Betty and Barney Hill

Hi, “Chrispy” here. Thanks to Larry for letting me, Chris Perridas, blog here on “Misky”. This one is a personal account of how a little boy first got dragged into horrific esoterica.

Interrupted Journey

When I was a little boy we were poor. How poor? We lived in a non-insulated, house where we stuffed rags to keep the cold out. The “bathroom” was outside. No hot water, not even a bathtub. We lived there from before I was born through the early 1970′s with almost no change other than what the city forced the landlord to do. The house was adjacent to a rail road repair yard, next to tracks (I still recall the constant clickety-clack), and directly above the flight path of the airport when most of the airplanes still had propellers. They usually were about 200 feet over us as they landed.

My mother worked a number of part-time cleaning jobs to help out and pay our meager rent (maybe it was $40, I can’t recall) and bills. As this was over 40 years ago, it probably is safe to speak of these things. She had to take me with her as she did not think I should stay home by myself. One of these places was at a dental office, and I recall playing with beads of mercury. Probably not a smart thing to do with what we know about mercury, but compared to all the hype of mercury vapors now, I don’t see that it affected me much. I ended up getting two college degrees.

Another place she cleaned was the little local library in our community, now long ago torn down. I had to sit quietly while she mopped and dusted. She let me remove the books as long as I put them back exactly where I took them. As I went week after week, I read a lot of books – for free. I loved books then, and I love books now.

I could read pretty quickly back then, and it was out of necessity as I had to return the book within an hour – about how much time it took her to mop, dust, and sweep.

One book I spied was called Interrupted Journey, which I thought might be about some adventure. I liked adventure stories in those days. I can no longer remember the year, but since the book came out in October 1966, it was likely the following summer of 1967 that I noticed it.

It scared me to death.

It told me things I never knew about.

I had never really thought much of New England (I lived in Kentucky). The book told me about a place called New Hampshire, about Civil Rights, and interracial marriage – all new to me at the age of almost 11. And while I was into everything space-based (clipping every new article about the brand new upcoming Apollo project) I was unfamiliar with UFO’s or flying saucers. Maybe I had seen an old movie, but in 1967 reruns and old movies were still just coming into their own.

I had never heard of alien abduction. At 11, I certainly didn’t know about kidnapping, aliens, medical rape, or for that matter much about sex at all.

Needless to say, my mind was blown. And I had no one to talk to about this as I had no close friends then.

What did I read in that John Fuller book? About a poor innocent couple driving home from a long trip. I could relate as I sometimes went to my grandma’s farm in the tiny place called White City. It was dark! They saw something, then that something grabbed them, and did all sorts of unspeakable things. And Fuller told what those things were.

Today, a quick Google and you will find out about every detail of their experience. Both are gone now. Skeptics have decided they were everything from kooks to sleep deprived. Believers have drawn maps of where their abductors came from. A new group of esoteric investigators believe that the truth is far more complicated. Some of what they experienced was disorientation and sleep deprivation, other parts lend credence that something very bad happened to these quiet, hard working people. The government certainly checked them out, and their highly skeptical. expert therapist simply stated that while he did not believe in flying saucer aliens, they did, and that was all that mattered.

They did everything in their power to keep their secret. They struggled with what today is called post-traumatic stress disorder. They got the best help available in the United States at that time. They wanted to get healthy, get past this event, and continue to work for their community and bring people peace in the midst of Civil Rights struggles.

Then a reporter slipped the news out, and a firestorm enveloped the couple threatening their jobs, their lives, and their hard-won reputation. This led to the book, and Betty’s lifelong crusade to vindicate themselves – even after Barney passed on. By almost all who knew them, they were just nice people who had a horrible thing happen. They died with no explanation of what happened, only various possible solutions of what occurred. The one that stuck was that they were accosted and examined like lab rats by some unknown extraterrestrial group. Then let go.

For a little boy in Kentucky, he has been searching for some answers for well on these nearly 45 years. A few have been figured, many others haven’t.

I can't recall if this was the edition I read, but if so, how could something so plain and innocent be so terrifying inside?

Literary horror?

Literary horror.  If you google it, you will find dozens of attempts at definition and some pretty shocking answers.  It certainly surprised me what people say is literary and what is not.  Still, one might as well ask what is “literary” music and what isn’t.

Amazon recently listed Gary Braunbeck as a literary horror writer.  Professor Braunbeck must be delighted to know this, as roughly a decade or so ago he was trying to place reads in anthologies, and working to get indie contracts.  Kudos, Mr. Braunbeck !

One online publisher thought that as long as stories were not slasher and hard-core, and the writing was literate and beautiful, then it was literary horror.  Well remember that Dracula took years to catch on, Poe struggled, and Lovecraft was ignored by critics.  It was August Derleth who published young Ramsey Campbell, and Playboy took in an odd fellow named Stephen King.

Again, I think music is a good analogy.  There are people who used to scavenge dust bins for small run blues records and swear it was the best.  They probably were.  They were raw, original, and creative artistic expressions.  Indie horror is like that.

E Hoffmann Price and Lovecraft used to get into verbal battles.  Lovecraft said the true artist was the amateur artist, while Price blurted back that professionals are always the best in every field.  Would you want an amateur doctor or architect?  Lovecraft shot back that professional can also mean pandering to get a buck, compromise, and churning out hack pablum to the hoi poloi.  While they were on opposite ends of this spectrum, each had a point, and each missed the point.

A “professional writer” is tried by a certain kind of fire, but they have to have a training ground to try new things.  If they have talent, they soon discover that they are in harmony with their generation, or they hit a special note of resonance, but they may as quickly fade.  Once they make a mark, only time will tell if they were “good” and literary.  The very best of Poe, Bierce, and Lovecraft eventually made the cut after a century or more of reflection.  It was pretty touch and go in their lifetime though.

One of the pleasures of collecting independent horror writers is getting that new vintage of horror, to taste the sweet nectar of fear in a way that was never thought of before.  It challenges one palate of tastes.  Can you stomach Ed Lee, or chill through Ray Garton?  Will you devour a Jack Ketchum book, or will it devour you?

Literary?  It has so many meanings to so many people.  It’s wonderful to read “literary” horror writers like Elizabeth Kostova (The Historian) or Alice Sebold (Lovely Bones), and grab the latest “literary” horror by Dean Koontz or Stephen King, or even enjoy the latest “literary” horror by Tom Piccirilli, or Chuck Palahniuk.  However, the days to imbibe deeply in fresh, raw horror are those nights you tremble with Steven Shrewsbury (Hawg), Weston Osche (Scarecrow Gods), or Wrath James White (Hero).

If you survive.

Heavy Metal Lovecraft !

“… what healthy antiquarian could recall how the creaking of Epenetus Olney’s new signboard (the gaudy crown he set up after he took to calling his tavern the Crown Coffee House) was exactly like the first few notes of the new jazz piece all the radios in Pawtuxet were playing?” -The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, H P Lovecraft

Lovecraft absolutely despised Jazz. OMG! What would he have said about heavy metal?

Luckily we are more enlightened here at Miskatonic Books. Below are performances by classic Black Sabath (Behind the Wall of Sleep); the anti-harmonious sounds of The Mountain Goats (Lovecraft in Brooklyn); and the more melodic – and often quirky – The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets (The Sounds of Tindalos).

Ursula Kroeber LeGuin

Ursula Kroeber LeGuin (b. 1929), BA (Radcliffe College), MA (Columbia University). Some time in her early 20′s, she became entraced with Tao de Ching, and has spent much of her life exploring the depths of this tao, and its creator and inspirr, Lao Tzu. As such, she translated these into her own poetic rendition. In a sense, her work has been expressions of this – is it ok to have technology? – is power a type of trust? if nature is not humane, and Tao is to be of nature, can one reject

self-sacrifice or altruism? Perhaps LeGuin’s arguably most impactful novel is The Left Hand of Darkness

The Left Hand of Darkness was reviewed by literary critic George Turner in the 26 December 1970 The Age. … Science Fiction or philosophic allegory? Forget category, for The Left Hand of Darkness is a good novel, belonging in the company of Wells, Stapledon and Huxley. … Ursula LeGuin has erected a complex, challenging structure. Her theme is the difficulty of meaningful communication between persons. Her aliens are single-sexed race, and she investigates the psychological implications .. hrs may be the first true aliens in science fiction. … These are people, and Mrs. LeGuin has performed the considerable feat of persuading the reader to identify with him. She is a stylist and a perfectionist and her detail is properly researched. … It is the best science fiction in may years. {George Turner} A classic rendition of this item is available at Miskatonic Books. Just click on the image to see more.

Still going strong as she moves toward 90, below is a recent lecture and a reading by LeGuin.

Remembering Gerry de la Ree

Here at Miskatonic books we love new, cutting edge horror. However, it feels that there is such a disconnect between readers today and the antiquarian thread that leads back through history to great professionals and fans of yesteryear. We try to remind the seasoned seniors of good memories and new fans of what they missed and may want to check out.

In the mid-1950′s, Gerry de la Ree was a stalwart of horror and science fiction conventions and ran a mail order operation from his New Jersey home. [1] Perhaps his most notable contributions to fandom was his small run indie press in the 1970′s featuring Lovecraft, Poe, and a series of Virgil Finlay’s work.

In those days when long distance phone bills were as pricey as your teenager’s texting invoice, people used – shock! – snail mail. Yes, the good old (then reliable) U.S.P.S. If you wanted something, you clipped an ad from a comic book, a pulp, or some other magazine and sent a SASE (stamped self-addressed stamped envelope) for more information, or a return reply.

Circulation through distributors was spotty even in big cities, so it was common to miss an issue of your favorite issue. Therefore, folks like de la Ree provided a service to young fans. He also looked for talent, and when he spotted it, he supported it through recommendations or small spot jobs as he could afford it.

For a time in the 1950′s Gerry de la Ree worked for the Bergen/Hackensack “The Record” working with sports editor Al Del Greco, with Gerry de la Ree doing the layout. Robert Weinberg tells stories of visiting him (and Sam Moskowitz, another NJ stalwart) and how when Virgil Finlay got cancer, he helped sell art to pay some bills.

Sadly he passed too soon at the age of 68 in Saddle River, NJ. Back in January 1993. Featured is perhaps the first news story of young de la Ree’s career from 1953.

Star-Treader: Ground Breaking

Ah, critics can be snarly. They sit in a room, cynical, knotted up, and spewing venom because they delude themselves into thinking they are going to be disappointed by whatever they are studying. Some of you reading today are writers, and you know how it feels when someone does not “get” what you wrote. Don’t think that you are alone. Everyone gets that treatment; so did Klarkashton – at age 18.

CAS as a youth

But from a long ago criticism of Clark Smith’s first book of poems, came some jewels of positivism. With a century of hindsight, we see more stars than mud when we tread those cosmic paths with Mr. Smith. Those gems are extracted below.

_____

Star-Treader

CLARK ASHTON SMITH is as typically Californian as ever a Lake Poet was typically English. He is the latest note in that symphony or the arts which undoubtedly is taking form under the favorable skies, amid the caressing hills, of our Pacific empire.

When it is understood that not “Mister,” but “Mastcr,” is the title of our poet his years being but eighteen … the best poems in the book are astonishingly splendid and majestic treatments of cosmic themes, in a style of high and radiant rhetoric. We should like to quote from the title poem, from the “Song to Oblivion” and the “Ode to the Abyss,” but we will let this splendid sonnet, in which rhetoric soars up into vision, stand for example: It is called “Nirvana”.

Poised as a god whose lone, detached post,
. An eyrie, pends between the boundary marks
. Of finite years, and those unvaried darks
That veil eternity, I saw the host
Of worlds and suns, swept from the furthermost
. Of night—confusion as of dust with sparks—
. Whirl tow’rd the opposing brink; as one who harks
Some warning trumpet Time, a withered ghost.
Fled with them; disunited orbs that late
. Were atoms of the universal frame
. They passed to some eternal fragment-heap.
And, lo, the gods, from space discorporate,
. Who were its life and vital spirit, came,
. Drawn outward by the vampire- lips of Sleep!

{signed} S O’S

Published: January 26, 1913
Copyright © The New York Times

Horror Times Ten, Berkeley Press, and Sam Moskowitz.

Today my good friend Chris Perridas,  writer, blogger and fellow Lovecraftian is stepping in to do a guest blog.  Enjoy! More information on Chris at the bottom of this posting.

In the background of the college bookstores, transistor radios were playing the Young Rascals who were “Groovin’” while Aretha Franklin was demanding, “R-e-s-p-e-c-t”.  In that psychedelic year of 1967, a little paperback book with an odd and sickly green cover sat quietly in the racks amidst a myriad of sci-fi paperbacks.  Berkley Medallion was taking a chance.  Would kids buy it?

Months before, their science fiction editor, Alden H. Norton, thought the time was right to issue a short print book of horror stories.  These were reprints of ancient and moldy oldies.  It was quite a gamble, because the only headliner was Ray Bradbury.  Sure people knew Arthur Conan Doyle, but there was no Sherlock Holmes story in it.  And they knew that old movie Psycho (1960) by Robert Bloch, who was included, but would someone by one of his earlier stores?  Max Brand was a western writer of note, but his wasn’t a western story.  There were also obscure stories by an odd chap named H.P. Lovecraft, and a Texan named Robert E. Howard who was slowly becoming known on college campuses.  This 175 page paperback was filled by 19th, and very early 20th century stories, long out of print, and out of copyright – except for those which August Derleth tenuously still gripped.

Berkeley made a deal with Derleth, and a few others, and Norton then asked Sam Moskowitz to do introductions.  In fact, Moskowitz essentially did the entire work as a ghost editor.  (See image).

Then ink went to paper, and the dice rolled.

Wow.

Berkeley Medallion X1414 ($0.60) made it to the stands and word of mouth began to circulate.  Horror was groovy, man!  Far out!  Kids grokked terror.  Old was cool again.

A second printing was called for in 1968.  By 1969 a third and fourth printing was struck.  By 1970 a sixth printing was struck.  By 1972 a 9th printing was struck.  Before everything was said and done at least 13 printings were made on this little book in a few short years.

What kind of magic was on these pages?  It can all be summed up by two little words, “Sam Moskowitz”.  He had selected items that thrilled him, and he knew that others would love them, too.  His crusade had finally been proven – the horror writers of yesteryear still thrilled.

Like many energetic teenagers, Sam was fascinated by pulp fiction.  In those days before the internet, paper was scarce and magazines did not always circulate to every city on a regular basis.  Kids joined local clubs.  They gathered together to read each other’s back issues, and trade to friends and relatives in far off towns.

Some ambitious high school kids were anxious to discuss, and even to break into these pulps.  Kids like Arthur Clarke, Hannes Bok, Marion Zimmer, Lin Carter, Damen Knight, or Harlan Ellison honed their writing skills by doing articles, reviews, and their own poems and stories.
Even Sam started his little fan magazine (fanzine) in 1939 called the New Fandom (see image).  Soon, he was making a name for himself and was sought after at the first “big” conventions of a few dozens of kids.  From there, he progressed to editing, researching, and by 1967 had rediscovered lost writers and pushed to have them republished in mass market books, not just the tales of pulps.  Alden Norton and Berkley agreed, and the rest, as they say was history.  Horror Times Ten laid the foundation of a new series of cult movies and a resurgence of horror.

Chris Perridas

Kentucky, United States

Besides being a Lovecraftian, I’m a writer with numerous publications of short stories, poems, and essays: Down in The Cellar, The Open Vein, +Horror Library+ Vol. 1, Horror Mall, Blood Moon Rising, Dark Recesses, and more. I’m an associate editor of Arcane Wisdom, an antiquarian horror and weird tale publishing house. I’m on staff at Dark Recesses, a book reviewer at Horror Mall, and a long time member of Horror Library’s T-12 where over 120,000 readers have enjoyed my stories.