Shock Totem 1: Curious Tales of the Macabre and Twisted

by Shock Totem

  Quarantine, a remake of Rec, a 2007 Spanish horror flick, follows in the footsteps of another popular film of recent time, Cloverfield. The cinematography is very similar: shaky handy-cams, candid angles, and a voyeuristic look at a horror scenario. From the outset, the movie follows a very tried and tested plot. People observe—in this case, filming—something goes awry, and they become a part of the thing being observed. Commence the eating of human flesh.

  The characters are easy to follow and there’s a good deal of relationship between certain characters that is easy to pick up on and relate to. However, some of the characters feel a little flimsy, and there’s a healthy dose of typical Hollywood Stupidity Syndrome, with characters doing things while the audience is screaming, “No, don’t do that, you muppet!”

  The storyline, though a retelling, is solid and flows nicely enough to maintain interest, while still allowing space for the flights of fantasy that are essential in this genre. With the occasional slower section, the viewer gets the chance to take a breath and relax just in time for the next scare—and when the scares come, they come with some oomph!

  From a special effects angle, Quarantine has some surprises in store. A lot of it has the feel of something not hugely reliant on graphics and effects, but every now and then they pull out something grotesque or just shocking enough to elicit a bath-load of ooohs and icks from the audience.

  The cast worked nicely, with none of the actors—or actresses—appearing overbearing or irritating. Jennifer Carpenter played the TV presenter and formed the central character throughout the majority of the movie. Her role was refreshing and pleasant, although, once again, Hollywood Stupidity Syndrome did play a part from time to time.

  Having not seen, Rec, I can’t comment on how original Quarantine is. But having been disappointed in the past by remakes, I’d hazard a guess that if you’ve seen Rec, you might want to give this a skip. And if you found the camera style of Cloverfield induced sea-sickness and nausea, you might be better served with a more classical take on horror. Otherwise, I’m confident that you’ll find this film enjoyable and worth watching.

  –Bill Derwent

  The Book of Lists: Horror, by Amy Wallace, Del Howison, and Scott Bradley; Harper Paperbacks, 2008; 410 pgs.

  Here we have the most recent installment of a series of unique books that are exactly as their titles suggest: a collection of lists.

  These are lists cultivated from the rich forest of names and personalities in the very wide realms of horror fiction, film, music, and fandom. There are the big names: Stephen King, Ray Bradbury, John Skipp, T.E.D. Klein, Eli Roth, Poppy Z. Brite, Jack Ketchum, and the late Johnny Ramone. Then there are the lesser-known contributors (to people with little knowledge of the genre, anyway): James Gunn, Douglas Buck, Edgar Wright, and loads of others, all chiming in with unique lists of “the strange, the blood-curdling, and the macabre.” Add to this the groovy introduction by the always wonderful Gahan Wilson.

  So step right up and see the hideous and horrific…pull back the flap and behold the likes of James Gunn’s “19 Favorite Reasons God Made Humans So Squishy,” John Skipp’s “5 Favorite Benign ‘Face of God’ Moments in Horror Films (Plus 10 Honorable Mentions),” and Tim Lebbon’s “Top 10 Apocalypses in Horror Fiction.” Eli Roth’s “Top 10 Nastiest Horror Movie Genital Mutilations,” Stephen Volk’s “10 Movie Fates Worse Than Death.”

  Sprinkle with a liberal dose of fun and wit (see Vince Churchill’s hysterical list “Wow, the Black Guy Lived”) and you have a tasty treat. Something quick and easy to fix but won’t keep you feeling uneasily full for a long time.

  As far as literary weight or value, this offers little—but it is a great and entertaining read. A wonderful bathroom companion and an invaluable study aid for when they finally launch Jeopardy: Horror Edition.

  –John Boden

  The Lazarus Project, by John Glenn (director, screenplay), Evan Astrowsky (story); starring Paul Walker, Piper Perabo; 2008; PG-13; 100 min.

  Ben Garvey has a good life. He has put his criminal past behind him and is moving forward with a good job and a loving wife and daughter. But when his past catches up with him, his brother draws him back into his illegal ways (what are brothers for?) with a surefire burglary that ends in death and capture. Ben is executed for his involvement in this gruesome act.

  And that’s where we begin.

  Because for Ben, death is not the end. He is amazed to find himself alive and working as a groundskeeper in a mental facility thousands of miles from his home, forbidden from reconnecting with his family and told that, if he leaves, he will die a second time, never to be reunited with them.

  But is he an employee or a patient? Alive or dead? Is this a second chance at life, meant to allow Ben an opportunity to atone for his sins, or a hell that he has been assigned to because of them? These are the questions he faces as he struggles with a choice to renounce or rejoin a family he cannot forget.

  This is a movie that works on many levels. We come to feel a bond with Ben and mourn his death all in the space of eighteen minutes. That’s good character development. It’s horror, but a horror of the mind, a vision of a hell that we create for ourselves and then...do we manifest it or just imagine that we do? We are kept as off balance as Ben is, never quite sure if his demons are literal or metaphorical. Maybe they’re both.

  –Nick Contor

  BELOW THE SURFACE

  by Pam L. Wallace

  The thick metal door, a bulwark between Karima’s garden refuge and the weight of the Sandristal realm, shut behind her with a hollow thud that seemed to echo her pounding heart. She should return to her son. Worry had nagged her all morning, like an itch just below the surface of the skin, and she was fretful and irritable.

  “For the Goddess’ sake, Karima, come along now,” her sister said. “Nothing will happen to that child—not with his nurse and guards there. A walk in the garden will do you well and good.”

  “I know. But I cannot shake this feeling,” Karima answered. It took all her will to turn away from the door and not go running back for her child. But Dasaynah was right; it was time she started making some decisions with her head instead of her heart.

  She stepped from the shadowed portico and, as if by magic, the unsettling fear evaporated in the warm sunlight.

  With relief flooding through her, she wasted not a moment more to free herself from the encumbrance of her heavy veils, dropping them to the cobbled patio in a careless heap. Stretching her arms to the sun, she twirled around and around, soaking the heat into her skin, laughing with the sense of abandon she always felt in her garden.

  “Yehanna’s ashes, Karima. Sometimes you act like a serving girl.” Dasaynah crossed her arms over her small bosom, her own veils in a decorous drape around her shoulders.

  Karima spun once more, just for the obstinate pleasure of seeing her sister frown deeper. With a glance at the towering walls surrounding the Queen’s Garden, she said, “No one but us is here to see.”

  “A queen should always maintain an air of dignity,” Dasaynah replied, “even in private.”

  Karima ducked her head to hide her smile, thinking of the decided lack of dignity with which she had always enjoyed her husband’s charms. Dasaynah acted like an old crone, even though she was the elder by only a year.

  “What are you smiling about?” her sister demanded.

  “Oh, I was just remembering how beautiful you looked last night in that violet gown. Nareed said it set off the color of your eyes.”

  “Did he? I’m surprised your husband noticed.”

  Was there a note of jealousy in her sister’s voice? “Why should he not? You are much more beautiful than I.”

  Dasaynah looked pleased. “Does that mean Nareed has agreed to our proposal?”

  “Oh. Well...” Karima turned away, cursing her lax tongue. She’d hoped to evade this conversation this morning. Well, there was no help for it. Dasaynah had to be told sooner or later. “Dasa,” she said, “N
areed was flattered that you wished to become his second wife, truly he was, but—”

  “But you talked him out of it,” Dasaynah said.

  “No, no. I did not,” Karima said. She hesitated, then let her reservations rush out. “I admit, the thought of Nareed with another woman, even you, my own beloved sister, was difficult to consider. But I did agree with you, that it was a solution to Father calling you back home.”

  “You must not have been persuasive enough, then.” Dasaynah jerked her veils back into position around her shoulders, a frown creasing her forehead. “I should have known you would fail me, Karima.”

  Karima turned down a shadowed pathway, wanting to avoid an argument. Her nagging worry had dealt her a miserable morning, and now she wanted to relax. She hoped Dasaynah would let the matter drop.

  The gravel pathway crunched under her feet. Vines of white honeysuckle, pink jasmine, and purple passion flower wound around the tree branches, overhanging the pathways and scenting the air with a mélange of fragrant aromas. Outside the walls, the heat wafted from the desert sands in stifling waves. But here in the secluded garden oasis, the water gurgled through streams and splashed into waterfalls, cooling the air with its mist.

  Karima rounded a stand of thick-trunked palms and knelt by the fish pond, plunging her hands into the water. A large orange and white carp lazed over, followed by twenty or thirty others, all colored in varying shades of red and yellow and orange and white, some even black as night. They bumped against her fingers, nudging for treats. “I have nothing for you, little piglings. Did the servant not feed you this morning?” She trailed her fingers along their slippery backs, making sure to pet each one.

  “Well?” Dasaynah demanded. She stood in a pool of sunshine, her hair falling to her hips in a thick ebon wave, sparkling with golden glints.

  Too hot, Karima thought. She preferred to pin her own hair around her head in a circlet of braids, keeping it out of her son’s chubby, grasping fingers. He’d got hold of it once when he was six months old and ripped out a handful. Even then, he’d had his father’s strength and determination.

  She laid a hand across her belly, as if to caress the new life quickening there. It would be another son, she knew; a strong, willful child of dark eyes and hair. She should tell Dasaynah she was with child again. Surely then her sister would understand why Nareed had no need for a second wife.

  Before she could speak, Dasaynah’s eyes widened. “Are you with child again?”

  Karima raised her chin. “Praise be to Yehanna, yes. Nikam is three. It is time I had another.”

  “And are you prepared to lose another pregnancy, as you did the last two?”

  The words cut deep. “There is no need for you to be so cruel, Dasaynah. I well know what happened to my babes.”

  Dasaynah’s eyes widened further. Karima thought something was hidden in those dark depths, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, unfeeling glare.

  “Yes, you conceived too soon,” Dasaynah said. “You should lock your door to your husband and give your body a rest. This is your third pregnancy since I’ve come to stay with you.”

  “I imagined you’d be happy for me! If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

  Her sister grew very still. It reminded Karima of a snake drawing itself in before it strikes. But no, they were sisters, and although Dasaynah had grown cold and critical since Karima’s marriage, they had been quite close in their childhood. It was only a matter of time before their old bond returned.

  “I am just concerned for your welfare, sister,” Dasaynah said with a catch in her voice. “That’s the only reason I proposed Nareed take me as second wife—to give you time to rest and recuperate between pregnancies.”

  Karima gave her sister a quick hug. “I know you mean well, but I have burned incense to Yehanna every evening, and I know my prayers are answered. This child is healthy.”

  Dasaynah frowned. “Karima, how can you possibly know that? Your imagination runs away again. Last month, you swore someone was trying to poison you, when it was the spoiled plums you’d eaten.”

  Karima took a deep breath, feeling dizzy and weak. She hadn’t felt so fearful and weak with her first pregnancy. “You must be right. I’m just so happy right now; I fear that something will happen to take it all away.”

  “You’re a foolish romantic, Karima, always so gentle, so good!” Her full lips curled up in a sneer.

  Karima took an unconscious step back from her sister’s virulence. All their lives, Dasaynah had been of two natures. One day sweet and loving; the next difficult and full of animosity. Since Karima’s marriage vows, it seemed the venomous side of Dasaynah’s personality had taken reign.

  “Mama, mama!”

  Her son charged past Dasaynah , his chubby legs churning up the gravel. He crashed into Karima, clutching her leg in a tight grasp. The feeling of danger overwhelmed her again, taking her breath away with its intensity. She pried Nikam from her leg and caught him up in a tight embrace. She nuzzled his cheek, growing even more alarmed when she found it wet with tears.

  “Hush now,” she murmured. She held him tight, looking around his dark hair at his nanny. “I thought he was sleeping!”

  “I’m sorry, mistress. He awoke and would not stop crying for you.” The woman wrung her hands and kept her gaze on the ground.

  Karima’s heart thumped as she swayed with her son. Eventually his tears abated, as did her fears. They were safe here. The only door into the garden was well-guarded, and there were more guards along the outer perimeter of the towering walls. “You may go back to your quarters,” she said to the nanny. “I’ll look after my son.”

  The woman bowed, and hurried away.

  “You spoil him, Karima,” Dasaynah said. “He will be king one day and must learn to be strong. You should have sent him back to the nursery.”

  Karima scowled at Dasaynah. “What would you know of such things? He is only a child and needs his mother’s comfort.” Nikam’s sweet scent, overlaid with a slight sourness of fear, drifted to her. “It’s all right, my love, you may stay with me,” she told him, cradling his head beneath her chin.

  His smile dimpled his cheeks. She tousled his dark curls and set him on his feet, taking his hand in her own.

  Nikam clung to her side at first, unnaturally quiet. Karima ignored Dasaynah’s disapproval and strolled about the garden with her son, pointing out the chirping birds hidden in the trees and the flowers blooming everywhere in a riot of color.

  He finally relaxed when she let him search under the rocks for snails. She laughed at the mischievous grin in his eyes and he giggled back. She rested her hand upon her stomach where her new son grew, and the nagging unease lifted from her chest.

  “A touching family portrait, dear sister.” Dasaynah stood some ten paces away, hands clasped into fists at her side, and her face expressionless. “Perhaps you should get down on the ground with your son; waste your day away well and good while your husband holds court and makes the weighty decisions of the realm without you.”

  Dasaynah’s sarcasm hung in the air, heavy as a summer storm. Karima had had enough, and for once, let her anger boil over. “Go away, Dasaynah. If your heart is too hardened to feel even a touch of joy, then go to your rooms and dwell in your misery. But leave me alone with my son.”

  “You are a fool, Karima. So much more awaits. You should be sitting beside your husband, giving your counsel. Instead, you waste your time playing games in your little—paradise.”

  Karima let her anger lend her courage and strength. She marched up to her sister, stopping only inches from her face. “What would you know of the joy of motherhood and the satisfaction it brings? Enough! Go pack your bags and get you back to our father’s lands. Leave me and my family in peace.”

  Dasaynah took a step back. “You would send me back to Father? He wants to marry me to that fat pig, Atchiban!”

  “You’ll make a fine couple. Your departure is long overdue, sister de
ar.” Karima turned back to her son.

  “Mama!”

  Nikam’s thin high voice rose in panic. The sense of danger again swelled over her, but stronger this time, squeezing her lungs in a tight vise, stealing her breath.

  From behind, Dasaynah’s arm coiled and tightened around her throat. “Gentle woman, dearly-loved queen, adored mother. Isn’t that how everyone speaks of you?”

  Never had Karima heard such malevolence in her sister’s voice. She was so shocked, she couldn’t move.

  “Stupid woman, hateful girl. You took all that should have been mine. It is I that should be Nareed’s queen.”

  Time slowed. Karima took in every detail. Nikam gaped at them, his mouth slack and quivering, his snails forgotten. His eyes grew round, like shining stars in the dim light of the garden. Dasaynah’s grip tightened on Karima’s windpipe.

  “I’ll take what should be mine,” her sister whispered in her ear.

  Karima couldn’t swallow—couldn’t speak. Fear flooded her again, not for her son, but for herself this time. She struggled against her sister’s embrace, focusing on her son’s eyes, drawing strength from her love for him.

  Pulsing white light exploded across her vision, and pain crackled along the side of her head.

  Karima’s last thought was she must protect her son at all costs.

  • • •

  Karima shook her head to clear her vision—her view was blurred, as if she wore a shroud. How had she come to be lying on the ground?

  She crawled to her knees and pushed herself up, every movement painful and slow, as if she were fighting against a riptide. She managed to rise to her feet and swayed there, light-headed. A buzzing filled her head, as if ten thousand voices whispered to her at once.

  Nikam! He stood some ten paces away. Fear streamed from him in waves so fierce, her knees buckled. He stared at something on the ground at her feet. She followed his gaze.