First off, Snubnose Press has acquired my western/noir revenge novella A Wind of Knives. This will be SP’s first western (and mine!) and is currently scheduled to release in May.

A quiet rancher in Civil War era Texas, Daniel Hays, emerges from an alcohol-soaked haze to find his sole ranch hand (and lover) has been lynched—hanged by party or parties unknown. Left with virtually nothing but his failing ranch, Daniel takes it upon himself to seek out those responsible for his lover’s death, experiencing puzzling new relationships along the way, including repeat encounters with a ghostly coyote that leads him to the final stop on his odyssey for revenge.

“Many Westerns have explored the theme of revenge, but few have done so as provocatively as Ed Kurtz’s A Wind of Knives. And certainly none have approached it in quite the same way. On its surface, this is a familiar story: after his lover is brutally murdered, farmer Daniel Hays seeks revenge. The difference, from the start, is Daniel’s lover is… was… a man. And in Texas during the Civil War, justice for the slaying of a ‘sodomite’ is not a priority for the law.

“But if switching up gender roles in an otherwise traditional Western was all A Wind of Knives offered, it would be thin gruel. Kurtz gives us much more than that—sympathetic characters skillful plotting, and most notably a moving and insightful meditation on love and loyalty.”

—Heath Lowrance, author of City of Heretics

I’m also pleased to report that my friends at Evil Jester Press are going to publish Dead Trash in the late summer. This one is a bit of pet project for me, wherein I apply the ever-popular zombie apocalypse to four of my favorite exploitation subgenres for a 1970s era quadruple feature smorgasbord of sex, violence, prison breaks, biker gangs, high rise horrors, and frenetic undead kung fu. Look for it in August!

And speaking of pulpy horror goodness, Nightscape Press is releasing my sci-fi/horror hybrid Control on the masses later this year. The novel was published last year in a limited edition hardcover by Thunderstorm Books that sold out very quickly, so this will be the first time Control will available in paperback and ebook for all of you who missed it.

As for that contract I signed this morning? The fine folks at Blood Bound Books have acquired two novellas from me, both of them historical monster tales to be released as a “double novel” like back in the good old drugstore paperback days: Black’s Red Gold and Kennon Road. More on these as they come closer to release time.

That’s all in novel news for now (but ain’t it enough?), though I’m also thrilled to have two stories slated to appear in upcoming anthologies from Prime Books. Zombies: Shambling Through History will feature my 18th century zombie story “Deathless,” and Shades of Blue and Gray: Ghosts of the Civil War will include my story “Red Animal.” Both are edited by Steve Berman, and Zombies is available for pre-order now.

Now I’d love to rest on my proverbial laurels, but I’ve got a series prospectus demanding my attention, so it’s back to the word mines for me. Keep an eye out for these books and more to come!

With this in mind, it occurs to me that perhaps Mr. Card could use a little assistance. I mean, he’s only one man, right? For this reason, I’ve taken it upon myself to put together a little superhero tale for him, free of charge, to submit to his bosses at DC Comics, in the event that his demanding schedule doesn’t permit him to meet the deadline. I’m here to help, Orson!

Superman vs. Baron Von Homo*

(for Orson Scott Card)

When a deadly pink asteroid plummeted into the distant plant Heteron, Heteronian super-scientist Jor-El sent his only heir into space to become to sole survivor of the devastation. The child crash-landed on Earth, and just in time to grow up in a world of deviant gays, lesbians, and transgender people with an evil agenda to win equal rights to regular, god-fearing straight people. With his supernormal powers granted to him by his alien—and totally heterosexual—lineage, the boy became SUPERMAN, a hero dedicated to the protection of truth, justice, and the American Way for most, but not all, people.

* * *

Lois Lane spun into Clark’s office and quickly shut the door behind her.

“Clark?” she asked, breathless. “Have you noticed something off about Jimmy today?”

Pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, Clark looked up at his colleague and raised his eyebrows. “Off?” he said. “In what way?”

“I don’t know how to say this, but our young photojournalist has been acting a bit…well…different.”

Clark drew in a deep breath and stood up behind his desk. He narrowed his eyes and focused on his super-hearing, which permitted him to listen to a thousand points of interest around Metropolis all at once. The only one he was interested in at the moment was his friend, Jimmy Olsen.

What Clark heard first was Dolores, from the secretarial pool.

Jimmy? she asked. Are you free tonight? Do you want to go see a movie or something?

So far, so good, Clark thought. Until what came next…

Not if you plan on wearing those shoes, girlfriend! Jimmy hissed back.

“Shoes?” Clark muttered, puzzled. “Why on earth would any man make a comment about a woman’s shoes? And what’s with that crazy lisp?”

Lois emitted a sharp gasp.

“Goodness, Clark,” she said. “You know, some men would do that.”

“Great Scott!” the robust reporter exclaimed. “But Jimmy isn’t one of those men!”

Clark and Lois exchanged a tense, nervous glance. Neither of them had to say what they were thinking, what they feared Jimmy might have mysteriously become.

A homosexual.

“Clark,” Lois said, “I think this is a job for—”

“Way ahead of you, Lois.”

He tore his shirt open to reveal the symbol of his true identity, the iconic S that adorned his broad, powerful chest. Lois sighed, her cheeks flushed. Someday, she hoped, she would marry him, though she knew Superman could never rest until the kind of traditional marriage she craved was no longer threatened by the ever-growing blight of same-sex marriage. After all, how could decent heterosexual people be happily married when there might be happily married gays just down the street from them?

So with that, Clark Kent disappeared and Superman strode out into the main area of the Daily Planet office.

“Great Caesar’s ghost!” cried Perry White, the newspaper’s editor-in-chief, upon seeing the towering red-and-blue figure. “What are you doing here, Superman? Nothing serious, I hope.”

“I’m afraid it just might be, Mr. White. Have you seen Jimmy Olsen around?”

“Last I saw him, he was in the break room chatting with the girls from the secretarial pool. I never pegged that boy for a ladies’ man, but…”

“Neither have I,” Superman agreed. “I just hope he hasn’t turned into some kind of lady-man!”

“Good heavens!” Perry White bellowed, the cigar dropping from his mouth as he sputtered. Superman just shook his head sadly and made a bee-line for the secretarial pool.

He caught sight of Jimmy right away. He almost wished he hadn’t.

Jimmy was mincing and preening like a pony, speaking rapidly to the girls with a strange overabundance of hand gestures. The girls giggled and grinned, but not in a way that suggested female admiration for an attractive man. No, these girls were behaving as though Jimmy Olsen was one of them.

“Jimmy!” Superman shouted.

“Well hellooooo, Superman,” Jimmy lisped. He tugged at the pink and white ascot tie dangling from his neck. When had he started wearing that?

“What in the name of Heteron are you doing?”

“Oh, you know,” Jimmy said. “Just girl-talk.”

“But Jimmy, you’re no girl!”

“Oh, Mary, rub it in, why don’t ya?”

Superman was aghast. He took several steps back, repulsed as though Jimmy held a chunk of pink Homonite, Superman’s only weakness.

“How did this happen, Jimmy?” he cried. “Who—or what—did this to you?”

“Don’t act so shocked, Superstud,” Jimmy said, pronouncing it Thuperthtud. Superman shuddered. “Baron Von Homo only showed me what I really am, and now I can finally get married—to another man!”

“Baron Von Homo!” Superman said. “Great Neptune’s Beard!”

“That’s right, Superman,” came a terrible, high voice from behind.

The Heteronian turned to see a newcomer to the Daily Planet: a deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated, luminous, quivering, giggling, fruit-flavored, mincing, ice-covered heap of mother love. The stranger sparkled from his perfectly coiffed head to his jewel-encrusted toes. He looked like a cross between Liberace and Gary Glitter, with a heaping helping of Richard Simmons for good measure. Superman did not need the prancing spectacle to introduce himself, but he did so all the same.

“Baron Von Homo,” he jeered, “at your service, gorgeous.”

“Don’t you mean baroness?” Superman growled, puffing out his mighty chest and curling his hands into fists.

“Now, now,” the Baron said. “I’ve come to play, Superman, and I must insist that we all place nice!”

In a flash the villain slipped his immaculately manicured hand into the waistband of his skin-tight silver leggings, which twinkled like diamonds. Superman shouted, “NO!” but it was too late—Baron Von Homo had whipped out a long, pulsating pink device of some sort, which he aimed directly at Superman.

“Say hello to my Homo-Ray, you glistening hunk of Super,” the Baron crowed. “With this I will instantly transform every man, woman, and child in Metropolis into preening, godless homosexuals like myself, including every member of the state legislature who will then legalize gay marriage and totally destroy the sanctity of every heterosexual union now and forever!”

“Dear God,” Superman lamented. “Traditional marriages could never survive such an evil blow!”

“My plan precisely,” the Baron replied, tittering like a chipmunk. “Today, Metropolis. Tomorrow—the world!”

Superman gritted his teeth and took a long step forward, but Baron Von Homo shook the Homo-Ray at him and sneered.

“Not so close,” he warned. “One more step and I’ll blast you all over with the immutable evil of homosexuality!”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but I would. And even you will be powerless against it. You know, I think you’d look positively fabulous in pink!”

With a spine-chilling cackle, the wicked queer shook all over as the staff of The Daily Planet cowered in terror, counting off the few, precious remaining minutes of their blessed heterosexuality and church-sanctioned unions. Perry White grasped a framed photo of his wife from his desk and, as a single tear rolled down his cheek, kissed the glass.

“Goodbye, honey,” he squeaked. “I guess the next time you see me, I’ll be one of…them!”

Superman knitted his brow and hauled a deep breath into his massive, masculine chest.

“Not so fast, Mr. White,” he boomed. “There’s still one thing Baron Von Homo hasn’t accounted for.”

“Oh?” jeered the Baron, swinging his hips. “Tell me, honey—what’s that?”

A wry grin appeared on Superman’s face as he dipped his head, clasped his hands together, and started to mutter quietly to himself. The Baron’s own grin melted away and he began to shake.

“No,” he gasped. “No! Not that! Anything but that!”

Lois sidled up to her boss and grasped him by the elbow.

“What’s he doing, Perry?”

“The only thing he can do, Lois,” Perry White said gratefully. “The only power in the universe strong enough to stop this blasted homosexual menace.”

“Of course!” she said. “Prayer!”

Superman hollered, “AMEN!” At the exact same moment, the phallic device exploded in Baron Von Homo’s hands, instantly sending him to his knees and ruining his hair.

“You beast!” the baron wept. “You horrible, horrible beast!”

“I may not be super enough to put an end to your dastardly schemes against traditional marriage, Baron,” Superman said, “but with God on my side, you homos will never prevail!”

The villain collapsed into a blubbering heap as the entire staff of Metropolis’ number one newspaper cheered and applauded their hero. And as the baron commenced a humiliated crawl toward the door, Superman called out after him, “Now go back to San Francisco where you come from!”

Lois sprinted across the room to her man with tears glistening in her eyes.

“Oh, Clar—I mean, Superman!”

Superman winked and embraced her. Into her ear, he whispered, “Maybe now that Baron Von Homo has been defeated, we can finally get married without fear of the Gay Agenda ruining our lives!”

“Wait a minute,” she said, pulling away and looking over his shoulder. “What about Jimmy?”

“Great Scott!” Superman cried. “I almost forgot!”

He flew back to where Jimmy stood among the Planet’s secretaries and seized the photojournalist by the shoulders.

“Jimmy, my friend! Talk to me, boy!”

“Su—Superman? Wha—what happened?”

“You were hit by Baron Von Homo’s Homo-Ray, chum. We thought you were a goner there for a while.”

Jimmy shook his head, dazed, and tugged at the silk ascot around his neck.

“How did that get here?”

“Just tell me one thing, Jimmy,” Superman said sternly.

“Sure thing, Supes—what’s that?”

“Which do you prefer, Beaches or The Rose?”

“But I don’t even know what those are, Superman!”

“And Thank God for that!” said Superman, and he laughed uproariously with Lois and Perry while poor, straight Jimmy Olsen scratched his head in confusion.

THE END (OR IS IT?)

*Please note: this is clearly a parody, and as such protected under the doctrine of Fair Use.

**Note also: the initial over-description of Baron Von Homo (“deadly, winking, sniggering,” etc.) is taken directly from Sir William Neil Connor’s description of Liberace in The Daily Mirror (as “Cassandra”) in 1956. I only wish I’d come up with something as ridiculous as “ice-covered heap of mother love.”

1. Tribesmen, Adam Cesare

Newcomer Adam Cesare kicked the year off with his first novel, the story of an Italian exploitation film crew gone into the jungle to make a cannibal picture a la Cannibal Holocaust. Naturally, things go horribly wrong the moment they arrive. Tribesmen is a story I could not possibly love more, and Cesare nailed it beat for beat. I adore everything this cat puts on paper and can’t recommend this, and all of his other work, highly enough.

2. Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn

Gillian Flynn has been making major waves in the publishing world for a few years now, but I never took on her work until this, her third novel. And as soon as I finished it, I ran out to get her first two, which I devoured immediately. Hers is a literary voice that lends new light to the crime genre, where her characters are middle American women with deep pain in their histories, sometimes of their own doing, that haunts them and those who come too close to them. In Gone Girl, a dual narrative of a man and his missing wife weaves an intricate and addictive web of lies of conceit that drew me in so deeply I could do nothing but read until it was, sadly, done. An astonishing novel.

3. Hard Bite, Anonymous-9

Elaine Ash, aka Anonymous-9, debuted her first novel this year by way of Scotland’s terrific crime imprint, Blasted Heath. Hard Bite is an extraordinary tale of vigilantism and revenge wherein the bodily devastated survivor of a hit-and-run takes it upon himself to seek bloody vengeance upon anyone in Los Angeles with a mind to do the same. In a world saturated by clichéd crime novels, Hard Bite is a one-of-a-kind relief from the rank and file.

4. Ink, Damien Walters Grintalis

I met Damien at World Horror in Salt Lake City last spring, when she told me about her forthcoming first novel from Samhain, Ink. It was not until the end of the year that the novel was finally released, and I tore into it with reckless abandon. Here is a deeply entertaining story of a man whose life has completely unraveled (in a way eerily familiar to me, I might add), when a chance encounter with a bizarre tattoo artist becomes his first step to a new beginning…until everything starts developing into a horrific nightmare. Grintalis’s characters are rich and genuine, and her pulsing prose kept me glued to the book until the end. I eagerly look forward to her next effort, as she is going to be one to watch.

5. Dead Harvest & The Wrong Goodbye, Chris F. Holm

One of several cooler-than-cool new urban fantasy series from UK imprint Angry Robot, Holm put out the first two of his otherworldly detective noir novels out this year, a pair of stories that concern a “soul collector” whose conscience and curious mind get the better of him when what seem like simple jobs turn out to have much, much more at stake. Pulpy and frenetic, Holm’s novels are amazingly fun new takes on well-known tropes that deserve a lot more than the already tired “urban fantasy” label. These babies are in a class of their own.

6. Jane Carver of Waar, Nathan Long

As an unapologetic worshipper at the altar of Edgar Rice Burroughs, the moment I became aware of this irreverent homage to ERB’s Barsoom saga I rushed to get my hands on it. I was in no way disappointed—Long’s ongoing series about a rough and tumble biker mama stranded on a distant planet is hilarious, exciting, and the most fun I’ve had reading in ages. A second book is out now, and I hope many more to come.

7. Dare Me, Megan Abbott

Known primarily for her early 20^th Century era crime novels, Megan Abbott might have taken a risk when she decided to write a noir tale about modern day high school cheerleaders. Had I not already been a diehard fan, I may have balked at that premise, but thankfully I knew damn well I’m always in for a crime fiction masterwork when Ms. Abbott is at the helm. And to be truthful, Dare Me is probably my new favorite of her books. It’s dark and blackly funny, unpredictable and uncomfortably honest. I would say anything from Megan Abbott is cause for celebration, but this one is an absolute masterpiece and a must-read.

8. Torn, Lee Thomas

As long as Lee Thomas keeps releasing new books every year, he will always have a place on this list. His big release in 2012 was Torn, a short novel from Cemetery Dance about a small-town sheriff, a werewolf on the loose, and the high cost of long-buried secrets. Like anything Thomas writes, the prose is pitch-perfect and the characters dig into you long after you’ve stopped reading. I’ve been an enormous fan ever since last year’s The German and Torn does nothing to disappoint in the wake of that literary gem.

9. Last Call for the Living, Peter Farris

The best example of rural noir I’ve read in years, Farris’s first novel about a mousy bank clerk and a frighteningly dangerous ex-con is equal parts bank heist story, hostage story, and cat-and-mouse game that is almost a bildungsroman in miniature as the protagonist, Charlie Colquitt, is fundamentally transformed by an inevitable chain of events that were set in motion before he was even born. Farris’s prose is as tight as anything I’ve ever read, and if this spectacular novel is an omen of things to come then I’m expecting great things in the future from this terrific author.

10. The Next One to Fall, Hilary Davidson

Davidson’s second offering, and the first sequel to her terrific debut, The Damage Done, certainly did not fall prey to the sophomore curse. In The Next One to Fall, the action moves from New York City to the ruins of Machu Picchu where travel writer Lily Moore is supposed to be on vacation/assignment, but upon witnessing a murder she gets entangled in a complex web of family secrets and violence. Hilary Davidson has fast become a “go-to” author for me, and I can’t wait until the next installment in this marvelous series.

UPDATE: I have randomly chosen a winner for a copy of CONTROL…Elaine Webb. Send me an email at redrumhorror@gmail.com with your mailing address, Ms. Webb!

My second novel, CONTROL, was released in November by Thunderstorm Books in a limited edition hardcover. Only 80 copies were printed, and they sold out in about two weeks. A paperback edition will surface someday, but for now CONTROL is out of print and unavailable.

That said, I have an unnumbered edition of the hardcover in my hot little hands that needs a good home. So here’s the deal: in the comments below, tell me what was your favorite book of 2012 and why. It can be any genre, fiction or non-fiction, as long as it came out this year. At the end of the month I’ll randomly select one of the posts and that lucky bastard will win his or her very own copy of CONTROL. Sound good?

Feel free to spread the word: the more the merrier, ya’ll.

I played the reboot of this on Nintendo Game Cube. The graphics were outstanding (back then), but the plot and the acting were terrible. Why was RE so great then? This sounds funny, but this game achieved greatness for its awkward gameplay. What can be more frightening than a biological creature endowed with supernatural power coming after a soldier who hardly makes a 180 degree turn in ten minutes? The beasties came at you and the lagging, frustrating controls made it that much more intense. Some critics have found fault with it (and in subsequent games, RE 4, there is an over-the-shoulder POV change that makes targeting enemies easier), but I think this was a brilliant choice. There were already games out there with characters doing flips and responding in a blink. RE’s clumsiness was intentional. You have to survive with what you are given: very little health regeneration, scattered save points, formidable enemies, and the reaction time of a freshly sedated grizzly bear carrying an amorous silverback gorilla on its back.

#4 Silent Hill 2

Although I loved the fourth Silent Hill (The Room), I really have to say I fell in love with this game in the second installment. Pyramid Head and legions of creepy nurses with twisted faces and disjointed arms and legs brought an element of Japanese horror into the gaming world and I loved every freaked-out minute of the elusive story.

#3 Bio Shock

The city of Rapture is like no other place you’ll ever visit. This could have been a straight up water-based science fiction vehicle, but instead was set in the past, in an almost a steam-punk inspired underwater city, recently annihilated by its devious genetic technology and strange socioeconomic theories held by its master and creator. The Big Daddy and Little Sisters remain iconic and although they weren’t exactly as scary as the genetic freaks known as the Splicers, you knew in order to get ahead in the game, you had to address the fearsome Daddies and deal with the spine-chilling Sisters, and that was daunting in such a watery hell as Rapture.

#2 Alan Wake

A much more recent game, but one that captivated and WAY spooked me out. Alan Wake is set up like a very intense, confusing, yet captivating television show. Its strength isn’t really in gameplay, but more in story. At any given moment there are questions darting in and out of answers and just when you think you have a firm hold on what is really happening to Alan, the rug is pulled out from under you. It’s like a more engaging and grounded David Lynch manifestation. Its conclusion is very unsettling to say the least. I want a sequel. Now.

# 1 Eternal Darkness: Sanity’s Requiem

Oh my beloved Lovecraftian darling! Why oh why weren’t you a bigger hit? You had a Skeletoresque villain who filled a tower full of dead bodies, top to bottom! That should have counted for something! Back on the Game Cube, Eternal Darkness was a video game experience like none I’ve ever had before. It was gory, scary, intriguing and constantly evolved throughout the game until the end. You had a sanity meter that once it ran out, things would go wrong with your game (or seem to). The walls would melt, you would shrink, or the game would freeze and an error would come up saying all your saved data had been erased. Sadistic right? The plot centered in an old house and followed the lives of multiple figures throughout historical eras. Each character had different weapons (per their era) and different good and bad attributes. They could all build and cast spells they learned—as well you could take different runes and create your own versions of spells too. When you cast a spell these demons would chant in the ambience. I remember their gravelly tone like yesterday. Paraphrasing: Kokorusan-Chartuuga!

Benjamin Kane Ethridge’s newest novel, DUNGEON BRAIN, is available now.

1) What is the working title of your next book?

 My next book is called Control.

2) Where did the idea come from for the book?

I happen to be an arthropod enthusiast, and I’ve long wanted to write something to reflect that, something crawling with bugs but wherein the bugs are not the threat. In Control, insects and arachnids are the unwitting agents of the terror at hand, but also victims in their own right. (Nonetheless, those with bug phobias are going to be creeped out—I can’t help that!)

3) What genre does your book fall under?

Horror in general, body horror in particular.

4) What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

Toby Jones for Leon, the protagonist. Danai Gurira for Ami, the woman he loves and seeks to conquer.

Toby Jones / Danai Gurira

5) What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

A loner who collects rare and unusual arthropods acquires an illegally poached rainforest spider that infects him with a heretofore undiscovered fungus that enables him to control other people, even as the spreading fungus drives him irreparably insane.

6) Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Control is being released this month by Thunderstorm Books in a limited edition hardcover.

7) How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

I wrote the first draft of Control in about 6 weeks.

8) What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

It’s got a touch of the splatterpunk to it, so I’d be remiss to not name-check John Skipp, though sci-fi/horror tales of the mid-twentieth century such as George Langelaan’s “The Fly,” wherein otherwise normal people are driven to madness and evil by external, non-supernatural forces, had a large influence as well.

9) Who or what inspired you to write this book?

I began working on Control after reading about the Ophiocordyceps fungus, which infects the nervous systems of insects in the South American rainforest and compels them to behave in ways beneficial to the proliferation of the fungus. Real life horror leads to good horror fiction!

10) What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?

Anyone interested in dark, small-town horror blended with low sci-fi will find something to like in Control, I think. Plus: it takes place in the same town as my previous novel, Bleed, so fans of that can have fun picking up the references!

Thanks to Weston, and stay tuned next week for new THE NEXT BIG THING entries from Benjamin Kane Ethridge, Thomas Pluck, Damien Walters Grintalis, Lee Thomas, and Daniel O’Shea.

Hey, gang. I’ve got a couple of new stories out in a couple of really fantastic publications: HORROR FACTORY and NEEDLE: A MAGAZINE OF NOIR.

The terrific folks at the Crime Factory put HORROR FACTORY out on Halloween, and it’s got a great table of contents featuring interviews with  Joe R. Lansdale, Jack Ketchum, and Lawrence D. Cohen and Tommy Lee Wallace discussing the making of Stephen King’s IT with Lee Gambin. There is also brand-spankin’-new fiction by David James Keaton, Andrez Bergen, Anonymous-9, Patti Abbott, Edward J. Rathke, Garnett Elliott, Matthew C. Funk, S.J.I. Holliday, John Hunt, and Yours Truly. (My tale is called “Consent.”) You can pick it up for your Kindle at Amazon for 99 cents, and a paperback version is forthcoming.

The new and long-awaited issue of NEEDLE is also out, and this time editor Steve Weddle went all sickhouse on our asses and made it a girnormous goddamn double issue. This hefty sack o’ noir contains new stories from Hugh Lessig, Brad Green, C.J. Edwards, Erik Arneson, Rob W. Hart, Seamus Scanlon, Chris Rhatigan, Kenneth Loosli, John Kenyon, Jeff Macfee, Garnett Elliott, Glenn Gray, Michael Bracken, Thomas Pluck, Timothy Friend, Court Merrigan, Kevin Adler, Kevin Brown, Stacey Cochran, Matthew C. Funk, Jim Winter, and Dan O’Shea. I’ve got a nasty little bit of Southern noir in it called “Dog Will Hunt,” and it’s one of my favorites. I think you’ll dig it, too. Get the new NEEDLE here.

Dig!

Author/Filmmaker/Editor extraordinaire John Skipp has been releasing a series of magnificent over-sized anthologies through Black Dog & Levanthal for a few years now. His second-to-last opus, Demons: Encounters with the Devil and His Minions, Fallen Angels, and the Possessed, won the Bram Stoker Award last year. The newest mega-volume to hit bookstores is Psychos: Serial Killers, Depraved Madmen, and the Criminally Insane. And I am ridiculously pleased to have a story in it, “Marla’s Eyes.” Think of it like Downton Abbey on bath salts. Evelyn Waugh meets Jack Ketchum. You get the idea, or do you? I guess you’ll just have to check it out to make sure.

The table of contents (which is AMAZING) is below. Dig!

CLASSICAL SCENES OF FAREWELL  Jim Shepard

HOP-FROG  Edgar Allan Poe

MARMALADE WINE  Joan Aiken

THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME  Richard Connell

THE SMALL ASSASSIN  Ray Bradbury

LUCY COMES TO STAY  Robert Bloch

MARLA’S EYES  Ed Kurtz

THE LIAR  Laura Lee Bahr

THE PAPERHANGER – William Gay

RED DRAGON (excerpt)  Thomas Harris

THE EXIT AT TOLEDO BLADE BOULEVARD  Jack Ketchum

INCIDENT ON AND OFF A MOUNTAIN ROAD  Joe R. Lansdale

MURDER FOR BEGINNERS  Mercedes M. Yardley

JESSE  Steve Rasnic Tem

IN FOR A PENNY  Lawrence Block

NOW HOLD STILL  David J. Schow

FEMININE ENDINGS  Neil Gaiman

GOING SOLO  Leah Mann

DEATH-IN-LIFE LOVE SONG  Kevin L. Donihe

RALPH AND JERRY  Leslianne Wilder

AND WHAT DID YOU SEE IN THE WORLD?  Norman Partridge

LIFE WITH FATHER  Bentley Little

THE SHALLOW END OF THE POOL  Adam-Troy Castro

MOMMY PICKS ME UP AT DAY CARE  John Gorumba

WHEN THE ZOOS CLOSE DOWN, THEY¹LL COME FOR US  Violet LeVoit

ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE  Christopher Coake

INTRUDER  John Boden

STRAYCATION  Scott Bradley and Peter Giglio

LIFE COACH  Cody Goodfellow

RIGHTEOUS  Weston Ochse

THE MEANING OF LIFE  Amelia Beamer

DAMAGED GOODS  Elizabeth Massie

WILLOW TESTS WELL  Nick Mamatas

SERENITY NOW  Simon McCaffery

THE MANNERLY MAN  Mehitobel Wilson

SENSIBLE VIOLENCE  Brian Hodge

BUCKY GOES TO CHURCH  Robert Devereaux

AT EVENTIDE  Kathe Koja

Paracinema issue 17 is up for pre-order for a measly 7 bucks, and you really ought to snag a copy. My new article on Sergio Corbucci’s Eurowestern masterpiece Django is in this one, plus loads more excellent content. So, go on. Get it. Yes, now.

Featuring:

“Endemic Madness”: Subversive 1930s Horror Cinema
by Jon Towlson

Of Bonsai and Balance: The Hero’s Journey in The Karate Kid
by Patrick Cooper

You Can Clean Up the Mess, But Don’t Touch My Coffin: The Legacy
of Sergio Corbucci’s Django
by Ed Kurtz

Be Kind, No Need to Rewind: The Preservation, Demand and Ubiquity of Shot on
VHS Cinema in an Increasingly Digital Landscape
by Justin LaLiberty

I Don’t Want to See What I Hear: Paranoia and Personality Eradication in The Conversation
by Todd Garbarini

Black Cats and Black Gloves: The Influence of the Gothic on Sergio Martino’s
Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key
by James Gracey

Plus much more…

My dear friend and mentor Edward Shirley died yesterday, August 15, at 5:30pm. The news came to me as I was waiting on my ride to attend a concert in San Antonio. It was, and continues to be, a complete shock. As of the time of this writing, I still have no idea what happened, though I am certain I will learn the details in the coming days. Ed was 58 years old.

I met Ed, to me Dr. Shirley at the time, in 2003 when I was an undergrad at Saint Edward’s University here in Austin, Texas. I was an English Lit major, and through some strange circumstances decided to claim a second major in Religious Studies. I was not religious, but I had a deep academic interest in Biblical literature. Along with the core courses in Ancient Near Eastern history and texts and language, I was required to take classes in theology. Ed was St. Ed’s main man when it came to theology, and as everyone quickly learned about him, it didn’t matter if you were Catholic, atheist, or Satanic to the core—studying with Ed Shirley was an enlightening, entertaining, incredible experience. He was ridiculously funny, maybe a little crazy, and his extraordinary mind was wide, wide open. He incorporated experiences with everything from Buddhist practices to Jewish mysticism into his theological perspective, and he always encouraged his students to never stop questioning. And if you knew Dr. Edward Shirley, even in passing, you were his student.

Over the course of my studies at Saint Edward’s, I came to the conclusion that Catholicism was the thing for me. I dug the ritual, the social justice aspects, and the way it was presented to me by my friend. I had been raised in a 100% secular environment and came to university an avowed atheist, but the open, welcoming, largely intellectual environment at the school inspired me to want to be a part of something. Ed became my sponsor. I was baptized into the Church on Easter 2004.

I kept in close contact with Ed after I graduated and moved to Boston to earn my Master’s degree in Theology at Boston College. During that time, however, I rapidly grew disillusioned with both the academy and the faith. Neither were the same outside of Ed Shirley’s immediate sphere of influence. My BC professors were aloof and self-serving for the most part, and the church we attended in Chestnut Hill was cold, unwelcoming, blindly routine. And when I finished my M.A., I decided I wanted nothing more to do with either the academy or the Catholic Church. I had made a pair of colossal mistakes. I remained an atheist, and there was pretty much nothing my degrees could do for me now that I was out of school. I was deeply bitter about it for a few years after, a lot of that aimed at myself. None of it aimed at Ed Shirley, who continued to reach out to me and give him his guidance and friendship when I returned to Texas in 2006.

We never discussed my exit from the Church. After a couple of years, our time spent together dwindled away. I think I was partly afraid of upsetting him, though I know in my heart he wasn’t. We were Facebook friends; he saw all my anti-religion rants, and though he might have wondered, he just wasn’t the kind of man to judge. He knew there are countless paths, as many paths as people, and that we are much too complicated to be penned in within the confines of a single, unmovable set of ancient rules. He never was. And no matter where my path was leading me, there was always more to learn from Dr. Edward Shirley.

But I supposed I more or less avoided him there for a while. Maybe I didn’t feel like explaining myself. Maybe I just didn’t want to sit across from him and say, “I’m no Catholic, no Christian, never was.” In March, he dropped me a line, gave me his new cell phone number and suggested we get together for drinks. It had been a while. I told him World Horror was around the corner, but when we got back we’d make plans.

We never did. I kept putting it off, putting it off. In recent weeks I began thinking about it, thinking it was time to give Ed a call. I missed him. I miss him now. I was beginning to realize the truth of the matter, that it made no difference at all that I got out of the stupid Church and gave a mean middle finger to academics. Ed was far too much larger than any of that. It did not matter. And he still had so much to teach me.

And then it was too late. Five months of jacking around and I could have called him anytime. And yesterday, August 15, 2012, at 5:30pm, Ed Shirley died. I wish I knew why. I’ll find out tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. The knowledge won’t help anything. I am wracked with guilt and sorrow. I feel that here I made a much more colossal mistake than I ever did messing around with the Catholic Church. That shit is a blip, a fart in the wind. I should have known better.

Hundreds of messages of grief are pouring in on Ed’s Facebook page, messages from family, friends, colleagues, students. All of them students. Always. Most of them are framing Ed’s passing in a Christian perspective, that his journey is not yet over, that his reward lays ahead. Of course, I don’t believe that. But my atheism is not a cruel and angry and bitter perspective; rather, I actually do believe Ed’s journey is far from over because his influence is so far-reaching. So many hearts and minds he touched over the course of his amazing life and career, and all the hearts and minds those students will touch. And the theology of it is entirely inconsequential. I am not a Christian, but Ed changed me, improved me, made me see things in myself and others I never saw before. Ed Shirley was a truly great man.

The world suffers for his unexpected loss, but is so much better for having had him at all. I miss you, Ed. I’m so sorry we never got that beer.