery-within-a-mystery led directly to an awkward (and sad) climax.

Sometimes the mysteries remained mysteries. That was certainly the case in David Avallone’s story “Nick Carter: Recalled to Life.” Carter was the world’s preeminent detective during the late 19th century. Killed by his archenemy in 1944, he somehow resumed his career twenty years later. 

As a reader, you’ll probably want to know how he got from Gilded Age to Space Age. Nick Carter, on the other hand, wasn’t curious at all. “He was afraid to find out what unholy combo platter of Dr. Frankenstein, Dr. Moreau, Baron Samedi and/or Anubis had been involved,” explained the author.  

As much as I enjoyed this anthology, I have to admit that some of the stories were more half-baked than hardboiled. The aforementioned Nick Carter story, in particular, seemed like a prelude rather than a full-bodied effort. 

But overall, I’d say the debut volume of Dead Detective Society was a winning knockout. There were plenty of mysteries that needed to be solved and plenty of devils and goblins in need of aid. Zombie detectives wanted to be helpful. Just because they were monsters didn’t mean they had to act like it. 

[ Dead Detective Society / Edited by James Aquilone / First Printing: March 2024 / ISBN: 9781946346216 ]

Monsters don’t care if you believe in them or not, said a local rummy. “You gotta put your faith in something, even if you can’t see it. Believe me, the Nietzsche Anathema is fucking real.”

Nietzsche Anathema was a fancy name for a monster supposedly living in the local man-made lake. According to a dusty old book about Maine folklore, the creature was tall like Bigfoot. Plus: it’s hands were webbed and its eyes were as black and cold as a shark.

Frankly, it all sounded like a bizarre horror-science fiction mashup. No one literally believed in the far-fetched tales of monsters and deformed fish with missing eyes and a taste for the flesh of children. 

The scariest thing in the forest was actually Francis Owens, a Vietnam War veteran with post-traumatic stress disorder. He was the caretaker for Owens Lake and he roamed the area with ill-intent. Francis was a madman—not the creature from the Augusta lagoon—but he knowingly manipulated the Nietzsche Anathema legend for his own benefit. 

Author Glenn Rolfe begins his novelette with the murder of Francis Owens’ brother. The death eventually attracts the attention of a detective named Bruce Maddox and includes a confluence of characters including Quincy, a truant who enjoyed hanging out in the woods, and a runaway orphan from New Hampshire named Leilani. 

After all these years in seclusion, the Nietzsche Anathema finally comes out of hiding. It couldn’t resist all the sudden commotion in the forrest. Here’s how the author describes first contact with the monster: “Even hunched over, it looked to be at least seven feet tall. Its slender torso was slightly twisted and covered in thick, black scales. The long legs ended in flippers. Its hands were webbed and its head was dark with wet clumps of hair hanging like seaweed braids from its scalp. The face featured a half-formed human nose that gave way to an awful teardrop-shaped orifice.”

It was the “teardrop-shaped orifice” that made the creature uniquely creepy and deadly. It would latch onto your mouth and fill your body with lake sludge and unknown toxins. One victim “felt as though someone were violently attempting to crack the front of his skull open with Thor’s mighty hammer.”

It Came From the Lake ends like all great creature feature stories, id est the author makes sure to leave the door open for a sequel. To quote the monster’s namesake Friedrich Nietzsche: “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”

[ It Came From the Lake / By Glenn Rolfe / First Printing: January 2024 / ISBN: 9798876518064 ]

Editor Jim Beard wants readers to know something about his new short story collection titled Knocks and Howls. “This book isn’t about Bigfoot,” he writes in the introduction. “It’s about the idea of Bigfoot.”

Oh sure, you’ll find one or two rampaging apemen in this volume, but Beard is true to his word: his anthology takes Bigfoot to the nth degree. Each writer tackles the legend of Bigfoot as it intersects with the real world. 

The first story expresses this theme with a bit of poetry. “Regions of Fancy” by Josh Reynolds features a conversation between Daniel Boone and John Audubon back in 1810. The two folk heroes chat amicably until Boone makes a startling admission. He tells Audubon that he had a fatal confrontation with Bigfoot in the woods of Kentucky. And more startling, he still carried the beast’s skull in his rucksack. 

Taking a look at the skull, Audubon notices right away that it did not lack for ferocity. “It was a thing of utter strangeness that set the world off its axis,” he later wrote in his journal. “I could feel the weight of an inhuman tread in my mind. What thing was this, that the Creator had set loose upon the land?”

Similarly, two stoner kids take a trip through the woods to find God in Christopher Ryan’s story “Legacy.” What they find instead is Bigfoot tripping on mushrooms and experiencing his own intimate religious enlightenment. 

“Legacy” is unabashedly a stoner buddy adventure similar to Cheech and Chong’s Up in Smoke and Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. It’s funny, I admit, but it’s not the wackiest thing in this collection. That honor goes to “Suicide Squatch” by Eric M. Esquivel. 

Esquivel’s story is about a suicidal sad sack named Richard Franzblau. His intention is to kill himself amid the majestic splendor of Washington’s Gifford Pinchot National Forest. 

Richard’s plans go pear-shaped, however, when he comes face-to-face with a hostile nine-foot-tall Bigfoot. He’s not afraid to die, but he doesn’t want to be torn limb from limb by a cryptid monster. Immediately, his survival instincts kick in. 

Richard somehow survives his tussle with Bigfoot but he’s thrown in jail for unauthorized first-contact with a non-human intelligence. Because of his unique experience, he’s then recruited by an organization called C.L.I.C.K. (short for Cryptid Location, Intervention, Capturing and Killing) and immediately dispatched to Colorado, to negotiate peace talks between warring Sasquatch tribes. 

Another comedic tale is “Like and Subscribe” by Mary Fan. Three video podcasters travel to the Pine Barrens of New Jersey to confirm the existence of Bigfoot. After a series of stunts and petty bickering, the rivals reach an amicable truce. Fan’s characters are sweet and adorable and I encourage her to revisit her story and expand it into a novel-length adventure. 

The final story in Knocks and Howls is by editor Beard himself. It is literally “The Last Bigfoot Story.” Acting as good neighbors, an alien race comes to Earth to solve all of mankind’s ills—cancer, dementia, Covid-19 and all the rest.

Unfortunately, these aliens are excessively logical and cannot abide by anything enigmatic. There’s no place for religions, myths and folktales … and that spells doom for the legend of Bigfoot. 

[ Knocks and Howls / Edited by Jim Beard / First Printing: February 2024 / ISBN: 9798878739085 ]

In each of her three Horror Earth novels, author Loretta Kendall allows her heroines to introduce themselves to the reader. First there was Gigi Stein, the former bride of Frank N. Stein. Next was Cleo, the daughter of an ancient pharaoh. And now we have Izzabel “Izzy” Brimstone, a burlesque dancer at the Cursed Cabaret. 

In the past, as a supporting character, Izzy was mainly used for comic relief. Now in her own book, we see a different side to her. She was a naughty devil girl from Terror Town who loved glitter and sparkle, said the author. “She didn’t exactly fit in with the gore hounds and slasher movie types. She was a freak amongst her own kind.”

She was also hotter than hell and twice as spicy. As a succubus, however, she was a dangerous sexual partner. “She’s a temptress,” admitted the owner of the cabaret, “but I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of her blowjobs. She might suck your soul out through your cock.”

For Izzy, humor and sex were used as a shield to protect herself. Privately, she was a vulnerable young sprite. Growing up, she had a rough childhood and an emotional unavailable father. Even though she was viewed as simply a happy-go-lucky party girl, she was actually a very lonely blue devil. All she wanted was a warm hug from her daddy—and a sexy boyfriend wouldn’t be so bad either. 

Her wish for a hot boo was granted the day Remington “Remi” Kane began working at the Cursed Cabaret as a bartender. The two had an immediate attraction to each other, but they were bound by complications beyond their control. Izzy couldn’t escape her soul-sucking habit and Remi was a nuclear enhanced hybrid creature. The two of them together were a ticking time bomb. 

As it turned out, the pair’s relationship problems were the direct result of Tobias Brimstone, Izzy’s estranged father. As the owner of Terror Town’s largest pharmaceutical company, Tobias experimented on Remi like a lab rat. For two years he amplified Remi’s radiation illness and combined it with monster DNA. The results turned the bartender into a translucent skeleton man. His condition was almost horror movie quality, said the author. 

Initially, Tobias seemed like the cruelest demon on Horror Earth. He was a rich autocrat with a black heart and, frankly, Izzy was lucky to be rid of him. But I have to admit, he turned out to be the most nuanced villain in Loretta Kendall’s ongoing Ghouls and Gals series. In comparison, Frank N. Stein was a brute and Papa Imhotep was just a manipulative jerk.

Tobias, on the other hand, still loved his daughter deeply and regretted his wayward science experiments. He was one of the most fearsome dark demons around but he was actually a big softie. Fans of Teen Titans Go! will immediately recognize a similar father/daughter dynamic between Raven and her father Trigon. 

In a funny show-not-tell moment late in the novel, Tobias crashes his daughter’s New Year’s Eve party. He comes through the door blowing smoke and fire, but his performance is undercut by a bountiful buffet of yummy cookies. At that moment, both Izzy and Remi knew that they would live happily ever after.  

[ Izzy’s Cursed Cabaret / By Loretta Kendall / First Printing: February 2024 / ISBN: 9798880386949 ]

Consumer alert: There’s a dynamic image of two daikaiju beasts on the cover of this new horror anthology. Be forewarned, however. There are no corresponding stories of Godzilla-like monsters included in the volume. That’s too bad. 

But in all other ways, The Horror Collection: Monster Edition includes a terrific sampling of all sorts of monstrous creatures—spiders, more spiders, water nymphs, shapechangers, more shapechangers, asynjur, aliens from outer space, mummies, bogeymen, giant gila monsters and sneaky demons. 

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde even show up in a story by Mark Young called “Beneath the Lunar Light.” A man named Blakeman who is suffering from a monthly shapeshifting curse travels to London to consult with Henry Jekyll about his affliction. The collegial conversation ends abruptly when Edward Hyde shows up and reveals his dastardly plan to Blakeman. “My intention is to create a world ruled by monsters,” he says. “Using the blood of you and I, we will be agents of chaos and disorder!”

Will Hyde succeed in his mad plan? Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, I’m all for it. Another story that speculates on “a world ruled by monsters” is “Gone Witness” by Chris Panatier. The only difference is this: the author’s “extinction logic” is more cruel and apocalyptic than anything Mr. Hyde could ever hope to execute. 

The closest thing to a kaiju story in this collection is “Salvia Sunset” by Brennan LaFaro. His giant gila monster (dubbed “Big Mama” by the locals) is as big as an 18-foot-long Conestoga wagon with fangs longer than a revolver barrel and “talons so sharp they could cut grains of sand in two.” The story takes place in Buzzard’s Edge, Arizona, and the author does a first-rate job of capturing the Sonoran Desert and the Arizona heat. As a former Zonie, I can confirm that summers in the Southwest are brutal, with or without gigantic venomous lizards. 

Heather Miller revisits an old 18th century English fairytale in her story called “In the Arms of the Annis.” The titular bogeywoman is creepy as hell, and her influence on a particular child is chilling. Here’s how the horror begins: “We made a kind of peace between us,” says the young village girl kept hostage by the monster. “I looked away when she brought in children captured from the hills and made meals of them. I shared the sheep with her when she brought them instead, cooking my meat over the fire, less and less over the years until I could eat mine almost as raw and bloody as she ate hers.” 

And finally, I enjoyed Veronica Smith’s story “Kill it With Fire” because of its offbeat humor. A woman wakes up to discover the insides of her home covered in massive webs. It’s “like a psychotic white winter wonderland in Hell,” writes Smith. A turf war immediately ensures between the woman and the spider-bat that’s responsible for the webbing. It’s like a goofball Silver Age Spider-Man comic book—trippy in all the right ways. 

[ KJK Publishing Presents the Horror Collection: Monster Edition / Edited by Ann Keeran and Kevin J. Kennedy / First Printing: January 2024 / ISBN: 9798877018709 ]