It’s watching me still.

This shadow in darkness.

Imperceptible perhaps, yet I know it’s there.

Holding me in place.

A statue in terror.

Down this grim alley where I found you loitering.

Tucked away from the grand canals and their plundering tourists.

The true nature of Venice.

A monster in hiding.

Luring the unsuspecting.

The glittering crown on a fetid corpse.

Death is all around.

Putrid in this stinking swamp.

And I have opened the way.

God help me but I have to follow.

Where is the lion protector to save me?

I see him standing resplendent atop marble pillars.

But his haughty gaze passes me by.

After all my sacrifices.

He leaves me to their favour and cruelty.

Here they are.

Waiting.

A house collapsing into ruin but full of undead life.

Centuries they have wanted to savage me.

A bargain made in haste that I thought I had escaped.

Immortality with the heaviest of price.

Water laps at my bare feet.

This land is sinking and I with it.

We have weathered centuries of storms together.

Now our foundations are fatally wounded.

At last we will face the eternal darkness.

The door swings open.

Rooms smelling of salt and rot.

Empty of ghosts but this lost soul crossing the threshold.

A city who’s battlements I have guarded from marauders and vagabonds, kings and emperors, now turns it back on me in my hour of need.

How dare you?

Vain and preening palace of sin. I see past your gilded mask of pomp.

I fought and died for your honour time and time again.

My blood spilling across cobbles and canals, draining into the great lagoon.

But there was no freedom for me.

No last great sigh. Forever denied my final sleep.

Every time I was called back. Again and again and again and again.

Waking to the smell of dead men and the pounding of endless battle.

This was not what I was promised.

What madness compelled the hellish compact I made with the Council of Ten and their dark witches at the House of Spirits all those centuries ago? Their evil words poured like poison oil into my desperate ears. War looming. Fear rising. My need to keep loved ones safe from harm.

Love? But of what? Of all the women that shared my bed, there were none that I cared for more than myself. Perhaps the city itself. A cruel master, but one I cannot but adore.

After all this time, the jest is on me as I cannot remember. All I know is my mind fractured in self contempt at a betrayal I was too blind to see.

They had made me a vassal to their cruel whims and I did their bidding.

Until finally I couldn’t take it anymore and I ran.

Running from something that is inescapable to us all.

The relentless, pitiless past.

With its horrors and memories forever haunting our days to come.

Rampaging through the dark. Leaving just a screaming gibbering wreck of a man.

Even after all these years.

And so I am drawn back.

To confront my fears, my past, my broken soul.

A warrior I was and a warrior I will stay to the end.

But, oh my feet tremble as I wait for what is to come.

The babbling of the sweating, glutinous mob is dim and distant.

Too busy gorging themselves on sweet breads and fine wines as they watch everything through their small screens and yet see nothing at all.

The glory of St Marks looms above the scuttling crowds. Just another image to be framed. Not remembered. Not cherished.

I pity them.

The throaty roar of frantic speed boats, like the grumble of forgotten gods, signal the pointless tour of these craven vultures around a dying city as though it were a theme park to be experienced.

I hate them.

And yet, in their ignorance, to see the floating city, my home and my bane, for the first time. What true majesty that must be.

I envy them for that.

If nothing else.

Unaware of the grinning skeletons beneath the green waters they trail their innocent fingers through.

But I see them.

They come towards me now.

Torn curtains of grimy plastic billow pitifully through the rusted bars of this once grand facade as the screaming head of Poseidon spews black filth from the lintel above the damp buckled door.

The blue skies of spring do not penetrate beyond this forced open portal. Its dark maw only a gateway to endless winter.

And here they come.

Do you finally see them?

The shadow ripples apart becoming spectres of night.

With the faces of the lucky dead.

Their green skin puffed and putrid. Eel eaten eye sockets silently glaring their outrage at my jealousy and foolishness.

Brutal killing wounds now washed clean, flap ragged and bloodless across eviscerated stomachs. Tiny crabs and sea worms fall from stringy clumps of moss coated hair. Once grand uniforms hang tattered, dripping green ooze and slime onto the listing stone floor. Squelching boots beat a hollow, sodden tattoo as they shamble towards me. An endless brigade of my old comrades in arms. Come to relieve me of my burden.

I feel their wrinkled hands around my throat. Grabbing my arms and legs. Hoisting me into the air. Their claws mercifully gouge into my skin. Pulling apart this weary body. Flesh ripping. Sinews tearing. Snapping my bones like brittle twigs of an ancient tree. Giving me my eternal rest.

Leave me now. You do not wish to watch my end. It is too brutal. Even for this world.

But wait. I sense something.

A familiar scent. The roar of a far away ocean.

I’m at peace. Finally.

No, that’s not …

Something is wrong. What is it?

Oh God! No, no, no! Not again! Please have mercy!

The smell of salt. The tumult of war. Endless screams.

A sword in my hand. The battle begins again.

So, there we are. My first story in two months, during which time any ideas I had were dead on the slab as soon as I tried to write. However, inspiration can come from surprising places and, sometimes, the most obvious ones.

Last week, we took our first trip back to Venice for 20 years. It is the strangest, most magnificent city. One where I feel both at home and an outsider. As though I have lived there forever but yet still not welcome. Then, to add to that odd feeling, as our water taxi entered the centre, we passed by the building above and, as a horror writer, I was immediately intrigued. So, the next day I bought this leather bound journal, in a paper shop behind the Grand Canal, and frantically scribbled out this bizarre story with the hotel pencil. A tale of being lost and finally being home. And, yes, even I struggled to read my hand writing!

By the way, the Council of Ten and The House of Spirits did exist. I might tell their story one day. Maybe.

I’m still not sure if any of this makes sense, so my apologies for these ramblings, but I hope you enjoyed this little tale.

Lastly, a word of thanks to and who encouraged me to keep going in my quest to rediscover what I really should be doing here. It was a long journey but I got there in the end. I appreciate the support.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

Now it’s time to look at the best adaptations of his work. There’s a lot to get into here so we better get started.

You see, when I was growing up in the mid 80’s and early 90’s, Stephen King movies had a reputation for being a bit rubbish. Obviously, this wasn’t strictly true, but there was definitely a perception of “great writer, shame about the films.”

And I get it, there are quite a few poor efforts. I mean, there’s absolutely no excuse for The Lawnmower Man (disowned by King), Firestarter (original and remake), Sometimes they Come Back, The Mangler and the never ending Children of the Corn guff. Even relatively recently we have seen some serious missteps with the execrable Dark Tower film, the reimagined The Stand TV show, a new Salem’s Lot and the endless versions of Pet Sematary that seem less and less able to grasp what the book is actually about. And I haven’t even mentioned Dreamcatcher yet!

However, taking a step back, and with the benefit of hindsight, it is clear to see that there have been more successes than failures.

So, with all that in mind, we’re here today to discuss the ones that I love. Some are universally adored, others are admired with caveats, whilst one or two on this list are probably considered a bit rubbish, but I love them anyway.

(Just a quick peak behind the curtain here. This list should have been written ages ago, but I’ve spent the past week havering on what should be first. It was that close. And, to be fair, this top four are pretty much interchangeable on any given day as I think they’re all better than the stories they’re based on. They’re that good.) Right, enough of that, let’s get on with it.

The Shawshank Redemption (1994) - “I look back on the way I was then ; a young stupid kid who committed that terrible crime. I want to talk to him. I want to try to talk some sense to him, tell him the way things are. But I can’t. That kid’s long gone, and this old man is all that’s left.”

There are very few perfect movies, but this prison drama is one of them. The story of an unjustly incarcerated Andy Dufresne changing the lives of the prisoners, and particularly that of Ellis Boyd Redding (Red), at Shawshank Penitentiary is that rare thing, a movie you can watch again and again and each time have a different emotional response. Harrison Ford and Tom Cruise are perfectly fine actors, but you can’t imagine them bringing the same gravitas and compassion to these roles. Of course you do wonder what might have been. Rob Reiner wanted to direct the film with those two actors, but King had given Darabont his start with his “Dollar Baby” program that let aspiring film makers own the rights to one of his short stories for $1. Darabont made the “The Woman in the Room” and then got the chance at Shawshank and was determined to direct it himself. I’m glad he did. Tim Robbins as Andy and Morgan Freeman as Red put in career best performances that lead you through the darkness and into the light of redemption and freedom. And yes, them meeting on the beach at the end, is absolutely fine. A masterpiece.

Stand by Me (1986) - “Although I hadn’t seen him in more than ten years, I know I’ll miss him forever.”

This contemplation of childhood and friendship is a life affirming classic that turned the somewhat bleaker source material into a beautifully melancholic journey of self discovery and healing, as two friends, Chris Chambers (River Phoenix) and Gordie Lachance (Wil Wheaton) try to find their way in a harsh and uncaring world. Jerry O’Connell and Corey Feldman as Vern and Teddy add solid support as the other two members of their gang. The moments of tenderness between the boys as they lay their souls bare at the cruelty of life are heart breaking, as well as being particularly poignant with what Wheaton was going through at the time, and what was going to happen to Phoenix. However, there are also scenes of great humour and wonder. Of course, Gordie seeing the deer whilst everyone else is still sleeping is iconic, but their chats around the campfire about the difference between Pluto and Goofy are brilliantly played. A wonderful movie full of heart.

Misery (1990) - “And don’t even think about anybody coming for you. Not the doctors, not your agent, not your family. Cause I never called them. Nobody knows you’re here. And you better hope nothing happens to me. Because if I die … you die.”

A very different kind of film from Rob Reiner, and it probably says something about his direction, and my psyche, that the novel wasn’t on my top 10 books list as I feel it is just too mean spirited and bleak, and yet a movie that follows the same story where the novelist, Paul Sheldon (James Caan), is kept captive with the sole purpose of writing a book for a crazed fan, Annie Wilkes (Kathy Bates), whilst being hobbled and threatened with death is near the top of this one! All that being said, I do think this film is much softer. I’m not squeamish in any way but the brutality in the novel is excessive. You can tell it was meant to be a Bachman book. It’s just continually grim. And this proves it didn’t have to be. The introduction of Richard Farnsworth as Buster, the sheriff who, along with his wife Virginia (Frances Sternhagen) investigates Sheldon’s disappearance, bring genuine warmth and humour through their good natured bickering to counter balance the cold isolation and horror that Annie is putting Paul through. A film that is so much better than the book.

The Green Mile (1999) - “We each owe a death, there are no exceptions, I know that, but oh God, the Green Mile is so long.”

Hmm, there seems to be pattern here with the directors of these first four movies. However, whereas Misery was a step change from Stand by Me, here Frank Darabont went back to prison for his follow up to Shawshank. This is the story of Paul Edgecomb (Tom Hanks), a death row correctional officer during the Great Depression, who realises one of the inmates, John Coffey (Michael Clarke Duncan) is not only innocent of the crimes he’s been charged, but also possesses the power to heal. I remember when this came out and critics moaned that it didn’t need all the “supernatural nonsense,” as one reviewer put it, and should have just been a straight forward drama, which showed the snobbery to genre cinema was still going strong even in 1999. However, what I had forgotten, until I watched it again the other night, was how dark it actually is. There are moments of humanity as the guards deal with John and some of the other prisoners, and the performances are really strong from all the main cast, never mind an absolutely stacked supporting cast including Harry Dean Stanton, James Cromwell and Sam Rockwell, but the coda, that we all must pay for the decisions we take, is just as bleak as Pet Sematary when you stop to think about it. Again you have to give Darabont credit for sticking to his guns to match the conclusion of the original serialised novel. And, as we found out a few years later, he certainly had a thing for grim endings.

IT (2017) - “He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.”

IT is King’s best book. I made that clear last week. However, studios still continue to struggle with bringing this glorious tale of seven friends fighting off a cosmic monster in the shape of a clown, to the screen. The 1990 TV mini series with Tim Curry is good fun and much beloved, but it misses out chunks of the book, and the cast, Curry aside, sometimes struggle to bring their characters to life. However this adaptation got the tone, casting and horror spot on. Bill Skarsgard is a manic, whirling dervish of a Pennywise. Maybe not quite on Curry’s level, but pretty damn close. They also made the wise choice to focus solely on the part of the story involving the Losers Club as kids. The young actors, including Finn Wolfard and Sophia Lillis, have great chemistry so you really care what happens to them and there are some properly creepy moments. Which made the fact that the second movie was a complete mess all the more frustrating. Maybe one day someone will get it completely right. But, in the meantime, this first half is enough to be getting on with.

Pet Sematary (1989) - “Don’t go on doc. No matter how much you feel you have to. Do not go on to the place where the dead walk.”

OK, I know this is not a great movie. The acting is well shaky and the script is too on the nose to be taken seriously, but I still love this hokey adaptation of King’s most horrific story of grief and loss. With its short run time it was never going to delve deep into the big issues that the novel covers so it instead focuses on the undead shenanigans that happen to the Creed family when they start burying pets and family members in the ancient burial ground behind their house. Which was never a good idea. There is also Fred Gwynne playing friendly neighbour Jud Crandell like he’s a salty old sea dog telling ghost stories around a camp fire, and the Zelda stuff is properly disturbing. Pascow is also brilliantly realised and goes from menacing presence to spectral advisor for the haunted Louis. Not that it does much good ultimately. Baby undead Gage is suitably creepy and the Achilles cutting scene is infamous, but it does balls up Rachel’s return from the grave which is a major misstep that I’ll just about forgive. I mean who likes ambiguous endings anyway. Right? Hmm.

The Dead Zone (1983) - “The ice is gonna break!”

Last time I said The Dead Zone novel was the one referred to as perfect for people who supposedly don’t like Stephen King books. By the same token, this adaptation is for those who supposedly don’t like David Cronenberg movies. However, I have to say, those statements do both men a disservice. This is a a relatively straight forward story of a man, waking up after a terrible car crash with the power of second sight. King had always made his book more of a character study, whereas Cronenberg creates a deeply unsettling mood where you always feel off balance witnessing the barrage of past and future events that Johnny Smith (Christopher Walken) is trying to comprehend as he gets to grips with his power. Herbert Lom as Doctor Weizak, Tom Skerritt as Sheriff Bannerman, and Martin Sheen as a crazed, but totally plausible politician, Greg Stillson put in fine work giving able support to Walken’s performance that goes from low key to manic in a heart beat. And the ending, despite the grimness, is still a punch the air celebration of an evil man brought low.

Salem’s Lot (1979) - “The master wants you. Throw away your cross, face the master. Your faith against his faith.”

Yes, I’ve written about Salem’s Lot so many times before and yes it’s still great. But I think what’s forgotten is how important this adaptation of King’s vampire novel actually is. Firstly it started off as a TV mini series and, probably because of the number of homes that television reaches as compared to cinema, it became not just one of the most talked about and iconic adaptations of King’s work but one of the most well known TV shows at the time. My mum hated all things to do with horror, but she knew all about this as David Soul and James Mason were in it, but also because of how utterly terrifying Barlow was. Yes, it’s clunky in places and the freeze frames for going to commercials are dated, but this opened King up to a much wider audience and led to so many future adaptations being green lit. No other version has come close, with the less said about the latest effort, the better. However, all of them keep making the same mistake. In a perfect world, if there was a Stephen King novel I could chose to adapt, it would probably be this one, and I would make sure to get justice for Father Callahan. One of the most fascinating characters in the book who is short changed every time this comes to the screen. I would put his crisis of faith front and centre to make for a much deeper contemplation on good and evil like it was in the book. Still, this is a brilliantly scary movie nearly 50 years later.

Doctor Sleep (2019) - “Our beliefs don’t make us better people. Our actions make us better people.”

So, I’m guessing these last two might be a bit controversial. Folks will know by now The Shining won’t be on this list. My reasons are clear and I won’t go back over them. However, I think Doctor Sleep is tremendous and, again, another adaptation that is miles better than the source material. The irony with that, of course, is that Mike Flanagan embraces Kubrick’s Overlook whereas, in the novel, King avoided it like the plague. However, from a cultural point of view, I think it makes much more sense for Danny Torrance to go back to the hotel where his father died to confront the ghosts that had been haunting him, literally and figuratively for the last 40 years, in his own plunge into alcoholism, and battle once more with the evil that resides there, before being granted final release from these horrors. The True Knot stuff is grim in places but mostly superfluous. However, Rebecca Ferguson has a lot of fun as Rose the Hat and Ewan McGregor, stretching his horror muscles, is great as Danny Torrance. The scene in the bar with the ghost of Jack Torrance is brilliant, but the overdosed mother and dead baby nightmare is truly horrible and harks back to his equally grim moment from Trainspotting.

The Long Walk (2025) - “Just walk with me a little longer.”

I get it. This is not an easy movie to love. It’s seen as an unrelentingly grim tale of 50 teenage boys marching across a future dystopian America and getting shot if their pace falls below a certain level. Not much warm and fuzzy to be found here you might think. However, and it’s a big however, this movie is actually about camaraderie, friendship and love. Just like Stand by Me. These boys know what future awaits all but one of them. And yet they continue to cajole and help each other along this endless road to whatever fate awaits them. As I’ve said before, the film doesn’t pull any punches. The horrific murders are alleviated in some way by the gallows humour in which the boys revel. Perhaps that makes what is happening even worse, but it also speaks to the best of humanity shining through as the cruelty of life is being brutally meted out to them. This made it into the 10 in place of Life of Chuck, as I think it is just as life affirming as that other classic. A genuinely jaw dropping film that will be reappraised in the years to come.

So, there we are. I have spoken about a lot of these films before but having taken my time to consider all the adaptations, these 10 really are top of the tree for me. And yes, like I mentioned, there are a fair number of cinematic giants missing from this list. This time instead of just listing them, I’ll also give a quick summary of why they weren’t here.

The Mist - Was close. It’s a great movie. But the much lauded ending, as grim as it is, didn’t feel right to me. I dunno. I prefer the ending to the short story. I appreciate I’m probably in the minority on that one though!

Carrie - This is a movie, and a novel, that I admire but I don’t love either of them. I find them cold and distant. Not sure why. Again, probably just me!

Christine - Didn’t like the novel and have the same issue with the film, despite it being directed by John Carpenter. I’ve just never bought into the story. But I know many people who love it.

The Life of Chuck - This made my top 10 movies of last year and I really do love it. The first chapter with the “world” ending is a work of genius and I really enjoy the second section with the dancing as well, but the third is not quite as strong. Highly recommended though.

Cujo - Watched this when I was far too young and we had loads of dogs as pets so didn’t like to see a dog that was big and kind then get treated badly cause it was just a wee bit unwell. Scarred me for life. What can I say.

The Shining - My new mission, after convincing everyone that John Carpenter’s The Thing is the greatest movie ever made, is to prove that Kubrick’s The Shining, is actually a load of old bunkum. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it!

If you want more detailed deep dives into all things to do with King’s movies, make sure and check out this great series by and a whole lot of talented writers :

Kyle Ryan

Scarestack Society (2026 Stephen King film series)

(Original graphics by H. H. Duke…

Read more

2 months ago · 92 likes · 21 comments · Kyle Ryan

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

Stephen King is my favourite writer. He is the author with the largest cultural footprint in recent times. The Charles Dickens of our age, if you will. If you haven’t read his books, you will have seen movies based on his work. Most people interested in cinema or literature will know who he is. It is incredible how he has managed to stay relevant in this ever changing world. I believe it’s because he continues to tap into our most common and entrenched fears. Those ones that we don’t want to speak out loud, but instead keep locked away in the hope they never escape to tear apart our fragile reality. And, in You Like it Darker, there is proof he is still the best in the business at doing just that. Hopefully the numerous sniffy critics who have always dismissed his work as inferior and his constant readers as somehow illiterate, have long ago learned the error of their ways. Somehow I doubt it though. We’ll leave them to their ignorance. As King writes in his infamous chapter from The Stand, “No great loss.”

I’ve probably been carrying this list in my head for decades. Don’t get me wrong, this is not, in any way, set in stone, and a few books have come out relatively recently (Mr Mercedes, Revival, and the aforementioned, You Like it Darker) that could have made it onto here, but most of these are never going to change. That’s probably got a lot to do with who I was when I read these stories, but also due to the fact that they’re all just stone cold classics.

A special thanks to who inspired me with his own list to finally put pen to paper : -

Lucky Burns by Ray Van Horn, Jr.

My Top 25 Favorite Stephen King Books

I’ve always wanted to do this and after mulling it over the past couple weeks, I finally have the courage. I’ve been a Constant Reader of Stephen King since 1982. He’s the reason for my being. The long distance sensei who would give my life a sense of completion to meet, if only for a few minutes. Just to say thank you. Thank you for all the storie…

Read more

3 months ago · 67 likes · 52 comments · Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Right, let’s get into it then.

IT (1986) - “Or so Bill Denbrough sometimes thinks on those early mornings after dreaming, when he almost remembers his childhood, and the friends with whom he shared it.”

My favourite book of all time. An incredible novel from which I want passages read at my funeral. The story about a group of friends coming together to fight a powerful, cosmic monster lands differently at 15 than it does at 55, but at whatever age you read it, this legendary tale still contains that timeless magic of love and belonging that we all seek in life. A true masterpiece and one I will never tire of reading.

Pet Sematary (1983) - “Death is a mystery, and burial is a secret.”

Louis Creed and his family move to a house in Maine that sits on the edge of a busy highway. In the land behind is a cemetery for all the pets that have been killed on the road. But there’s something else up there. Something much darker that can bring things back from the dead.

From camaraderie and companionship to grief and loss. My two favourite King novels could not be more diametrically opposed to one another. And yet the connective tissue is probably stronger than you’d think. A higher power influencing the actions of our protagonists, make for a story where what is set in motion is often just on the whim of an ancient malignant force.

However unlike IT, there are no happy endings here. Or even any form of closure. Just despair and death. But, as King shows us, even that is preferable to messing with the natural order. No surprise that he hid this story away in a drawer for years. With one of the all time great endings this is a truly horrific read that only gets more powerful the older you get.

The Talisman (1984) - “Right here and now.”

It’s almost hard to comprehend the quality of this run of books. Pet Sematary, The Talisman and then IT, with the short story collection, Skeleton Crew from 1985 thrown in for good measure. Amazing.

This novel, written with Peter Straub, about an 11 year old Jack Sawyer travelling to a parallel world called The Territories to find a magical talisman that could save his mother from dying of cancer is true boys own adventure stuff, clearly influenced by Mark Twain, with added Uzi wielding werewolves.

In Wolf, King and Straub created an all time great character. A companion who is good hearted all the way through, but can turn into a savage monster when the need takes him. His chapters set in the Sunlight Home with Reverend Gardener are just outstanding. Obviously the sequel, Black House, suffered from his loss but I’m still looking forward to the completion of the trilogy with Other Worlds Than These. A brilliant tale in its own right, but also a fantastic stepping stone from fantasy to horror.

Wizard and Glass (1997) - “Sometimes the past is all we have left to hold onto.”

This is the fourth, and easily best, book in Stephen King’s sprawling series about the gunslinger Roland Deschain and his seemingly endless quest to the find the mystical Dark Tower. These books are often described as a cross between Lord of the Rings and a Sergio Leone western, yet whilst there’s a whole lot more to them than that, it’s an apt shorthand to describe this linchpin of King’s creative universe.

Wizard and Glass is a brilliant tale of action and romance that concerns Roland, and two other gunslingers, Alain and Cuthbert, and how they were sent on a quest as teenagers into the badlands of Mid World to gather information on an uprising led by the criminal, John Farson. However, at its heart, this is really a love story between our hero and a girl he meets called Susan Delgado whilst also being a contemplation of how the ghosts of our pasts will forever haunt us. A novel that too often gets forgotten in the maelstrom of King’s great writings, this is a book to be cherished again and again.

Salem’s Lot (1975) - “At three in the morning the blood runs slow and thick, and slumber is heavy.”

As everyone knows, this was King pondering what would happen if Dracula arrived in small town 1970’s America. It focuses as much on the townsfolk as the vampires, looking at all their gossiping, pettiness and bigotry, but there should be no doubt that this a runaway freight train of a horror novel, that starts off slowly then gradually builds up pace as it thunders towards its denouement. Forever linked in my mind to the Tobe Hooper adaptation, this is a nasty, grimy story with some brilliantly scary scenes from the Glick boys at the window to the attack on the school bus. Supposedly, according to a new book that’s just been published called Monsters in the Archives by Caroline Bicks which delves into King’s original manuscripts, he also wanted to have a little vampire baby that ended up exploding after it got staked, but decided, even back then, that was a little too much!

The Stand (1978) - “Baby, can you dig your man? He’s a righteous man. Baby, can you dig your man?”

The first 3-400 pages of this apocalyptic tale of good and evil in a plague ravaged America is probably some of King’s best writing. As Captain Tripps takes hold and civilisation falls apart, we get to see how humanity copes in the unfolding chaos. It may not be pretty but it is hugely compelling. We go on this cross country journey with Stu, Nick, Frannie and Larry amongst others and they’re great company. In fact, I would say Larry Underwood is my favourite of all of King’s characters. It loses its way once we get to Boulder and Vegas but then coalesces once more for an explosive finale. I still prefer the original version to the expanded one, but whatever way you read it, this is one of the great novels of the 20th century.

The Dead Zone (1979) - “We all do what we can, and it has to be good enough, and if it isn’t good enough, it has to do.”

A lot has been said about how King predicted the future with Greg Stillson, a slimy, populist politician who will do or say anything to get to the top. However, I prefer to focus on Johnny Smith. A character with the most ordinary name and life who, after a horrific accident, ends up with an extraordinary power. The story lets you decide if his ability to see into the future is a gift or a curse. Often described as the Stephen King book for people who don’t like Stephen King, this is a brilliant character study of one man having to do the right thing, whatever the cost.

The Dark Half (1989) - “George Stark - Not a very nice guy.”

So far, so predictable I guess. Then maybe this one will be a surprise. King dedicated this novel to Richard Bachman and the parallels with George Stark are obvious. That’s not to say this story is just one big in-joke. Far from it. It’s properly gnarly and the opening scene in the operating theatre with the eye on a young Thad Beaumont’s brain is a peach. The other reason I like this so much is I think all writers have their dark half. Maybe not to the extent of a crazed, rotting switch-blade wielding doppelgänger who is trying to murder all your friends and family, but it’s there. I have no memory of half the stories I’ve written. If you were to ask me to summarise their plot, I would struggle. I wrote them, but I’m unsure which part of me wrote them. Now, it may not be supernatural, but it’s something. Anyway, this also has a nicely bleak ending, and if you know the fate of Thad, as was confirmed in Bag of Bones, then it makes it all the grimmer.

Different Seasons (1982) -

Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption - “I hope Andy is down there. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.”

The Body - “I was twelve going on thirteen when I first saw a dead human being.”

Yes, I know there are four stories in Different Seasons. And, hell, Apt Pupil and The Breathing Method are pretty good too. However, the two novellas above, about the loss of childhood innocence and finding humanity in the darkest of places, are so incredible that this book had to be on the list. I mean, if I’d written them I would have just called it quits there, knowing I could never do any better. I think everyone knows these two either through this book or through the adaptations The Shawshank Redemption and Stand by Me, so I don’t need to say much. I’ll discuss them more next week when I look at the great King movies, but, yeah, these will definitely be on that list too.

The Long Walk (1979) - “The dark figure beckoned, beckoned in the rain, beckoned for him to come and walk, to come and play the game. And it was time to get started. There was still so far to walk.”

A novel that you not only have to admire for its sheer brutality and efficiency, but also for the fact that King wrote it when he was 18, which is just incredible. The story of a contest set in a dystopian future where 100 teenage boys have to walk across America at four miles an hour until only one remains, with the twist being if you stop you get shot, is as simplistic as it is horrific. Like a horrendous unfolding nightmare that you cannot look away from, the brilliantly ambiguous ending haunts you long after the final page has been turned.

There we are then. Yeah, there’s no The Shining, Carrie, Misery, Christine or Cujo, but I think it’s a strong list.

Next week I’m going to look at the various adaptations of King’s work in film and television. There is a little bit of repetition but hopefully some surprises too, as well as a controversial theory I’d like to share.

Talking of adaptations, make sure and also check out this excellent Stephen King event by and a whole host of talented folks : -

Kyle Ryan

Scarestack Society (2026 Stephen King film series)

(Original graphics by H. H. Duke…

Read more

2 months ago · 87 likes · 19 comments · Kyle Ryan

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this list of Stephen King’s best novels.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

I’m delighted at how both of these have been received. Now it’s the turn of my favourite scenes from fantasy movies. This is going to be a wee bit different as, because they mean so much to me, there will be multiple scenes from a specific series of movies. I’m sure you can guess which ones. And, well, it is my list so I make the rules! Hope you understand.

So, lets start with an easy one as I look at the three best scenes in the greatest fantasy movie ever.

The Fellowship of the Ring - (2001) :-

“I would have followed you my brother …my captain …. my king.”

“Behold, the great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf.”

“You shall not pass!”

Let’s be honest, I could have just put the whole film here. However, these three moments are to me, the heart of The Fellowship of the Ring. I don’t think much needs to be said about the death of Boromir, as Viggo Mortensen and Sean Bean perfectly play the passing of a great warrior saluting the king he once denied after being tempted by the Ring.

And then we have that walk through Moria, as Gandalf risked “just a little more light”, and I realised for the first time, as I sat in tears in a packed cinema in Glasgow 25 years ago, that not only had Peter Jackson achieved greatness, but he had also brought me back to when I was reading these books and playing Dungeons and Dragons all those years before. These were my childhood dreams and imaginations writ large and it was perfect.

Then finally, of course, we have the Balrog scene. For which there are no notes.

Excalibur (1981) - Carmina Burana : O Fortuna

Twenty years earlier, John Boorman had the idea to adapt Lord of the Rings into a single live action movie. Luckily, that project never got off the ground, and instead he turned to his hand to another mythical text. His version of the King Arthur legend is a mixed bag in my eyes. There’s some amazing moments but others that bring to mind Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Nicol Williamson and Helen Mirren are fantastic as Merlin and Morgana, and it looks great, but the knights, including Arthur, are all a bit bland and it takes itself far too seriously. However likes it a whole lot more than me, so you can read his excellent review here :-

Agent of Weird: Exploring the Write Fantastic

Excalibur (1981): The Weird Wisdom of Epic Fantasy

Poor King Arthur…

Read more

3 months ago · 84 likes · 33 comments · Alec Worley

Anyway, despite my misgivings, the scene where Arthur and his remaining knights ride into battle through falling cherry blossoms to this wonderful piece of classical musical is still thrilling cinema.

Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) - The Faun

The line between fantasy and horror is a thin one. None more so than in this astonishing film from Guillermo del Torro. Set in 1944, it details the real world horrors of Francoist Spain as seen through the whimsical imagination of 11 year old Ofelia, using myth and legend to tell a tragic tale of true monsters and the people who fight against them. The scene where the young girl descends into the underworld realm to meet the faun for the first time is both fantastical and utterly terrifying.

Ladyhawke (1985) - The Dual

I couldn’t have a list of fantasy movies and not have Ladyhawke in here. Back in the bad old days of some really rotten fantasy movies (I’m looking at you Krull!) this was a great example of not taking the story too seriously, but also having really interesting characters you cared about with a tragic love story binding it all together. The fight scene in the church at the end, where the cursed Captain Navarre (Rutger Hauer) rides to the rescue of his beloved Isabeau (Michelle Pfeiffer) is brilliantly done and a fantastic denouement to a much underrated film. Randomly Kurt Russell was originally cast in the role of Navarre but had to pull out to star in Big Trouble in Little China, so swings and roundabouts I guess.

The Two Towers (2002) - “Where is the horse and the rider?”

The Battle of Helm’s Deep is forty minutes of rain soaked carnage and bedlam that makes you feel totally immersed in the ongoing mayhem with Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas by your side. However, it is given far greater gravitas and meaning by the speech Theoden (Bernard Hill) gives before battle is joined where he lays out all his fears and doubts prior to what he feels, is a hopeless cause. It’s a brilliant piece of writing and acting.

Dungeons and Dragons : Honour Among Thieves (2023) - Xenk the Paladin

One of my favourite movies. never mind fantasy movie, of recent years that brilliantly captures the sense of fun and adventure of D&D, that is completely stolen by Rege-Jean Page as the straight laced Paladin, Xenk. The brief time he has onscreen with Chris Pine’s, Edgin, and their various comical interactions are an absolute joy.

The Princess Bride (1987) - “My name is Inigo Montoya …”

Rob Reiner was such a great film maker that he made you care just as much about the supporting characters in his movies as the leads. Think Buster (Richard Farnsworth) in Misery or Jess (Bruno Kirby) in When Harry met Sally. And, of course, all the other boys in Stand by Me. Here we see the hidden depths in what could have been a one note villain, perfectly played by Mandy Patinkin as he explains why he became such a great swordsman. A wonderful director sorely missed.

Clash of the Titans (1981) - Medusa

A classic from my childhood that won a close fought race with Jason and the Argonauts. However, this movie has even more jaw dropping moments so it had to win out. Cerebus, Calibos and the Kraken are all incredible works by Ray Harryhausen but the way Medusa moved and attacked, whilst her snake tail rattled menacingly, was seriously creepy.

Highlander (1986) - “Crude and slow clansman …”

I wrote about Highlander not that long ago, so go and check out that article too. The great joy of this movie is in the interactions between Connery and Lambert. Russell Mulcahy was canny enough to know that the Scottish actor had charm and charisma in spades so he tapped into that for the iconic character of Juan Sanchez-Villalobos Ramirez who takes the bumbling MacLeod under his wing and prepares him for The Quickening.

Beauty and the Beast (1991) - “Be Our Guest.”

What do you mean? Of course it’s a fantasy film! And it’s Disney’s best ever movie so it completely deserves a place here. The whole thing is perfect, from the humour, to the animation, to the utter buffoonery of Gaston, but this moment is naturally the winner. A truly timeless scene.

The Return of the King (2003) - The Ride of the Rohirrim

As I have mentioned in the past, The Return of the King is my least favourite of the LOTR trilogy. However, this scene at the Battle of Pelenor Fields, is an amazing piece of rousing cinema that I defy anyone to be unmoved by. And that Howard Shore score is just perfection.

Big Fish (2003) - The Last Story

An odd one to end on for sure, but this movie will always live in my heart. It is a perfect ode to the magic of fantastical story telling and what makes us stop and listen, or pick up a book, when we feel the urge to travel to mysterious faraway lands. It’s about fathers and sons and the passing down of tales from one generation to the next. It shows what our imaginations are capable of if we would just stop and take a brief moment to see through the mists of cynicism and follow the untrodden path to wherever it may lead. Any fantasy book you’ve read, or film you’ve watched, has started the same way, with a step into the unknown and wonder at what might lie ahead. Big Fish captures that magic perfectly. And the end of the film, when Will (Billy Crudup) embellishes his father’s (Albert Finney) final moments with a wild tale of their imaginary escape from the hospital, and sets him on a journey from which there will be no return, is an incredibly moving moment in what is easily Tim Burton’s best movie.

Well, there we are. Again, this list could have been much longer with entries from Jason and the Argonauts, The Sword and the Sorcerer, Willow, Dragonheart, The Desolation of Smaug, Time Bandits, Hawk the Slayer and the Ralph Bakshi, Lord of the Rings cartoon, but I’m happy where we ended up.

Again, I have been incredibly touched by how well these lists have been received with my Favourite Horror Movie Scenes now being my most read piece on here. My usual writings tend to be short stories or more in depth articles on films. However, at the moment, I am struggling to create either, so these have been a nice distraction. Hopefully more to follow.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this look at my favourite fantasy movie moments.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

This week it’s my favourite science fiction movie scenes. There’s a certain irony in the timing of this article as the first thing I ever posted on Substack, three years ago to the day, was my thoughts on all things Star Wars : -

And it’s there we’ll start, but maybe not with the movie you think.

Star Wars (1977) - Mos Eisley Cantina

The Empire Strikes Back is the greatest Star Wars movie. Of course it is. However, your feelings for the Skywalker Saga are mostly determined by nostalgia. That’s why so many folks couldn’t get on board with The Last Jedi. It was too different to “their” Star Wars. That’s a discussion for another day. All I know is Mos Eisley may be a “wretched hive of scum and villainy”, but this scene, where Obi Wan shows he’s a complete bad ass, we get to meet an incredible array of exotic alien creatures, both fair and foul, and we’re introduced to the coolest space pirate in the galaxy, is just peak Star Wars.

Star Trek II - The Wrath of Khan (1982) - “I have been, and always shall be, your friend.”

I never thought of myself as a huge Trekkie, but I’ve still managed to watch the original series, most of The Next Generation, Strange New Worlds, the first six movies and bits of the Chris Pine films. So, maybe, I’m a bit of fan. Anyway, this is the best Star Trek movie by a country mile and when Spock makes the ultimate sacrifice to save The Enterprise, it is an absolute gut punch of a scene that still chokes me up, despite knowing he comes back in the next film! Even William Shatner got to act a bit.

Aliens (1986) - “That can’t be. That’s inside the room …”

This one, and an unexpected moment from its prequel that I’ll get to, very nearly made it into my horror list, but I figured I’d leave them for here. I am one of those people who think there’s a discussion to be had as to which movie is greater and this scene, where the remaining marines think they have barricaded themselves away from the approaching swarm of aliens only to see them come ever closer on the motion sensors, is a perfect example of why it’s a close call. Incredible tension followed with an explosion of violence and viscera. Just superb filmmaking from James Cameron.

Blade Runner (1982) - “Tears in Rain”

Naturally this would be on the list. I’ve written in detail about this masterpiece before, and there’s nothing much else to say. Fantastically mirrored in its sequel that I’ll also get to. Arguably the greatest scene in modern day cinema.

The Adjustment Bureau (2011) - The Meet Cute

So, this might seem an odd choice, but these scenes don’t need to be full of aliens or in a far away galaxy, and as I’ve always said, if you don’t care about the characters, no matter what the genre, then the rest of the film doesn’t matter. This little known gem, based on a Philip K Dick short story, stars Matt Damon and Emily Blunt as a couple who must be kept apart by a mysterious group of men who are supposedly in charge of everyone’s fate. There are no sci-fi shenanigans on show in this scene, just great dialogue and sparkling chemistry.

Terminator 2 (1991) - “It’s in your nature to destroy yourselves.”

Another Jim Cameron and another classic. There are so many moments I could have chosen. The T1000, the shotgun twirl or the thumbs up are all great. However, in the end, it has to be the one I keep referencing, particularly just now, on the continuing obsession of mankind, through religion, greed or sheer stupidity, of being unable to live in peace with our neighbours.

Source Code (2011) - The Capsule

This forgotten time loop movie from director Duncan Jones is an absolute classic which packs more in its ninety minute run time than some others manage in twice that time. Jake Gyllenhaal is Captain Colter Stevens who is repeatedly sent back into the body of a passenger on a Chicago bound train and has eight minutes to stop a bomb exploding and killing everyone on board. The plot is both mind achingly complex and childishly simple. However, the sudden and strange expansion of the “capsule” Colter is supposedly communicating from, speaks to something more prophetic and philosophical. I’ll be writing more about this more in a few weeks.

They Live (1988) - The Fight Scene.

Had to put this in. No choice really. Also means there are two Carpenter’s in this list, for which I make no apologies! For a film with such a strong socio-political message, who knew that it would take a six minute brawl between Roddy Piper and Keith David to hammer home the point of opening your eyes to what’s happening around you. And just like the scrap it’s based on from The Quiet Man, it’s also just a damn good fight.

Blade Runner 2049 (2017) - Vegas

It must have seemed like an act of madness for Denis Villeneuve to be making a sequel to one of the greatest movies ever made. And yet, not only did he honour what had gone before, but in many ways he exceeded what the original had achieved. The scene of K (Ryan Gosling) walking into the irradiated wasteland of Vegas, searching for Deckard, is awesome in the true sense of the word. So cool I have it framed on my wall. Again, there will be a deeper dive into this masterpiece in the months to come.

Alien (1979) - Ash

Ah, so not that one then. As shocking as the chest buster is, it’s the sight of the Nostromo’s science officer, the cagey and secretive Ash (Ian Holm), getting his head knocked off, only to reveal, as milky fluid spurts everywhere and his body stumbles maniacally around, that he is in fact a synthetic android, that I find to be the most disturbing scene in this Ridley Scott classic. This could easily have made it onto my horror list.

Predator (1987) - “What the hell are you?”

I love Predator. It may actually be my favourite Arnie movie above T2. However, here he gets a lot of help from a fantastic supporting cast including Carl Weathers, Bill Duke, Jesse Ventura and Shane Black along with incredible creature effects by Stan Winston. This scene where Arnie and the Predator have fought each other to standstill is a brilliant denouement to a cheesy, action packed delight.

Edge of Tomorrow (2014) - “What’s his name again …”

Another time loop story and another underrated classic. This time we have Tom Cruise as Major William Cage, a PR officer who gets drafted to the front line with no combat experience and has to figure out, through a strange set of circumstances, how to defeat an alien invasion by reliving the same day over and over. However, with the help of Emily Blunt’s seasoned soldier Rita Vrataski, he becomes the ultimate warrior and humanity’s only hope. In this action packed, and very funny scene, we find his squad watching in disbelief at the rookie’s new found military prowess. Also, another appearance for the late, great Bill Paxton.

12 Monkeys (1995) - The Trenches

“Mon-key.” The way Brad Pitt says those two syllables in this fantastic Terry Gilliam movie has always stuck in my head. However, what is more haunting in this dark tale of time traveller James Cole (Bruce Willis) who is sent back to 1996 from the future to stop a virus wiping out 99% of the world’s population, is the moment where he is accidentally transported to the trenches of World War I and meets another time traveller who has been trapped in the same loop as Cole whilst also trying to stop the virus.

Escape from New York (1981) - Bandstand Boogie

Of course I had to finish this list with another Carpenter classic. This one will also be getting a more detailed article in the weeks to come. Although I do think this dystopian masterpiece gets occasionally overlooked in the love for The Thing and Halloween. The final scene where Snake Plissken (Kurt Russell) catches up with the US president, after rescuing him from the prison island of New York, only to discover he’s more interested in his upcoming TV appearance rather than having any sympathy for all the people who died getting him to safety, is perfectly played as Plissken swaps out the tape that’s about to be broadcast around the globe with supposedly world saving information on it, for one playing the old swing tune, “Bandstand Boogie.” Just as relevant today as it was 45 years ago.

Well, there we are. Like my horror movie list I had to do some serious editing here which meant missing out such classics as Minority Report, Groundhog Day, Looper, Back to the Future, Mad Max, Planet of the Apes, The Last Starfighter and Fifth Element to name but a few. So this really could have gone on forever!

However, it is worth noting that, after horror, sci-fi is my favourite type of film. Probably because of the strong similarities in their storytelling both of which are steeped in fear and uncertainty of the unknown. Each use genre to discuss difficult themes and topics, not through telegraphed plot points or heavy handed messaging, but by allowing the audience’s imagination to find its own path, soaring beyond banality or dogma, and to walk in realms of the fantastical, macabre or speculative. They’re also a whole lot of fun!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. Fantasy movies are up next in a few weeks.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

The familiar yet sickly sweet smell of incense polluted the still air.

Grinding his teeth, he urged himself to stay calm. If the mother and child were returned without harm he would be on his way. If not ….well, no one wanted that.

He could feel eyes watching him as he climbed the smooth, stone steps that led up to where this once grand structure lurked haughtily over the surrounding lands.

The warrior paid them no mind. He was no superstitious dolt. The only power here lay in the scabbard at his side.

The morning sun burned on his neck as he turned to look back down the mountainside. Trickles of smoke from the village of Lorvik rose into the clear blue sky. Small buildings huddled close together as if in comfort against the horror that had befallen their inhabitants in this valley which they had once called home.

Barren fields surrounded the houses on all sides. The carcasses of cattle and sheep lay scattered about, almost indistinguishable from the dusty scrubland.

It was a bleak view.

He had come upon the village at dusk the night before. His horse shying away from the stench of death before he had even noticed. There was no reason he could remember as to why he had come here. It was as if he had been compelled to take the rutted, rock strewn road. Was this life even his own anymore, the warrior pondered. His fate and future seemed sealed by the mercy of an unfallen blade.

With outstretched, emaciated arms and beseeching eyes, they welcomed this strange visitor to their dying village. Looking for answers or vengeance, they cared not. Men, women and children all left to starve by a heartless world.

Grimbauld shared what rations he had, and they wept in gratitude at this unexpected kindness as the meagre portions were passed around.

Finding the frail village elder, the warrior asked what had befallen the community.

“Drought and disease,” the old woman answered bluntly. “First the crops, then the livestock. I have seen it this bad only once before when I was a young girl, but that was many moons ago. The noble lords and kings care as little now as they did then. Yet, our people are not as strong as they once were. So, when these evil men arrived at the old temple, people believed the lies and gave them all we had.”

Looking up the rocky crag where she pointed, Grimbauld could make out the crumbling remains of a once proud place of worship, now reduced to ruins and rubble, bathed blood red in the summer sunset.

“What lies?” he asked, already expecting the answer he had heard so many times before.

“Oh, the usual,” the elder sighed, confirming his fears. “Because of our sins, the gods had abandoned us and we had to give homage. I tried to stop them, but I am just an old woman. And then when everything else was gone…” Her voice broke and she spat into the dirt, before continuing. “They asked for a sacrifice.”

Grimbauld’s fist tightened around the hilt of his sword as he listened in horror to how six of these priests had come down the day before and taken a mother and child back to prepare them and the village for “cleansing.” He suddenly surged to his feet, ready to ride up in the dark, risking broken legs for his horse and a cracked skull for himself to get them back. His anger was a monstrous thing, and even the village elder shrank back.

“I see what is in your eyes, Grimbauld.” The warrior flinched. Had he told her his name? “And I seek it too. But your death on the mountainside will not avenge us. Dawn’s light comes early to these lands. That will be time enough. Yet, hark, these men may not carry the truth, but a darkness has came with them to this valley.”

She removed a string from around her neck, upon which hung a small stone medallion and pressed it into his palm.

“Return it to me. If you can.”

Grimbauld was not a devout man, but took the gift as it was intended.

He slept fitfully that night.

His dreams were of fire and blood.

As he stood waiting in the portico of the temple, its many stone tiles now jagged and cracked like an old hermit’s rotting teeth, he could hear the rapidly approaching scuffing of sandalled feet.

Soon Grimbauld was surrounded by twelve figures dressed in dark blue robes. Heavy hoods covered their faces as they chanted in unison. All of them, bar one, held long curved daggers.

This unarmed priest stepped forward and swept back his hood. Glittering black obsidian eyes stared out from a pale skeletal face. Bright red spider veins snaked and pulsed across his bald skull. He smiled maliciously and his serrated teeth had been filed to sharp points.

The words began to grow louder and Grimbauld realised that the others may be frauds but this high priest was channelling some kind of malignant power. Despite his best efforts, he could feel the muscles of his legs weaken and he crumpled to his knees.

“You dare to desecrate this holy place?!” the high priest hissed. “You will pay for your folly.”

Grimbauld could barely hold up his head now. He tried to draw his sword but it clattered to the ground. All around the voices rose to fever pitch. The stench of the incense grew stronger. His breathing began to falter. Vision fading.

Then, with a yell of defiance, he ripped the small stone medallion from his neck and threw it at the high priest. It hit him between those black, dead eyes, and he screamed in pain, stopped chanting and stumbled back. The other priests turned in shock. And that was all the time the great warrior needed.

He roared back to his feet, grabbing his sword off the ground and went on the attack.

The priests fled before him like the cowards and charlatans they were.

Pinning one of them against the wall, Grimbauld held the point of his blade to the man’s scrawny neck. His eyes bulged in terror.

“Where are they?” the warrior growled.

Pointing a shaking finger to a nearby antechamber the priest began to sob. “We only did as the gods commanded.”

Throwing the wretch to the floor, Grimbauld ran through the doorway and then stopped in horror.

The charred remains of the mother and child lay in the centre of an elaborately painted circle. A stone statue of an unknown deity watched with carved impassivity from the corner of the room.

Staggering away from the stench of burned flesh, Grimbauld’s mind reeled at the brutality. He had seen death before, in all its gruesome ugliness, but this was just wanton cruelty and madness.

A pathetic mewling noise came from the floor and he looked down to the priest still cowering against the wall in a puddle of his own urine.

“It’s not our fault,” he whined. “It’s not our fault.”

Grimbauld lost himself to slaughter.

When it was over, his sword dripped with gore and the bodies of the priests lay all around. Their leader he had left for last.

The amulet the elder had given him clearly had power of its own for it had burned a ragged hole in the skin of the high priest and blinded the sight from those black eyes. The pupils were now milky white. Blood leaked from the corners and dribbled down his cheeks.

Grimbauld caught him trying to escape by crawling down the far side of the mountain and slapped the flat side of his sword against his scrawny back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, dragging the murderer to his feet.

“Wait,” he babbled. Any threat he once held now long gone. “The power of the gods is still within me. The second sight. I can tell when you die, Grimbauld the Great. Warn you against your terrible fate. Let you live a longer life. Just spare me and the gods will grace you with their mercy.”

A brief vision of a sky filled with black arrows was suddenly before him, but Grimbauld shrugged it off.

“I accepted my fate a long time ago,” the warrior laughed harshly. “It cannot be changed.” He pulled the high priest close and whispered. “Just like yours.”

With a mighty thrust, Grimbauld shoved the screaming man off the edge of the mountain.

“Let your gods save you now,” he shouted as the tumbling body struck the rocks with the crunch of breaking bones and the squelch of splattering blood. The terrified screams were suddenly silenced.

It was late afternoon by the time he made it back to the village.

He had found a larder full of dried meats and fruit in one of the back rooms of the temple. There was also a well, around the side of the building, that had not run completely dry, and he was able to fill the dozen water skins he took from the dead priests possessions.

The gold and jewels he stripped from the pillars and with a final pitiful look at the dead mother and child, he smashed the stone statue of deity and kicked the pieces to the far corners of the room. Its remnants should be nowhere near these poor people’s final resting place.

Laden as he was, he very carefully made his way down the mountain path and entered back into Lorvik.

Waiting for him was the village elder. Her eyes full of woe, but also a fierce anger.

“They are gone?”

Grimbauld nodded. “I was too late to save the mother and child.”

The old woman sighed. “It was as I feared.”

He laid the food, gold and water at her feet. “I will leave these with you, old mother. These should sustain your people for a while. But I would go from this place. The evil carried out here cannot be undone.”

Mounting his horse, Grimbauld reached into his pocket and pulled out the remains of the stone medallion she had given him. It was blackened and snapped in two.

“Thank you. Whatever power this once held, it saved my life.”

“The power is in you, Grimbauld. It always has been. Use it wisely.”

Giving a final nod, the warrior slowly took his leave from the village and plodded down the road.

As the way opened up before him, he thought of the high priest’s last words and smiled without humour.

His path was set, but he would meet it on his own terms. That was the way. So he had been chosen. So it shall be done.

Screaming his rage to the heavens, Grimbauld turned his horse and raced for the horizon.

Grimbauld is a character that has been with me for over two years now. However, the last story I published about him was eighteen months ago, so it’s good to get back to his adventures. Below, for people new to this world, are a couple of stories that are hinted at in the tale above. I think there are now sixteen such tales to be discovered (which can be found on my home page), with much more to come over the next few months.

As an aside, when I first started on Substack I would use the auto generated illustrations as I didn’t know any better. These have all now been removed. However, I am also currently going through my back catalogue with my son hand drawing illustrations for all these tales. It’s taking time but we’re getting there.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

The Amityville Horror (1979) - “Get out!”

This movie, and the story behind it, is a load of old bunkum. However, it does have some disturbing imagery. None more so than when Father Delaney (Rod Steiger) comes to bless the house and is swarmed by flies before a demonic voice roars, “Get out!” I sneaked downstairs to watch this when I was way too young, and it gave me nightmares for ages.

Poltergeist (1982) - Face Off!

Yes, the clown is terrifying. However, the part of the movie that made everyone sit up and scream, “This is meant to be a PG!” is when Marty, (Martin Casella) the paranormal investigator, peels his face off in the bathroom. Absolutely wild and completely horrific watching it when you’re 12.

The Exorcist (1973) - “Merrin!”

To be fair, I could have included any scene from this masterpiece. Again, watched, on a pirate VHS no less, at far too young an age, this is a two hour lesson in how to unsettle and terrify. However, the one moment that sticks in my mind is when Father Merrin (Max von Sydow) arrives at the house on Prospect Street. Karras (Jason Miller) greets him warmly at the door and then Pazuzu suddenly yells “Merrin!” from Regan’s bedroom. It’s so unexpected and shocking, like the Ben Gardner scene in Jaws, that it scares the hell out of me every time.

Salem’s Lot (1979) - “Look at me!”

So, as you can see, we’re going through the full gamut of childhood trauma. Of course, Danny Glick at the window is pure nightmare fuel, but the scene where Jason (Matt) Burke (Lew Ayres) finds an undead Mike Ryerson (Geoffrey Lewis) sitting in the rocking chair of his spare bedroom is a brilliant lesson in creeping dread and spine-chilling visuals. And when he hisses, “Look at me,” you know you’re not getting any sleep tonight! Also, a shout out for the Marjorie Glick scene in the mortuary as well. Always have tongue compressors close to hand!

Constantine (2005) - “Hello John …”

I’m a huge fan of the Hellblazer comic series and its chain smoking, anarchic, Liverpudlian occult-detective, John Constantine. If I had to choose anyone to play this iconic character, it would not be Keanu Reeves. However, there is a lot to like about this adaptation. None more so than Peter Stormare’s incredible turn as Lucifer. He’s only on screen for about five minutes, but from his unnerving entrance in a brilliant white suit, with feet dripping tar to the battle of wills for Constantine’s soul, as he quickly switches from cajoling and caring to contemptuous and vicious, he is the perfect representation of Satan on film.

Dog Soldiers (2002) - “I’m in the khazi!”

The pitch of squaddies v werewolves is an easy one to make, but director Neil Marshall was savvy enough to take his time making us care about these young soldiers before pitching them into battle against a pack of killer lycanthropes. Once he gets them ensconced at an old farmhouse, the fun really begins. In the middle of a firefight, with machine guns rattling and monsters roaring, Sean Pertwee’s gruff but kind Sergeant Wells, who has spent most of the movie holding his ripped guts in place, is trapped in the toilet. As his men frantically try to find him, he yells back indignantly, “I’m in the khazi!” It’s an inspired bit of domestic humour amongst all the madness.

Exorcist III (1990) - “We are Legion.”

I have a lot of affection for this flawed sequel, in whatever version you want to watch it. Despite it being a very dialogue heavy story with deep contemplations on humanity and faith, there are still so many deeply disturbing scenes including the old woman crawling on the ceiling and a crucified Karras rising from the floor. However, the hospital corridor scene remains one of the great jump scares of modern cinema after a nearly unbearable ten minute build up of elbow gnawing tension.

American Werewolf in London (1981) - “Can I have a piece of toast?”

More werewolves! But of course I had to mention the greatest werewolf movie ever made. Again, an endless list of amazing moments like David’s nightmares, the initial attack on the moors and the awkward encounter at The Slaughtered Lamb could have been my choice. However, when the ravaged corpse of Jack first appears to David in the hospital and asks for a piece of toast, it perfectly encapsulates the brilliant timing of horror and humour in this classic film.

Hellraiser (1987) - “We’ll tear your soul apart.”

Clive Barker is a genius. Of that there is no doubt. You only have to look at him releasing the magnificent novel, Weaveworld and this gem of horror cinema in the same year. His imagination for the dark and sensual macabre is unmatched. The Cenobites arrival in Hellraiser is a genuinely jaw dropping moment. In what has been, up until then, a suburban horror, they speak to a realm of pain and pleasure that blow open the doors to our twisted imaginations.

IT Chapter One (2017) - “You’ll float too!”

As most folks know, IT is my favourite novel of all time. The adaptations have been a mixed bag, but this movie probably best captures the tone of adolescence, grief and fear with strong performances by all the cast. Pennywise taunting Bill with the the spectre of his dead brother, Georgie, who he killed at the start of the story is probably one of the cruellest tricks he plays and the scene in the basement is brilliantly tense, creepy and tragic.

Sinners (2025) - “Rocky Road to Dublin.”

One of my favourite passages from the poem, Tam o’ Shanter by Robert Burns is the witches dancing around the flames in the Auld Kirk. In a movie with so many great musical moments, the sight of Remmick and his horde of vampires singing Rocky Road to Dublin whilst reeling and jigging through the night took me right back to that astonishing piece of writing. A dark and poetic moment in an exceptional film.

Doctor Sleep (2019) - “A man takes a drink ….”

As I mentioned in my recent article on all things The Shining, this is a deeply personal scene to me, that brings together the original novel, the Kubrick movie and this belated sequel whilst still managing to be a powerful moment about the struggles of addiction and trauma that Danny Torrance is going through as he sits in a haunted Overlook hotel talking to his dead father.

The Thing (1982) - “I know I’m human.”

Well, you all knew the greatest movie ever would be here somewhere. And yes, it does also have the greatest ending ever, which could easily have been my choice. However, MacReady’s speech of defiance takes it for me. After the horrors in the kennel, Benning’s death and Blair going crazy, this scene leads directly into the most incredible forty minutes of horror cinema. It’s a masterful piece of tension in a film full of them.

Finding out how many folk love this movie as much as I do has been one of the highlights of my time on Substack, and makes this a perfect way to end my list.

Well, that was a fun little break from my usual articles and stories. I’ve looked into a lot of these movies in more detail previously and have included the links in the titles above if you want to read more about them. Are these the most terrifying moments from watching horror movies over the last forty odd years? Probably not, but they’re the ones that have stayed with me. Next up will hopefully be my more detailed thoughts on Hellblazer/Constantine, but I’ve been saying that for a wee while now and not got there yet, so we’ll see!

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

Craig Halketh glared at the ceaseless rain pounding on the windscreen of his Royal Mail van and shook his head.

The year had spawned under a pregnant cloud of dank, heavy grey. Even now, as the calendar ticked into March, it didn’t show any signs of improving.

Fields flooded. Rivers bursting their banks. Road surfaces washed away, leaving massive pot holes that could wreck your suspension never mind your tyres. Taking all that into account, it was no surprise the whole country seemed to be in a truculent and irritable mood. Or maybe it was always that way.

As a nation, the British were often accused of talking about the weather too much but this year, Craig reckoned, they had due cause.

He sighed, breaking away from his gloomy reverie. None of this was helping to get the last of these parcels delivered.

Looking from the back of the van and its mound of boxes and padded envelopes, to the pandemonium of precipitation outside, he flipped up the collar of his waterproof jacket and pulled the black woollen beanie over his thinning hair. With a final look in the rear view mirror at the weary and worn face staring back at him, he climbed out and got started.

It would be Craig’s thirty fifth work anniversary next week and he had spent all that time delivering the mail around Grangemouth. Some people might look at the fact he had lived and worked in his home town all these years as being a small life, but he hadn’t thought of it that way. Not everyone could be like that famous writer who grew up around here. What was his name? Connor Lambert. Yeah, that was it. Lost his brother a few years back didn’t he? So, even famous folks had the same problems as everyone else. Craig wasn’t much of a reader, but the guy seemed like a nice enough chap. Anyway, he had never wanted to be famous, and had been pretty happy where he was.

The mortgage for his little house on Lime Street was paid off, he had savings in the bank and a good pension to retire on. Plus, with all the walking he did, his health was pretty good and that was the most important thing.

“If you have your health, you have everything,” his mum used to say and right she was.

A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at the memory. His mum had passed away ten years ago and he missed her every day. He was an only child, had never got married or had kids, so his parents were everything to him and their losses had hit him hard.

That reminded him. It would soon be Mother’s Day and he would have to take flowers up to the graveside later this week. Making a mental note, Craig hunkered his shoulders against the continuing onslaught and went on with his deliveries.

Just recently, however, he had felt an unwelcome moroseness settle on his bones. It was nothing he could put his finger on exactly, more as if his soul was tired. Of what, he wasn’t sure, but all his usual activities of going to movies and concerts, hill walking every other weekend and playing in the bowls league, were coming to seem a bit banal and worthless.

Of course, it could just be the mid life crisis that everyone went on about, but he wasn’t so sure. Maybe something really did need to change.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as he looked at the address on the last package he had in his bag. The rain had finally began to fizzle out and a timid ray of sunshine peeked through the lurking granite clouds.

At the edge of Zetland Park sat a house from the nightmares of his youth.

There had been so many stories told about this place that he had forgotten when its infamy had become so intrinsically ingrained in his psyche.

As far back as he could remember it had always been abandoned.

A looming, two storey Victorian mansion that squatted behind overgrown, marshy lawns in which ancient gnarled oak trees, their twisted branches brittle and bare, stood guard with ominous menace. Its vast tiled roof, pock marked with crumbling, gangrenous holes through which skeletal, guano smeared support beams could be seen and from where scrawny birds and bats would occasionally burst forth, squawking and screeching, slumped, sunken and haggard by time. Heavy wooden planks boarded up once grand bay windows, their frames blackened with scorch marks making them appear like bandaged, yet eerily watchful eyes. When the wind blew through its dilapidated shell, despairing wails and moans would rise like ghouls from a unsanctified tomb.

Rumours swirled of children going missing within its grim walls and when the police investigated, pentagrams and dead animals had been found within, proving, to the gossiping townsfolk at least, that it had been the base for witches and devil worship. They never found any of the missing kids though.

As Craig got older he realised that most of this was probably made up nonsense, and yet it never stopped the house looming large in his imagination particularly as even adults seemed wary to talk of it. They would just shake their heads and mutter what an eye sore it had become, sitting right next to their pretty park with its new band stand, flower gardens and play parks. Like a pile of old dog shit left to fester on their freshly polished floor.

Had there been murmurings that someone had bought it recently? He wasn’t sure, but his delivery route had never taken him down the end of this street where the overgrown path led to its gawping façade.

And now here he was. Standing on the rain soaked pavement, with a small square box in his hand, feeling like a frightened five year old again.

Trying to shrug away his unease, he licked his lips, that had gone suddenly dry, and chastised himself for this foolishness. It was just an old house. That was all. There were no monsters here. He had a job to do and he better get on with it.

The sun tried to give him courage. Its bright, watery light seemed to finally be winning the battle with this last scourge of winter, and a whisper of warmth gently caressed his face as he lifted it to the sky.

“Let’s go,” he muttered and stepped through two stone pillars. One had a lion head carved on top. The other an eagle. Both were ensnared and suffocated with spiralling roots and branches.

The path crunched under his heavy boots. Small stones, chuckies his dad would have called them, were scattered haphazardly along the way. Bare patches of scrubbed earth marked where time and storms had disrupted their previous symmetry.

Everything looked just as overgrown and wild as he had expected, with a tall, dishevelled hedge running around the property, but now, as Craig stepped in further, it seemed oddly comforting rather than oppressive.

It was the quiet.

No cars or trucks from the nearby Abbots Road could be heard. All the clattering noises of civilisation were muffled. Pushed to the periphery of hearing so they just became a minor distraction, nothing more. His footfalls seemed loud as thunder, making him lighten his step so as not to disturb the peace. Even the wind was calmed with the afternoon light dappling through tall trees bringing peace and serenity to the barren surroundings.

A strange feeling of being at one with nature swept over him. The smell of loamed earth came to his nostrils and he took a deep breath of the pure, fresh air. After living under the shadow of a vast petrochemical plant for so long, this was a rare gift.

On the far side of the lawn a cherry blossom was beginning to bloom. Its pink buds a small vibrant explosion of colour amongst the murk. A sure sign towards the changing of the seasons.

Gentle scuffling through the undergrowth and in the branches above spoke of wildlife at play. An undisturbed place to enjoy their curious meanderings.

Waiting for him, at the end of the path, was the house.

It still looked decrepit and worn, with peeling black paint unevenly covering a sagging wooden porch and swollen door, but the windows were clear of any barricades and whilst still grimy, a faint orange luminescence seemed to burn within.

“Hello,” Craig said, but it came out as a croak that no one would have heard. He was about to speak again, when he noticed the front door was lying slightly ajar, a thick reddish coloured vine protruding through the gap, snaking across the doorstep and into the deep garden foliage. As he watched it began to pulse and grow in a strange hitching rhythm. Each throbbing undulation stretched it wider, the epidermis creaking like knuckles continually being cracked, opening the entrance ever further, so he could see inside the shadowy confines of the old house.

Stepping over the threshold, he looked down at the box he was still carrying and saw that it had turned into a bunch of flowers. His feet were no longer on wooden flooring but instead walked across soft earth under a turbulent sky.

All around were silent, sentinel gravestones. Their polished surfaces glittered with rain drops from a morning shower.

In front of him was the final resting place of his parents. A small simple marker expressing his love and loss for what had been and gone. The vases at the side were still full of roses he had only brought up a week prior for his fathers birthday.

He understood then that these trips to the cemetery weren’t really for his mum and dad. They were for him. A way of clinging onto their essence. He wasn’t a religious man, but maybe coming up here was an act of desperate hope to feel the comfort their spirits could bring to him in times of need. An emotional bulwark against encroaching loneliness. He shrugged and tears came to his eyes.

“I’m so tired,” he muttered, wiping his cheeks.

He was back in the old house. Standing in a long, high ceilinged hallway with bare floorboards, along which the vines continued to spread. Every six feet or so was something that looked like a giant seed pod, its outside skin veined with spidery tendrils through which viscous liquid slithered and flowed. On the front of each pod was a golden padlock that seemed to hold the two halves together. The mechanical device alien against the organic matter. As Craig continued to stare in horrified wonder, he could see there were humanoid shapes moving within these cocoons.

A rustling of leaves caused him to turn sharply.

Standing just behind him, framed in the entrance of the house, was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

It resembled a human female form, but instead of skin it had thin, light brown bark across its body. Long, delicate branches covered in pink blossoms spilled from the top of its head and tumbled down both sides of its torso in cascading tresses. White eyes, of polished marble, stared out from an angular and curious face. When it opened its mouth to speak, Craig could see small, sharp pointed teeth but the words were kind and harmonious.

“We have been waiting for you.”

The speech was ancient. Of the earth. Not from the corrupted modern age. And yet he understood it with every fibre of his being. It made his heart ache with desire to be part of this creature’s world.

“Come. Join us. Everything is ready.”

Craig followed them through the house, noticing that within each pod they passed was something both human and not.

A bare chested man lay breathing heavily as his furred and hooved legs kicked out in his sleep. In another, a woman with four large butterfly wings protruding from her back seemed to watch the two of them as they walked by. Craig looked away and then back in amazement.

A smaller pod contained a boy of no more than ten years old, with the snout and paws of a wolf.

“What is happening to them?” he asked softly.

“They are changing,” his companion said. “Preparing for their rebirth.”

In every room and corridor where the roots reached there were dozens of pods. Each one containing a magical creation.

Finally they came to the back of a large living room where a single cocoon remain unoccupied. The golden padlock snapped in place.

“Your key. It is time.”

That was when Craig looked down at the small box in his hand and finally understood what it contained.

Carefully opening the package, he found an intricate key lying on a small, purple cushion. It fit perfectly into the mechanism and with a gentle click his pod opened.

“I am honoured to stand guard. Be comforted. I will be here when you awaken.”

Without a second thought, Craig stripped off his clothes and climbed into the pod. As soon as he lay down, roots and branches began to entwine his body. He knew now that this was what he had been searching for. The thing he always wanted. He was at peace. Even as a vine crawled up his body and pushed its way down into his his throat, there was no fear. Just grateful acceptance. He was finally home.

As the sun sank behind the hills, the gnarled, looming hedge began to grow back around the old house at Zetland Park, blocking off the entrance way and returning it to the abandoned and overgrown look that kept it safe. Nothing else was needed now. The summoning was complete.

The guardian watched as the man was subsumed into the womb of the forest and then turned away. There was much work to be done. They didn’t know what all these changelings would become, but their power was already growing. After such a long winter, the true magic of spring was approaching. It was in the air and water. The beasts and birds. All would flock to their side.

The time to fight had come.

They would finally take back what was theirs.

This story is part of another wonderful event called Spring Fever hosted by . Make sure and check out all the other stories from so many amazing authors.

My inspiration for this tale was a little bit of Nightbreed (Cabal) by Clive Barker and also stories like Mythago Wood by Robert Holdstock and Faerie Tale by Raymond E Feist. The idea of an unknown world within ours has always fascinated me, so I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

Outside, dragons roamed.

Screeching past her window with tails of fire and jaws of death.

Mama had said if they were quiet, with the lights off, they’d be safe.

But mama just cried all the time now that papa was gone.

He’d been searching through the rubble for survivors when the dragons had descended from the sky.

In his cot her baby brother was screaming.

She went to comfort him, but mama was already there, face filled with grief and frantic terror.

The night began to roar.

The dragons had found them.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

Some films are remembered for their famous lines.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” or “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,” or, one of my favourites, “You’re going to need a bigger boat.”

And then there are films, which more often than not are either from a specific genre or have a cult following, where fans can recite entire paragraphs of dialogue from memory.

Probably the most famous one, that I spoke about a few weeks ago, would be the “Tears in Rain,” monologue from Blade Runner. However, there is also Quint’s spooky Indianapolis story in Jaws which is as well known as it is misquoted. And finally, the best of all for me, the “I know I’m human,” speech by MacReady in John Carpenters, The Thing.

These are all examples of great script writing and incredible delivery by the actors involved.

And then we come to Highlander.

It may seem odd, to some people, that I mention this bizarre 40 year old cult movie in relation to the classics above. However, that is how much it means to not just me, but to all my friends as well.

This is the film that we have quoted the most over the last four decades. Various lines repeated in a variety of situations with most of them done, I have to admit, in a bad Sean Connery accent. And, whenever that happens, it always cracks us up.

However, that’s not to say in any way that the movie is just a collection of memes. Far from it. Three years ago, when I first joined Substack, I wrote briefly about Highlander in a discussion about other 80’s fantasy movies : -

You can see I have always considered it a classic but it does seem I was rather cruel to Hawk the Slayer in that article! I do actually love it for all the cheesiness and silly string! However, Krull is still awful.

Anyway, I didn’t want to just repeat what I said there so I decided, as it’s the first film’s fortieth anniversary this year, that I would go back and watch all four movies again to see how they held up. I remembered the second one being absolutely bonkers, and considered by many to be the worst movie ever made, but I had no recollection of the other two, at all.

So, here we go, a look at the best film ever set in Scotland (yes, I mean it!) and the sequels it spawned. For better or worse. Mostly for worse, but we’ll get there.

Highlander (1986)

Highlander is about a group of sword wielding immortals fighting each other throughout history until only one remains to claim the “prize.” It’s a brilliant set up that the film doesn’t bother taking time to explain, but rather drops the audience straight into the action.

“How’d it happen for God’s sake?”

“Why does the sun come up? Or are the stars just pin holes in the curtain of night? Who knows.”

So we are introduced to Connor MacLeod as his clan prepare to fight the Frasers. In the battle he is mortally wounded by The Kurgan (Clancy Brown going full maniac), an immortal warrior that has sought him out, but somehow manages to survive. His fellow villagers don’t like that much so he’s banished into the wilds of Scotland to make his own way in life. Big shout out to the great James Cosmo as Hamish getting in some early sword wielding practice for his later adventures in Braveheart and Game of Thrones.

We follow MacLeod’s adventures through time where we see him fall in love with Heather (Beatie Edney) and meet up with another immortal, Juan Sanchez-Villalobos Ramirez, played with flamboyant relish by Sean Connery, who explains what is going on, takes the Scotsman under his wing, training him to be an elite swordsman, whilst preparing him for the trials ahead.

The film cuts between the past, and modern day (1985) New York, where this Gathering of immortals will take place and a police detective, Brenda Wyatt (Roxanne Hart), is investigating a series of unusual murders that seem to lead to MacLeod’s door.

This is urban fantasy at its finest, set to an incredible rock and roll soundtrack by Queen. When the opening monologue finishes and “Princes of the Universe,” kicks in, you know you’re in for something special. The action is wild and brutal, with a grittiness that keeps you on edge. This is certainly no fairy tale.

It shouldn’t work. All the performances, particularly Connery and Brown, are turned up to eleven. Lambert couldn’t speak English at the start of the shoot, never mind with a Scottish accent, and some of the visuals look exactly like the 80’s TV adverts that the director Russell Mulcahy was best known for.

And yet, because of this strange convergence of ideas and talent, it really becomes something far more than the sum of its parts.

Yes, the fighting and time travel is fun but this, first and foremost, is a film about love and death, and how we carry our losses with us.

“Macleod, I was born 2,437 years ago. In that time I’ve had three wives. The last was Shakiko, a Japanese Princess... When Shakiko died I was shattered. I would save you that pain. Please, let Heather go.”

Ramirez is preparing the Highlander for what awaits him in an endless future of sorrow and heartbreak, as he watches anyone he cares about grow old and die whilst he stays the same age. It’s a bitter price for eternal life.

Even The Kurgan, in the first draft of the script, wasn’t the snarling lunatic he is depicted in the movie, but rather someone so traumatised by centuries of grief, that he eventually snapped.

It would have made for a more sympathetic villain, and Clancy Brown wanted to play him that way, but the studio needed a savage monster, so that’s what they got.

MacLeod, all these centuries later is still, quite literally, carrying a candle for Heather, whilst insisting that “love is for poets.” Even when he falls for Brenda, he tries to push her away to avoid the pain. Ramirez has taught him well.

However, it is with the ancient Egyptian we see the other relationship that he holds dear. Because, despite these immortals not being able to have children, this is also a story of family.

Now, I’m not quite suggesting the guys he fights like Fasil and Kurgan are his squabbling siblings, but we do see MacLeod and Kastagir (Hugh Quarshie) have a brotherly reunion that shows they are not all trying to constantly murder one another. However, with Ramirez, it is definitely a father teaching his son life lessons before his own time comes.

It is in the banter between Lambert and Connery where most of the humour comes from. The two of them got along famously on set and you can see that in their interactions. This was the performance that led the famous Scotsman back from the wilderness years of his career and was followed by The Untouchables, The Last Crusade and The Hunt for Red October, to name but a few. It is by far my favourite Connery performance, filled as it is with pathos and passion, despite his short screen time.

What begins with hostility and suspicion, in a very teenager like manner, because MacLeod thinks he knows better than the old man, soon turns into trust and love, as he is taught how to survive with his gift in a uncertain world. This is highlighted perfectly in the delightful scene on the beach, with the stag, as Ramirez shows him The Quickening and how to fully embrace his power.

However, as is the case with most parents and children, MacLeod has to deal with the loss of his father when The Kurgan kills him. It is never fully explained where the Highlander is when this happens, but I’ve always taken it as Ramirez sent him away and sacrificed himself so Connor could survive. Just as any parent would do.

This has always been a story about death. Even the Queen soundtrack points to this with, “Who Wants to Live Forever.” It grapples with that question of would you really want to be immortal, and how would you cope with all that grief.

When you’re younger, and certainly when I first saw the film, I thought that it would be a great laugh to be around forever and see whatever innovations the centuries brought. However, as you get older, wiser and more cynical, you realise there’s a perfectly good reason why we only get one shot at this crazy rollercoaster. Birth, life and death are natures way and, despite the pain it causes, nothing should interrupt that cycle.

In losing Ramirez and Heather, MacLeod is cast adrift, as we all are when we lose the ones closest to us, and he must struggle through the centuries alone in this desperate quest for the prize.

And here, the movie has one final twist.

The prize, that MacLeod ends up winning by defeating The Kurgan, is a nightmare.

Giving him the ability to hear what everyone is thinking, so he can help world leaders make the right choices, whilst regaining his mortality, would make the remainder of anyone’s life an absolute misery. The Kurgan won by getting his head chopped off!

However, despite this dark denouement, the spectral speech by Ramirez before the end titles is a nice wee touch and perfectly closes the movie with at least some hope for MacLeod’s and humanity’s future.

A true cult classic in every sense of the word!

Highlander II (1991) - What were they thinking?!

As is the case with so many great movies, Highlander flopped when it was released in cinemas and then found its place on video.

So, by the early nineties there was already a clamour for a sequel to a movie that had never needed one. The ending to the original was a full stop. There was no more story to tell.

However, as with most things, just because they could, really didn’t mean they should, even if Mulcahy, Lambert and Connery were all brought back on board.

The making of Highlander II is now infamous with producers, directors and actors all falling out at some stage during the filming process. So, naturally when the movie was finally released in 1991, it was slated across the board and was a disaster at the box office.

I remember still being quite excited going to see it at the cinema, because surely it couldn’t be as bad as everyone was saying, and then sitting there open mouthed at how utterly crap it really was.

So, thirty five years later, when it came to this rewatch, I was back to thinking the same thing and hoping that time had been kind to what might prove to be an underrated masterpiece.

With that in mind, let me just do a quick summary of the “plot.”

It now appears that the “immortals” were actually aliens from the distant planet of Zeist. MacLeod and Ramirez led a group of rebels against the evil General Katana but were captured and banished to Earth to fight each other until only one remains. That final survivor wins the prize of being able to return to Zeist.

This is not a joke. Someone actually thought that was a good idea.

What follows are my random thoughts on the film. Although no alcohol was consumed during this rewatch, I really wish it had been.

It’s 1999, the ozone layer has gone. MacLeod is working on a shield to protect the Earth from the suns rays. It works. Huzzah! Oh, but twenty five years later all is not well. There’s no sun, moon or stars. Everyone is sad. Looks like the prize helped and then didn’t. I could have told them that!

Oh hang on, MacLeod is old now and he’s fallen asleep at the opera. Don’t blame him really. But wait, what’s this? Ramirez is back and telling him to remember about Zeist and their rebellion. Hmm.

It looks like a bad Dune rip off with Commodore 64 graphics. Really, what is going on?

There’s Sean! Seems like he doesn’t want to be the leader of the rebellion but is doing some strange shapes over MacLeod’s face. This is now the Quickening. Eh?!

Michael Ironside is General Katana!

MacLeod has woken up. He’s in a bar and puts money in the jukebox. “It’s a Kind of Magic,” starts playing. How meta. Then the subtitles spell his name wrong!

Now there’s some floating screaming bad guys with strange glasses and weird hair. It’s like a night out in my home town!

Terrible fights and fake explosions galore. Hiding between cars again. So 1986!

Jesus, this has been edited by a toddler with a plastic spoon.

Ramirez is back! In Glencoe! Where he didn’t die! Whilst they’re staging Hamlet? Not Macbeth. In fact, he’s not even meant to be Scottish so what does that matter?!

The one great line of the movie is said not long after, as a massive truck thunders past the now resurrected immortal/alien/rebel leader : -

“So much for the horse and cart.”

Sean says it so it’s funny, but the subtitles translate it as “So much for the whoresome cop!” Seriously, what?!

Ironside is back! He’s acting like The Kurgan now despite being sane a few minutes ago. He wants to fight MacLeod who is now immortal again cause he killed the funny looking dudes. None of this makes sense!

Ramirez dies. Again. Bagpipes start playing. He’s still not Scottish!

MacLeod has his katana. Oh no he doesn’t. Oh yes he does. Seriously, how did this film ever get made, never mind released?!

Kill General Katana with your katana! He did it! Huzzah!

And then it ends.

Seriously, everyone involved needs to hang their heads in shame. Except for Sean. He looked like he was having fun and got paid about $10m for 15 minutes work. Well done that man. Zero percent on Rotten Tomatoes is too high a score!

Utter muck.

In 1995 a “Renegade Cut” was released on home video which removed all mention of Zeist or aliens, but I just don’t have the heart to watch it. Sorry.

Highlander 3 : The Sorcerer (1994)

Luckily, this movie pretends the previous one doesn’t exist. Which is something I wish I could do. Unfortunately, it also seems to forget that the first movie exists as well.

We begin with, what seems to be, MacLeod reading some words off a cue card. Which is very odd. But this explains, to those watching a movie with a three in the title, who might not know anything about the previous two, who he is and what’s going on.

It appears to immediately follow the events of the first movie.

Mulcahy has jumped ship and been replaced by Andrew Morahan and the new director makes a wise choice by taking us back to the 16th century.

After Heather dies, MacLeod sets off for Japan to learn how to properly use Ramirez’s katana from an ancient immortal known as Nakano (Mako) who introduces himself as the Lord of Illusions (which doesn’t really matter,) and explains that there is a really bad immortal called Kane (Mario Van Peebles) cutting about, and he might just be the most powerful one out there (just like the Kurgan then.)

It really is just a mirror image of the Ramirez storyline, with Kane eventually tracking them down, killing Nakano and somehow letting MacLeod escape. However, as Nakano’s severed head lies on ground it calls out a spell, which is a bit bizarre but good old fashioned fun, and collapses a cave on top of Kane, trapping him there for centuries.

The special effects are poor again, but this is a decent enough start and gave me hope for what was to come.

Brenda, who MacLeod got together with at the end of the first film, has been killed off again. As she was in the second movie, but I missed it that time due to all the other unfolding carnage. However, it does appear that they now have an adopted son. Who seems to only exist for the purpose of having him kidnapped by Kane later on.

Anyway, a team of archaeologists, led by Dr Alexandra Johnson (Deborah Unger) accidently unearth the cave that Kane was trapped in all those centuries before. He escapes and goes on the hunt for MacLeod.

Once again we have the movie going over old ground as MacLeod gets together with the sceptical Dr Johnson, travels between New York and Scotland, chops off some heads and then claims the prize.

Mario Van Peebles tries to bring some originality to his character but it’s just a cheap Kurgan knock off. Lambert comes across as a bit bored.

It’s certainly not as truly awful as the second film, but it’s still really bad and utterly pointless. Nothing is added to the lore, Connery is a huge miss and the plot is mostly nonsensical. Scotland looks good though.

Lambert clearly felt this was the end as his closing voice over tell us all the immortals are now gone and he can live in peace with his son.

If only we were all so lucky.

Highlander : Endgame (2000) - We can but hope.

Honestly, this may be worse than the second film. At least that one was bonkers. This is just incredibly dull.

We start in New York. Somehow, there now seems be loads of immortals. MacLeod looks really old. I can’t remember if he is still immortal and, by this point, don’t really care. Duncan MacLeod, Connor’s cousin, (Adrian Paul - the dude from the Highlander TV show) is also in this one. He has the charisma of a block of cheese.

Back we go to 16th century Scotland again and this time we get to see Heather, which is nice. However, it seems MacLeod’s mother is now being burned at the stake for giving birth to a devil. Connor can’t save her but ends up killing some crazy priest called Jacob (Bruce Payne) who genuinely has the worst Scottish accent in the whole series (which takes some doing!) and this causes him to become immortal. Are the immortals meant to be like vampires now? What a mess!

We cut back to present day and Jacob is hunting Connor, but instead of that we get to see a whole lot of exposition about Duncan, who seems to have a wife that hates him because he made her immortal when he killed her too. She’s call Faith (Kate Devaney) and appears to work in fashion as well as being a killer for hire. These guys have serious issues.

We then meet some dude called Methos, which I thought was a type of mint, who is 5000 years old and yet looks like an accountant. He is super boring. In fact the whole Duncan story line held no interest for me whatsoever. Everything concerning Watchers and The Sanctuary just passed me by. I had begun to doze off when none other than actual Donnie Yen popped up doing some cool fighting and jumping about. But then he disappears and we’re back to cheese-dull Adrian Paul moping about again.

This Jacob dude seems really strong, because of course he does, and even kills Donnie Yen, as if that would happen, so the MacLeod boys hatch a plan for Duncan to chop off Connor’s head to take his power. By this point, I was almost as fed up as Christopher Lambert looked. Both of us realising that all charm and ingenuity had long since departed this franchise.

When Duncan carries out this heinous deed and does indeed gain the strength to defeat Jacob, we finally get to the end. But not before we have another trip to the highlands to see Connor’s gravestone and Adrian Paul looking sad again. Just make it all stop! And then it does. Thank the Lord.

The original Highlander captured lightning in a bottle. What came after is an abomination (TV series aside as I’ve never watched it but if Paul is in it then I never want to). I don’t know any other franchise that deliberately tried to destroy the legacy and mythology of the original through terrible sequels. Luckily nothing can truly remove the lustre of the first film’s brilliantly absurd nonsense.

From Connery reading the opening monologue in the bathroom of his Spanish villa to get the necessary echo, to Christopher Lambert being so short sighted he could barely see who he was swinging his sword at, and Russell Mulcahy strapping car batteries onto the actors legs to wire them up so their swords would spark, there was a exuberant madness to the whole thing. And yet, because it had such a strong heart, it all worked.

The sequels thought they could bring the action and forget about the emotion. They ended up with just direct to video drek.

If the remake that’s coming out next year, starring Henry Cavill and directed by Chad Stahelski, is going to be any good it needs to remember its origins.

Highlander is the greatest movie ever set in Scotland and one that, unlike the utter guff that is Braveheart, makes me proud to live in such a fair and kind country.

It is the place I have always called home. I was born here and I’ll die here. My whole life has been spent walking across its cities, towns and villages, lochs, glens and mountains. Its quiet majesty finds a place in your heart that stays with you, wherever you go in the world. The people I’ve met along the way, through the kindness we shared and the stories we told, have taught me that, though none of us are immortals, there is some strange kind of magic in this land that keeps their spirits by my side so I’ll always remember that every day is a gift, and it is up to all of us to make them worthwhile through our words and actions. And if we manage that, and leave behind fond memories for the ones we love that continue on after we’re gone, then maybe that is actually its own form of immortality.

I’ll leave it up to Christopher Lambert, MacLeod himself, to explain, in the most poignant way, why the meaning of this film is so important :-

“When my brother died of cancer, I had the same feeling I had during Highlander, with its idea that you cannot get the past back – life has to go on. If Connor MacLeod can get through five or six lifetimes, we should be able to manage one.”

We only get one life. Live it well, my friend.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

The same stars under which we met watch on, indifferent to our breaking hearts.

“Don’t you love me?”

I have no answer. We never do.

Shaking my head, I look to the eternal blanket of tumbling galaxies and know I will never forget this terrible pain I am causing.

Shattering a once unbreakable bond.

She is leaving.

I should follow.

Cry out.

Yet I do nothing but watch her fade into the shadows.

A bitter regret to haunt my future.

Leaving this lonely man, walking a sorrowful path, where only endless stars will forever follow.

So, back to my day job with a slight change of pace this week. Mostly to prove I wasn’t always the weary cynic you see before you now and once had romantic dreams in my head, here is my story for Valentines Day.

However, as my darker side is pretty much always to the fore, it does end on the melancholy note of the permanent scars left on our hearts from hasty decisions.

It’s also another story inspired by the title of a song from the greatest first album ever, “The Crossing” by Big Country.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

My relationship with alcohol has always been complicated.

To my existing subscribers and followers who have previously read my thoughts on various books and movies including IT, Salem’s Lot and Pet Sematary, thanks for coming back once again to my ramblings. For any readers new to these ruminations, welcome.

As you can possibly tell from the paragraphs above, these articles are never just a review of the film or novel in question, but more an analysis of why the story and characters resonate with me in so many different ways.

This week I’m going to be talking about Stephen King’s, The Shining in all it’s different iterations. From the novel that was published in 1977, to the famous Kubrick adaptation in 1980, and not forgetting the 1997 Mick Garris TV miniseries. I’ll also look at the sequel, Doctor Sleep, and how Mike Flanagan turned one of King’s worst novels into a great movie.

This near fifty year old book is often considered by many to be King’s best. However, as much as I admire its mostly single location setting and narrative of slowly building dread, it has always left me feeling somewhat distant. Looking back now, with the benefit of age and (a very small amount) wisdom, I think the word I should have been using was uncomfortable.

As I’ve said many times before, you bring who you are, and how you think, to any book or film. The upbringing you had, the memories you treasure and the life experiences gathered across the decades, all inform your opinion on these pieces of art.

This is why The Shining will never be amongst my favourite King novels. It’s far too close to the bone.

Anyway, before we get into all that, and for those who might not know, let me give a brief summary about what this story is all about.

Jack Torrance is a writer and a teacher. He is married to Wendy, and they have five year old son called Danny.

He is also an alcoholic.

In the early part of the book we learn that Jack has always had problems with his drinking but it recently got to such a level that, in fits of rage, he broke his son’s arm and also got fired from his role at a private school after assaulting one of the pupils.

His friend manages to get him a job as caretaker of the Overlook hotel in the Colorado mountains for five months during the winter. He will be joined by his wife and son.

We find all this out in the first one hundred pages of the book, which are told from the perspective of the three main characters. So we see Jack’s self loathing for his addiction and the harm, both physical and mental, that he has imposed on his family, as he struggles with trying to stay sober. Wendy is someone who loves her husband, but also fears his outbursts of anger. And Danny has a very special power that he tries to hide from his parents as he struggles to understand the visions his “invisible” friend Tony shows him of supposed future events that will happen to him and his family. He can also sense what his parents are feeling at any given time, and if his dad wants to do the “bad thing” by start drinking again.

Within the first few chapters, there are also hints of the darkness to come. Ullman, the Overlook’s manager, tells the story of the last caretaker, Grady, who came to the hotel with his family and murdered them all. Here, rather than sympathise with the victims, Jack feels sorry for Grady being isolated and going slowly mad. It is an apt foreshadowing of his own future.

It’s fair to say that Jack is already a difficult character to like in these early parts of the book. When I was younger and first read what he had done to his son, I felt he was already irredeemable. In many ways I still think that. Any adult who lifts a hand to their child should be ashamed. But, looking at it now, you see that he already feels endless shame and anguish for what he did.

What I think is equally important, which I’ll come back to when looking at the film, is how all of these damaged people have their own agency.

Many of the chapters are told from Wendy’s perspective. She is a complex character with family issues from her own past weighing on her mind. And also, randomly, a strange obsession with cannibalism (!), which was clearly something King was reading about whilst writing the novel.

She worries about Jack and Danny, whilst battling feelings of jealousy at the close relationship they have, despite what her husband did to her son. Then, as they are getting shown the hotel kitchen by the chef, Dick Halloran, she picks up the strange connection that Danny has with him. It’s a connection that will save their lives, but for now she doesn’t understand it.

Dick is the first one to explain to Danny that his visions come from “the Shine.” A strange power that means he can read people’s minds, see certain things and be aware of what’s about to occur. He also warns him that there is something in the hotel that will be drawn to his power, especially in room 217, but that it can’t hurt him if he just looks away.

However, when Ullman gives the family a final tour of the the grand bedrooms, and they get to the presidential suite, Danny sees dried blood and brains splattered all over the wall. He looks away and the gore has gone, but as the door is closing, he notices that it’s back and this time the blood is fresh. So now he’s not sure if what Halloran told him is actually true.

The stage is set for what is to come.

“He was still an alcoholic, always would be …. It had nothing to do with will power, or the morality of drinking, or the weakness, or strength of his own character. There was a broken switch somewhere inside …”

Even before whatever resides in the Overlook begins to get hold of him, it is clear that not only is Jack an alcoholic but he has, and always has had, a terrible temper. This is what had got him fired from his last job and it begins to gradually drip back to the surface in his interactions with Wendy and Danny.

And yet, in these last remaining chapters before the horrors really begin, we get glimpses of a happy family making the best of their new surroundings. On every read, despite their problems, it makes you hope, despite what you know is coming, that things might actually work out for them.

But that was never going to be the case.

And things very quickly take a turn for the terrifying.

“This inhuman place makes human monsters.”

Finding a wasps nest in the roof seems to be the catalyst. It shows that Jack is beginning to be unsure of his memory and actions.

Did he use the bug bomb correctly to kill all the wasps? If so, how did they come back and sting Danny? Then, not long after, he finds himself down in the basement for hours reading up on the hotel’s history, desperate for a drink, and frantically rubbing his lips until they start to bleed.

Danny’s visions have started to get more creepy and disturbing with a visit to the doctor, very similar to the scene with Regan/Captain Howdy in The Exorcist, not providing any answers.

In the middle of all of this is Wendy who is swiftly realising that being trapped in the Overlook for the next five months, completely snowbound, might not be the best thing for her family, never mind her sanity.

It’s not only Danny that’s seeing things now. As Jack wanders around the topiary, the hedge animals begin to hunt him. Unsure if he is hallucinating, he runs back to the hotel where he finds an empty bar now full of bottles and a barman, Lloyd, waiting to take his order. Things are beginning to fall apart.

“Of course. The manager.”” Lloyd’s smiled broadened, but his eyes were socketed in shadow and his skin was horribly white, like the skin of a corpse. “Later he expects to see to your son’s wellbeing himself. He is very interested in your son. Danny is a talented boy.”

Despite Halloran’s warnings, Danny visits room 217 and is attacked by the woman in the bathtub. Now he knows these things can hurt him. However, Wendy initially blames Jack and drives him further into a dark cloud of rage.

It’s not until the final one hundred pages of the novel when all the things that everyone remembers come to pass. Up until then, it’s been a exquisitely slow build up of tension and creeping dread.

The elevators, full of party streamers, banging between floors in the middle of the night, Wendy and Danny hearing music and voices whilst Jack spends more and more time in the basement and (empty) bar that is populated by ghosts from the hotel’s past.

“You’re the caretaker, sir,” Grady said mildly. “You’ve always been the caretaker. I should know, sir. I’ve always been here.”

Both of these spectres seem to be implying to Jack that the “manager” is the hotel itself. With that in mind, are we to believe that the building is somehow a living evil entity rather than just bricks and mortar that are haunted by traumatic events from the past? And, if that’s the case, why would it desire the gift of Danny’s Shining? Does it simply need it to entrap and corrupt more of the residents? Is it a portal to hell, drawing all these conflicted souls like moths to a flame? Or, in fact is the Overlook the devil himself, somehow requiring this power to escape from the confines of a prison in which it finds itself? And, if so, who trapped it there? This is all wild speculation of course, and I can find no corroborating evidence one way or another from King, but it makes for an interesting theory. It certainly puts the Overlook up there, along with Pennywise, as one of the author’s great supremely powerful villains.

“If they got out of here, the Overlook might subside to its semi-sentient state, able to do no more than present penny-dreadful horror slides to the more psychically aware guests who entered it. Without Danny it was not much more than an amusement park haunted house …..But if it absorbed Danny …into itself ….what would it be then?”

Either way, Jack gets drunk in a dry bar, on alcohol that shouldn’t exist, and is convinced by Grady to “correct” Wendy and Danny for all the grief they have supposedly brought into his life.

However, in focusing on this, the hotel has forgotten something very important that will be come back to bite them later on.

At the end, when the entity that’s controlling Jack is hunting down his son with the roque mallet, the flawed, but still kind man he once was, forces his way back to the surface one final time.

“ …but suddenly his daddy was there, looking at him in mortal agony, and a sorrow so great that Danny’s heart flamed within his chest. The mouth drew down in a quivering bow.

““Doc,”” Jack Torrance said. ““Run away. Quick. And remember how much I love you.””

At the last minute, Danny and Wendy, with the help of Halloran, do manage to escape before an almighty explosion tears the Overlook apart and kills Jack.

I would like to think that the old Jack, the human one, the man who loved his family, had done it on purpose. That somewhere within all the spite and hate that the hotel had put in his mind, was the knowledge that if he didn’t control the temperature on the boiler then it was going to explode and destroy the Overlook once and for all. So, when he could feel the creep of evil invading his thoughts, he had let the boiler pressure increase until it couldn’t be stopped.

You see, to King, struggling as he was with his own addictions, this was always an autobiographical story on the destructive power of alcohol and the fear that it could make you harm someone you loved. These were issues that King clearly understood and sympathised with.

And, I guess, ultimately this is why I still find the book so tough to read.

My father was an alcoholic.

He wasn’t haunted by anything supernatural, but rather the ghosts of his past. Hurt, regret, frustration and shame. His own father, who we affectionately called Papa when we were kids, remorselessly beat my dad when he was growing up, as he was the one who stood up to the old bully when he tried to hit my Nana or his brothers and sisters. My Papa used to be a boxer so he knew where to hit to make it hurt.

Then, when he was 39, the Pilot boat my dad was working on exploded, throwing him onto the pier, badly burning his back and causing injuries that would give him chronic pain for the rest of his life. However, at the time, he didn’t care about that and went back on board to rescue the other boatman who would have died if not for his actions.

It may not have been monsters that caused my dad’s death but rather the inescapable darkness of the bottle that took him down a path from which there was no return. He tried many times to give up, but these physical and mental strains, as well as this terrible, relentless addiction, always dragged him back, causing him to lose jobs and, ultimately, himself.

However, even despite all the pain and trauma he carried, my dad was never violent with us, no matter how much he drank. Yes, he could lose his temper on occasion with voices raised and doors slammed, but that was as far as it ever went. He was a good man, brought low by things out of his control.

My dad was just 72 when he died. I went to visit him in hospital, not long before he passed, when he was suffering from kidney failure. We would talk a while and then he would ask me if I could see spiders and other creatures crawling up the hospital walls, convinced that they were there and not just a common side effect of the build up of toxins in the blood stream due to his condition. It was as tragic as it was chilling.

I have spoken many times of the love I feel for my father and this book, when I read it as a teenager, as tough as it was, in many ways helped me understand the destructive force that is alcoholism. As the previous quote says, it’s not down to lack of willpower, but of something being broken inside. My dad tried his best to fix it, but in the end, despite his best efforts, he just couldn’t manage to get there.

Jack can’t escape his internal and external demons either. But, when the love for his family finally wins through, he makes the ultimate sacrifice.

And that’s just one of the reasons why I dislike the Kubrick movie so much.

There’s already been a lot written as to why Stephen King hated the adaptation, so I’m not going to just repeat them here. However, I did just watch the movie again last night and all the same problems I’ve always had with it are still there.

Yes, Nicholson’s casting is all wrong, but that’s not the problem with him. The main issue is that there’s quite literally nothing there. No characterisation at all. This is a good man brought low by the hotel. But we don’t get to see that. He is just a sypher for the axe carrying psycho he’ll become.

His descent into madness is way too fast. Literally within 20 minutes he doing that blank stare out the window and the maniacal laugh that we know so well.

Also, there’s never any explanation for why the bar being fully stocked is actually such a big thing. His alcoholism, and the temptation that the hotel makes it, isn’t really mentioned. Sure there are a couple of lines about him being “on the wagon” but they seem throwaway and inconsequential. His assault on Danny, and any regret he feels, totally skirted over and marginalised.

The music! For the love of God, the music is so annoying. Whenever anything dramatic or supposedly scary is going to happen or has just happened, here it comes. Parp! Parp! Parp! Parp! Be scared! Look at all this blood pouring out of these elevator door in slow motion. Oh look, there’s two little spooky girls, oh now they’re murdered, oh now Danny is making that shaky little face again.

Like I’ve mentioned previously, Wendy is one of three main characters in the book, but here she is just a shrill, weeping victim. And this isn’t me looking on it with modern eyes. It was a ridiculous performance, (and one specifically requested and extracted by Kubrick’s brutal methods), even forty five years ago.

There is absolutely no heart or emotion in the film whatsoever. Nothing to show the love that Jack feels for his family or they for him. So when he begins to lose his grip on sanity it doesn’t actually matter. They are NPC’s wandering around a fake funfair waiting for spooky things to start happening. And, when it does all kick off, we’re meant to be terrified? Why? We don’t care about these people so why should their fate bother us? It is a completely hollow experience. All surface thrills and nothing else.

On this re-watch, I don’t think I just disliked the film, I think it actively infuriated me. It’s like this was the first attempt at doing that most hated of things, “elevated horror.” It thinks it’s somehow special because it’s got all these artfully shot scenes that are trying to tell us something profound above the already strong enough source material. Absolute nonsense.

In fact, I would go as far to say, it’s not actually an adaptation of Stephen King’s The Shining, it’s just a horror movie that Stanley Kubrick made in which the characters have the same names as in the novel.

The scariest movie ever? Give me a break.

The Mick Garris TV mini series, on the other hand, which King wrote so he could get his version on screen, is a well intentioned curiosity with some spooky moments and decent performances by Steven Weber as a non-gurning Jack and Rebecca De Mornay playing a much stronger Wendy. Still nowhere near as effective as the book, with its TV origins are on show a wee bit, but I still had a far greater emotional connection to it than for its more illustrious predecessor.

When it was first shown on TV in 1997 it got decent viewing figures and a mixed reception. However, a year after, on the book tour for Bag of Bones, King was asked whatever happened to Danny Torrance, and a seed was planted.

It took until 2013 for Doctor Sleep to be published. And, to be honest, it really wasn’t worth the wait.

The story begins not long after the events at the Overlook with the opening chapter perfectly capturing the tone and terror of the original as Danny finds the woman from room 217 in the bathroom of the small house he is sharing with his mum. It’s incredibly creepy and promises great things to come.

We then cut to a grown up Dan who is struggling with familiar problems, having turned to alcohol and drugs to blot out his childhood memories and try to dampen down the Shine. He is an angry man who gets into fights and steals money to feed his addictions.

Halloran has died and Dan is all alone trying to battle his demons, but he still remembers the advice the old man gave to him about how he can lock away the ghosts of the Overlook in his mind.

“Maybe you can put those things from the Overlook away in lockboxes, but not memories. Never those. They’re the real ghosts.”

It’s an interesting set up which the novel doesn’t really follow through on. The curse of passing down addictions from parents to children is explored, but the story is in too much of a rush to get to the main plot about the True Knot, a group of travelling vampire-like creatures who hunt children with the Shine and consume their powers. And that part I just found incredibly dull and uninvolving.

Yes, the chapters in the care home are touching and heartfelt, but I still think it’s one of King’s weakest novels with a hugely unsatisfying ending.

However, in 2019, Mike Flannagan who had managed to make a brilliant adaptation of the supposedly unfilmable Gerald’s Game, directed the screen adaptation of Doctor Sleep and, by finding a bridge between The Shining novel, this book and the Kubrick adaptation, made something far darker and more profound than anyone could ever have imagined. It is a brilliant contemplation of addiction, death and forgiveness.

Being a recovering alcoholic himself, Flannagan felt a deep connection to the material and managed to create that most rare of things, an adaptation of a Stephen King novel that is far better than the source.

Here he really leans into the desperation Dan is feeling, turning the money stealing scene into something particularly disturbing and grim. And yet, he also takes the time to show the friendship and support that is available through AA to conquer your addictions and give hope in the darkest times. Yes, the Abra and True Knot stuff is still a bit boring, but Rebecca Ferguson is good value as Rose the Hat and Ewan McGregor brings an authentic weariness to the role of Dan, even managing to put on a decent impersonation of Nicholson’s accent from the original movie.

King had initially objected to Flannagan having any references to Kubrick’s film in this one or indeed bringing back the Overlook in any form, but the author finally relented when he read the script. It was a wise choice. The scene between Dan and the ghost of his father, in the Gold Ballroom, where Jack tries to offer his recovering alcoholic son a drink, perfectly encapsulates the “sins of the father” overarching narrative and is perfectly played. Whatever the Overlook is, it knows that the same breakage, passed down from father to son, exists within Dan, despite his Shine, and is trying to exploit it to gain his power.

Addiction can be genetic. There are a lot of other environmental and lifestyle factors that obviously come into play, but studies have shown if you have a family history of addiction you are more like to suffer from it yourself.

Dan fights back against the temptation of the hotel and the conclusion of Doctor Sleep shows that, once more, due to his sacrifice, the good angels win out. However, I’m mature enough to know, in real life, that’s not always the case.

As for myself, I am aware of my past, and my upbringing, but try every day to forge my own path.

When both my parents passed away within three years of each other, I turned to the comforting fog of forgetfulness that only drink can bring. It took me a while to find my way back out, but I got there through the help of family and friends.

Those excesses and the mistakes of my drunken youth, and what made me indulge them, are long behind me. The fear of addiction, passed down from father to son, doesn’t apply to me. Or so I tell myself.

When I’m with my mates, I am a social drinker. Having fun, enjoying their company and setting the world to rights as only old friends can do. Never having too much.

However, on those rare occasions when my wife is travelling on business, and my son is living away at university, there are nights when I can be sitting alone, having a beer, and I feel something creep up on me. Like a far away call. The voice of my own Overlook? Tempting me to drink everything that’s in the house. To chase down whatever is broken within me with the sweet excess of oblivion.

But I don’t do it.

I think of my dad. The man who dragged his friend from a burning boat, who stood up against the brutish monster of his past with heart and courage. A kind man who loved his family, who cherished what time he had, telling all those wonderful stories that I still carry with me, and who helped me become the person I am today. That’s how I remember him. Not someone forged by their addiction, but as a father, friend and inspiration.

And those memories soon dispel the dangerous spectres of temptation.

We know that dreams are hard to come by, and sometimes you have to fight through nightmares to get to them.

A dream of being happy. Of being settled in your own body and soul. Understanding your place in the world. Using whatever power you have as a light against seemingly overwhelming darkness that can come from both without and within.

These brilliant stories are indelible lessons in bravery.

To not be afraid. To hope. To love. To Shine.

Thanks for reading.

Until next time.

If you’re a fan, you know the conversation always turns into the same argument sooner or later: which version is the best one? The Theatrical Cut. The Director’s Cut. The Final Cut. Same bones, different feel—and people get loyal to the one that hit them hardest.

That’s what this post is: a friendly, fan-to-fan duel.

My buddy makes the case for the original theatrical release — with voiceover and happy ending.

Me? I’m agreeing with Ridley Scott and going for the Final Cut, with absolutely no voice over, more violence and no happy ending. Just the story in all its bleak, beautiful ambiguity.

After this, go read Jim’s take on his Substack and then decide which cut owns you.

The Final Cut is the deepest

The Importance of Ambiguity in Imaginative Storytelling

by Daniel O’Donnell

I first came across Blade Runner through Harrison Ford.

Of course it was Harrison Ford.

In 1982, when the film was first released, I was 10 years old.

So, at that point in my childhood, Ford was by far my favourite actor through the Star Wars and Indiana Jones films.

He was the ultimate good guy. A bit of a rogue, but someone who always did the right thing in the end.

However, back then, Blade Runner was too grown up for me. For one thing, here in the UK, it was an AA rated movie, which meant you had to be 14 or older to get into the cinema to see it. Plus, the trailers that I watched on the TV looked a bit scary and violent. Yes, it was science fiction, which I loved, but there didn’t seem to be any space battles or friendly aliens. Buck Rodgers this certainly was not.

So when it finally came out on video the year after, with me being that wee bit older, and I saw the cool cover with the flying car and Ford looking all moody and pissed off, I was intrigued.

Then I watched it. And I hated it.

Why was it so bleak? Why was it raining all the time? Why was everyone so horrible? And why, for all that’s holy, was Harrison Ford, who is meant to be the good guy, shooting a woman in the back whilst she’s trying to run away?!

As Joey put his copy of The Shining in the freezer, so I was determined to figuratively do the same and pretend that this movie didn’t exist. Oh look, here’s Return of the Jedi. Lightsabers, fuzzy little bears and Han Solo saving the galaxy! That’s what we want.

But, just like other movies you see when you’re far too young to understand them, Blade Runner wouldn’t leave me alone. The visuals, the music and the overall melancholia of the story stayed with me for the next two years.

“If only you could see what I’ve seen with your eyes.”

By the time I was fourteen, I knew I had to see Blade Runner again.

It had become a cult movie by then. Not just in magazines and newspapers, but at my school as well. It was a film talked about in hushed, confused tones as young teenage minds tried to figure out what it was all about.

So, one evening, when I had the house to myself, I put all the lights off and watched it on the big TV in the living room.

And this time, from the opening scene, I was so blown away, it was like I was watching it for the first time.

It probably helped that I lived about a mile away from a giant petrochemical plant which, at that very moment, was shooting out massive spouts of flame into the night sky just like the start of the movie. This was immersive cinema at its absolute peak!

Then the camera roams through these giant flare stacks towards a strange, alien looking building. This is the Tyrell Corporation and here we find a Blade Runner called Holden getting more than he bargained for when he tries to interrogate the replicant, Leon.

It was brutal, dark and complex. Everything that had put me off two years before, now drew me into this futuristic hellscape.

In fact, there has never been another film, before or after, that spoke to who I was in that exact moment as perfectly as Blade Runner did that night. It was mesmerising.

The production and sound design are incredible. That pulsing Vangelis score continues the feeling of otherworldliness, but with the irony being that what we are witnessing here are the dregs of society, and everyone else, who could afford it, have left for other worlds.

I don’t think I moved from the chair for the entire two hours.

If you were to try and describe the story to someone who didn’t know what the film was about, you might give the elevator pitch of it being about a cop hunting down four killer robots. And, in the end, from a certain point of view, that might be true. But, in reality, nothing could be further from the truth.

This is a film about fear, loneliness and trying to understand your place in a world that doesn’t have the answers you seek.

Of course these things spoke to me as a teenager. From Deckard to Rachael, Pris, Batty, and even Sebastian, these are all broken people who have been treated horrendously by the system, or utltimately left behind to fend for themselves. We know there can’t be a happy ending for any of them.

“The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long.”

However, it’s also pretty clear that I had been right the first time I watched this.

Deckard isn’t the hero here.

Batty even mocks him about after he has shot Pris.

“Aren’t you the ‘good’ man, Deckard?”

The question being, what good man kills two unarmed women?

Mind you, neither are the replicants that easy to root for. Yes, they have been born into slavery, but they murder and kill in order to get answers.

Yet, they’re not bad guys either.

Leon puts Holden in hospital and tries to kill Deckard, but at the same time, he wants to get his photos back and know how long he has to live. He is a scared, uncertain child in so many way, not just in years.

The only villain of the piece is Dr Eldon Tyrell. The CEO and founder of the company responsible for creating the replicants so they can be used as slave labour through their short life span. He even gives the next generation, like Rachael, memories so they come to believe they’re actually human. He is a monster and deserves his gruesome fate.

At the end when Deckard has done his job and it’s just him and Batty left, the Blade Runner soon realises he’s not strong enough to defeat this last remaining replicant, and he makes a run for it, jumping off the roof, trying to escape. And it’s here, when he is just about to fall to his death, that Batty saves him.

There is no more famous scene in modern day cinema than “Tears in Rain.” Maybe the Quint speech in Jaws or perhaps the MacReady and Childs conversation at the end of The Thing, but I still think this one takes it.

This is someone who is dying and in his last moments does the right thing to a man who’s entire race only want to enslave and exterminate him. Batty knows it’s too late to save himself, but in that one moment, he shows Deckard that maybe the replicants are actually the ones with the conscience and soul. How life should be something made up of moments to be treasured before being lost forever.

It’s an incredible piece of writing and, more importantly, acting from Rutger Hauer.

“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe.”

A stunning end to a breath taking movie.

However, it is a film and story that a viewer should work out for themselves. It is complex and difficult. There are no easy answers. And everything about it should be ambiguous. Unfortunately, test audiences and the studio didn’t feel that way.

So they added a happy ending and a voice over from Harrison Ford. And the film flopped.

A lot of people immediately found the Deckard voiceover to be jarring, but, at first, I didn’t mind it. It’s a complicated movie for a young teenager, with messages that are not clear cut, so it helped me to understand it initially. However, the older I got, and as I watched Blade Runner again and again on video, I began to realise how redundant it was.

Also, rumours began to circulate of another cut. A Directors/Final Cut with the voice over removed and added scenes that made you question whether Deckard was actually a replicant. These become the stuff of urban legend.

I’m currently holding the 5 Disc DVD Steel Box Set in my hands. On it there are four versions of the film. There are supposedly seven in total. I don’t think any other movie has so many different iterations.

All of them have merit, but the Final Cut, released in 2007 is the definitive one according to the director, Ridley Scott.

There is no voiceover. No one telling us what to think. The famous unicorn dream sequence is added (giving much clearer meaning to Gaff’s last origami gift), and as Deckard and Rachael make their escape, there is no sunny drive into the mountains, just the lift door closing onto black.

It is bleak. It is uncompromising. And, it is exactly what you want it to be.

Is Deckard a replicant? That’s up to you. Did the two of them make it out the city to safety? Who knows. Were they hunted? Probably.

Well, the answers to those last two questions were addressed in the fantastic sequel, Blade Runner 2049, that I’ll discuss another time. The first, and some would say main question, is wisely still unanswered. However, 19 years ago, it was left to the audience to figure that out. Exactly how it should be with the best science fiction stories that make us use our imagination.

As I mentioned previously, John Carpenter’s, The Thing (released in cinema’s on the same day as Blade Runner in 1982) also leaves us to work out the ending for ourselves. MacReady and Childs are sitting in the snow, and we don’t know if either of them are The Thing or what their future holds.

It is both depressing and uplifting that both movies flopped at the box office, but were appreciated for the classics they are when released on video.

Fiction, be it science fiction or any other kind, shouldn’t be a medium that spoon feeds us anything. As the dark future of mega corporations, corrupt politicians and untouchable tech billionaires that Blade Runner predicted comes to pass, now, more than ever, we need to figure out for ourselves how to fight back.

“More human than human,” was The Tyrell Corporation’s motto, and the ending of the Final Cut leaves you wondering what society holds for us when we don’t value life in all its forms. Where these replicants are made simply to serve humans and not have their own freedoms. A future, or present, where certain people hold themselves superior to the “others” that are deemed different or weaker, is not anywhere that I want to live.

Blade Runner, like the greatest science fiction, holds a mirror up to humanity and finds us lacking. What actually is it that makes us human? It asks us to look at our actions and make the necessary changes so we can grow as a race. Batty’s “Tears in Rain” speech is a final plea for empathy and understanding. Whether or not we will ever listen is another matter entirely.

Well, that was a lot of fun.

A special thanks to Jim Melvin for his help in putting this together, and for joining me in this good natured discussion.

I’ve a few more movie deep dives coming in the near future including Source Code, Highlander and probably next will be The Shining.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed our thoughts on Blade Runner.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

Darkness and Shadow.

Bathed in celestial light, the patient breathes, slow and erratic.

Through frosted windows, demonic shapes writhe and thrash. Claws screeching across glass. Beseeching entry.

“It’s time. My children grow hungry.”

“Your corruption of this world continues unabated. Leave him be.”

“Mercy?! You’ve inherited humanity’s weakness.”

“Perhaps. Also their greatest strength.”

“We’ll see.”

A departing howl of rage.

The remaining figure lifts his scythe, and places a skeletal hand on the patient’s wrinkled forehead.

“Rest my friend. I will take this burden.”

The final battle has begun.

Death is our only hope.

Happy New Year everyone!

After the last few days, it seems apt to start the year with a nice little horror story about a good old fashioned impending apocalypse!

Hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

Wow! This year has been incredible! So many great books and films.

For sure 1982 will go down as one of the best ever!

I mean, let’s just start with two brilliant movies that came out on the same day, Blade Runner and The Thing. Incredible works of imagination. About dystopian futures and horrific isolation. Both are really bleak and have brilliantly ambiguous endings. I’m not sure, but I’m thinking these movies are going to be my favourites for quite some time.

Of course, Blade Runner is set in 2019 by which time I’ll be 48, and that’s absolutely ancient, but I’ll probably be living on the moon by then, and flying around in a space car, so that’ll be quite cool!

Reminds me of a book I read this year called The Running Man by some dude called Richard Bachman. My big brother had read another one of his called The Long Walk a few years back. He said that was too grown up for me, but I should enjoy The Running Man. It’s a really dark science fiction story set in 2025. Whatever way you cut it, the 21st century seems like it’s going to be grim. However, not that I’ll need to worry what with my space car and all. Plus, I’ll probably be a famous author by then. I wrote a spooky story for my P6 assignment about a wee old woman who murders the lodgers staying in her guest house and my teacher said it properly gave her the chills so I reckon I’ve got a chance.

Talking of horror stories, I also read Different Seasons by Stephen King this year. There was some good tales in there. The Body and Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption were my favourites. Not his usual creepy stuff, but I enjoyed them. Maybe I’ll be the new Stephen King!

Anyway, back to movies.

Can you believe that Blade Runner and The Thing flopped? I mean what is wrong with everyone? What were they all watching?!

Well, they were probably watching E.T. which, to be fair, was actually quite decent, if you like all that sappy stuff. It was sad, but I didn’t cry. Not one bit. Nope.

Anyway, there were quite a few other good movies like First Blood (lots of violence), Poltergeist (face peeling grossness), Conan the Barbarian (big boobs - and that was just Arnie!), Time Bandits (Sean Connery!), The Sword and the Sorcerer (flying sword!), Star Trek II : The Wrath of Khan (brain eating slugs!) and Rocky III (Mickey!).

Hmm, come to think of it, there were a lot of sequels around. The last two above, then there was Airplane II, Death Wish II, Grease 2, Amityville 2, Friday 13th Part III and Halloween III. Actually that last one wasn’t too bad. Studios really need to come up with original ideas.

Oh, and there was also a whole lot of guff that came out as well. I mean too many to mention but Annie and Firefox were so bad, and that On Golden Pond made a fortune but I couldn’t stay awake during it. Clearly a movie for old folks, just like what I’ll be in 2025! Hopefully I’ll still be allowed to drive my space car when I’m 54!

Maybe 2025 won’t be so bad after all. At least there’ll be less sequels!

Ah, the 80’s, weren’t they just great? No, no they weren’t. They were an absolute bin fire for so many reasons, and anyone who tells you different is a liar or a populist politician. Actually they’re both the same thing really.

Even the myth that all movies were better back then is a lot of crap.

The great British film critic, Barry Norman, once said that every year there will be the same number of great movies and rubbish movies, and I would agree with him. Everyone knows my affection for The Thing and Blade Runner, but I thought there had been so many more better movies out in 1982, and there just wasn’t. There was a lot of sequels and a mountain of dross. I counted maybe 10 or 12 really good films. At a push.

I went through a number of other years and the same rang true.

So, anyway, if you really dislike the movies that are coming out now then fine, but don’t peddle the nonsense that it was better before. Cause it’s just not true.

With all that being said, let’s finally get to my favourite movies of 2025. And there really has been quite a few. I’m hesitant to put them in order as I think they’re all great. However, there is one clear winner and we’ll start from there.

Sinners

OK, so probably an obvious one, but what a movie this is.

Sinners is about two brothers, Elijah “Smoke” and Elias “Stack” Moore (both played by Michael B Jordan) who open a juke joint in 1930’s Mississippi only to be confronted by the very real threat of racism, and the supernatural menace of vampirism. They are joined by their cousin Sammie, a singer and guitarist, who is an incredible blues players, but his music is so powerful it attracts the undead monsters, in the shape of Jack O’Connell Irish vampire Remmick. What follows is a wild and crazy ride where the residents in the bar fight off the hordes of vampires trying to get in and turn them.

The performances from all the cast, that also include Delroy Lindo and Hailee Steinfeld, are brilliant, and the soundtrack featuring so many great blues tracks and Irish folk songs is just outstanding. Easily my favourite movie of the year.

has a great review of the movie here :-

Sweet Nightmares Media

SWEET NIGHTMARES RECOMMENDS

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these lists…

Read more

a year ago · 11 likes · 3 comments · SweetNightmares

The Long Walk

Based on the Stephen King (Richard Bachman) book of the same name this is a simple story set in a dystopian future where 50 boys (100 in the book) compete in a televised walking marathon where they must maintain a certain speed or they get shot by a team of soldiers who march alongside them. The last survivor is the “winner.” And that’s it. Pretty grim right?

Well, yes it is. King wrote the book in the mid sixties during the Vietnam war with horrific images fresh in his mind of young men being indiscriminately gunned down.

And the movie certainly doesn’t pull any punches in showing the brutality of the contest as the walkers are despatched when they can’t keep up.

However, it is also a contemplation on the nature of friendship, camaraderie and even humour in the bleakest of circumstances.

The film didn’t do well at the box office when it was released, but I think it’s one of the finer King adaptations and will reassessed in years to come.

Read excellent review of it here : -

The Ledge Beyond the Edge

The Long Walk

Note: I will be discussing both the book and the film. As much as possible, I will stop short of proper revelatory spoilers for the latter, however avoiding them altogether is impossible. If you want to go in blind, I’ll understand. Bookmark this, go watch the film, then come back to me…

Read more

9 months ago · 19 likes · 14 comments · Lewis Holmes

Good Boy

I have grown up with dogs my whole life. If I see anyone hurting or mistreating a dog then they’re in serious trouble. If a movie contains any scenes with a dog being hurt then I find it especially harrowing. Not ideal being a Stephen King fan!

So, with that in mind, I was very wary about seeing Good Boy despite this small independent film having received such strong praise in horror circles.

Not only did I manage to get through the film, but actually thought it was an incredible piece of filmmaking.

It’s a ghost story about a man moving into a remote cabin and how his dog, Indy, tries to protect him from malign supernatural forces. The difference is, the story is told from the dog’s perspective which makes it all the more tense and atmospheric.

The director, Ben Leonberg, made the movie over 3 years with a budget of just $70,000 and it’s absolutely fantastic. Oh, in case you’re worried, he made clear prior to release that the dog makes it!

Kenny Dalglish

OK, now something a wee bit different.

Most of you know my love for football. One of the greatest players that Scotland ever produced was Kenny Dalglish. He originally played for my beloved Glasgow Celtic and then moved to Liverpool FC in 1977 for the princely sum (at the time) of £440,000.

He became a hero for the Merseyside club with goal scoring prowess and in 1985 was appointed their player/manager.

This fantastic documentary charts his rise from the rough streets of Glasgow, to the acclamation of winning league titles and European Cups.

However, a lot of time is spent looking at the Hillsborough disaster, the fatal crowd crush at the FA Cup Semi-Final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest that claimed the lives of 97 people. Dalglish was manager at the time and attended many of the funerals, including four in one day. He also stood up against the Thatcher government and the Murdoch gutter press at the time, who tried to portray the Liverpool fans as the guilty party.

The word legend is often overused in sport but in the case of Kenny Dalglish, it’s completely merited.

The Life of Chuck

This is a tough one to talk about without giving away spoilers, but all I will say is this wonderful movie, based on the novella by Stephen King, has to be embraced to be enjoyed. By that I mean if you go into it with a cynical heart then you’re liable to be disappointed. But, if you want to enjoy a brilliantly original contemplation of what life should be be all about, told in Mike Flannagan’s unique story telling style, with strong performances from Tom Hiddleston, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Karen Gillan and Mark Hamill, then you’re in for a treat.

Weapons

Sometimes a horror movie comes along that just takes your breath away with it’s sheer audacity and panache. That’s Weapons.

The basic story is about seventeen school children who all disappear from their homes on the same night at the same time and who is to blame.

However, that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what’s going on here. A genuinely creepy, unsettling and, at times, deeply disturbing movie with excellent performances from Josh Brolin and Julia Garner.

The haunting scenes of the kids running from their homes at night will stay with me for a very long time.

Read great review of Weapons : -

Haunts You Later

A Run Into Darkness: Weapons Reviewed

Weapons is a 2025 American mystery horror film directed, written, produced, and co-scored by Zach Cregger. The film stars Josh Brolin, Julia Garner, Alden Ehrenreich, Austin Abrams, Cary Christopher, Toby Huss, Benedict Wong, and Amy Madigan. It follows the mysterious disappearance of seventeen children who vanish on the same night under baffling circum…

Read more

10 months ago · 36 likes · 20 comments · Haunts You Later

A House of Dynamite

Back in the late 80’s I went to an all night horror film festival. There was as whole lot of dross on show, but one of the movies that caught my attention was Miracle Mile starring Anthony Edwards. It concerns a guy who randomly picks up a pay phone that’s ringing only to be told that nuclear war has broken out and missiles will start falling soon. We then follow the aftermath of that call with a group of people and how they react to the news.

In many ways that film is a cousin to House of Dynamite, directed by Kathryn Bigelow.

This is a movie with multiple parallel storylines, in twenty minute chunks, of various government and military officials in the US who discover an IBM (intercontinental ballistic missile) is heading for Chicago and how they respond to the unfolding catastrophe.

The film’s strength is seeing the various characters handle the situation and with a cast including Rebecca Ferguson, Jared Harris and Idris Elba you know your in safe hands.

It’s not a horror movie, but it’s absolutely terrifying and will you leave you gobsmacked at how humanity got itself into such a ridiculous situation. MAD indeed.

The Running Man

Another Stephen King (Richard Bachman) adaptation about, yet another, dystopian future where contestants have to take part in a deadly game. This time they have to survive 30 days on the run whilst being hunted by assassins. Survive until the end and they get $1 billion.

Ben Richards cannot afford to buy his daughters flu medicine and so decides to take part in The Running Man to get the money. He’s angry at the world and that rage might just help him survive.

There are similarities here to The Long Walk but where that movie is unarguably bleak, this movie is just a blast from start to finish. Unlike other films that would labour the point about our protagonist’s problems, this skips quickly through all that and straight to the action. The cynicism towards our current real life situation is maybe watered down too much but Glen Powell as Richards and Josh Brolin (having a good year) as the smarmy producer of The Running Man are excellent and make you invested in the story. A whole lot of fun.

Nuremberg

“Russell Crowe is Hermann Goring.”

Yeah, I didn’t expect this film to be in my top 10 with that tag line, but this was a genuine surprise.

The Nuremberg Trials, as hopefully everyone will know, were the international tribunals to charge the surviving Nazi leadership with war crimes after the end of World War II.

A US army psychiatrist Douglas Kelley (Rami Malek) is brought in to make sure the prisoners are in a sound enough mental state to be put on trial. However, things become complicated when he strikes up a relationship with Goring.

I was going to say Crowe is astonishing is his role, but we shouldn’t be surprised. Like he showed in Gladiator and The Insider, all those years ago, he is an excellent actor. He just seems to choose to star in rubbish these days. Here he is the perfect balance of charm and power. At once kind and friendly and then railing against his supposedly unjust imprisonment. Cleverly showing that these people weren’t “monsters,” or some other title we can place on them to make ourselves feel better, but were just in positions of authority where they could make these terrible decisions seem justified.

There is a section that shows the actual footage taken from the liberation of the concentration camps and whilst it is absolutely horrific, it is also completely necessary. In the cinema I was sat in, it was watched in complete silence.

The film itself makes it clear that words and laws make these things happen, long before military campaigns begin.

Mark Twain famously said, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.”

The older I get, the less sure I am of the confidence behind that statement.

I’ll stick with, “Those that fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

With racism and anti-Semitism on the rise, influential voices online, and in governments, now openly pondering if the allies were “on the wrong side,” or claiming, “I’m on team Hitler,” and entire races of people being called “garbage” or being accused of “poisoning the nation’s blood” we are getting perilously close to mirroring the language used in 1930’s Germany. The scumbags who say these things object to be called Nazi’s so maybe they should stop talking like them then.

Springsteen : Deliver me from Nowhere

Over the last forty years, on my journey from childhood to adulthood, the words of Stephen King, and the music of Bruce Springsteen, have been my constant companions.

Three of King’s adaptations are in my top 10 for this year, so it’s apt that the final movie in this list is the biopic of my favourite musician.

It’s also fitting that, just as I grew up loving Springsteen’s music, so my son, on his many trips to and from nursery and then school, listening to his dad’s dodgy musical choices, also became a fan and attended the movie with me.

We have been to see him play live twice in the last eighteen months. Once in Philadelphia and then in Milan. A lifetime ambition for me and a very special moment to share with him.

So we were both a little trepidatious about going to see this movie due to how much we were invested in the music.

What has to be said first is that this film only covers a short period of time in Springsteen’s career. He had released The River album, had top 10 hits, and is close to becoming a superstar. However, as he fights through personal demons, rather than release the commercial follow up, Born in the USA, he wants to focus all his time and effort on the acoustic album, Nebraska, recording the songs in his bedroom on a 8 track with a guitar and harmonica and nothing else.

I’ve described this as a biopic, which broadly it is, but really it’s a study of depression, the creative process and fathers and sons.

Jeremy Allen White does a good job in the lead role and, in some shots looks eerily like the singer. However, in the short time he has on screen, Stephen Graham is absolutely magnetic as his abusive and complicated father, Douglas, perfectly capturing the damage parents can do to the their children. The last scene of the two of them together absolutely broke us.

So, as we left the cinema, and walked back towards the car through the typically, rainy Scottish night, my son turned to me and asked for a hug.

As we held each other, with tears in our eyes, not caring that we were getting soaked or who saw us, I told him I loved him and that I was proud of him. Then we headed for home.

That’s the power of cinema. It’s always had, and always will have, that power. Don’t let anyone tell you anything different.

So, there we have it. My top 10 movies of 2025.

I think this year has been really strong and I enjoyed a lot of other movies too like The Smashing Machine, F1 and 28 Years Later. However, the much acclaimed, One Battle after Another did leave me cold. Also, I’ve still not seen I Swear, Bring Her Back, Roofman, Marty Supreme, Eternity, Predator : Badlands, Mission Impossible - The Final Reckoning and Wake Up Dead Man. I’ll hopefully catch up with all of them over the festive period. From a superhero perspective I thought Superman, Fantastic Four and Thunderbolts tried to do something different and were all the better for it. So, yeah, a good year. However, what has delighted me, is how strong the horror offerings have been.

As it was in the 80’s, horror is the genre that perfectly reflects the terrifying times we live in, and it was fantastic to see it capturing audiences imaginations in such a strong way during our own dystopian present. Frankenstein, despite its flaws, was a hugely impressive undertaking, that everyone wanted to talk about, and it was great to see so much engagement, and so many horror movies that I’ve mentioned topping the charts and becoming huge hits.

Going back to my original point on Blade Runner and The Thing, these are both generational movies. We will not see their likes again. In my eyes, you cannot compare them to anything else from any other year. The Thing is my favourite movie of all time. It is an absolutely perfect piece of cinema. I highly doubt that anything will dislodge it from its lofty pinnacle. However, I think there are film makers out their just now who are giving it a really good go. Some of the movies from 2025, and the feelings they evoked, whilst maybe not being my best of all time, will stay with me long after this year has passed.

Anyway, all that being said, long may the great horror offerings continue but not so much the grim times.

Finally, let me just say a huge thank you to everyone who continues to read, like and comment on my stories and articles. I really appreciate every single one of you. I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

Joseph put his arms around Mary and held his wife tenderly as she cried out, her hands grasping at her swollen belly.

The baby was close.

This miracle would not be born on a dirty street.

They had to find somewhere safe.

At the edge of town, a sagging old building loomed out of the dark, a partially built annex by its side.

The surrounding fields glowered menacingly, small shadowy shapes skulking through the murk.

Joseph approached with caution, but all seemed quiet.

A hiss of pain from Mary told him he needed to be quick.

Pushing through the tarpaulin shrouded doorway, his feet kicked through straw and dust that was scattered over bare boards. He laid down his coat and gently lowered his wife onto it with as much care as he could manage. They were both so tired.

“He’s coming, Joseph,” Mary said. Her face was streaked with sweat, but joy shone from her eyes.

“I know my love,” he said, holding her hand. Words were not enough to convey the depth of feeling he had for his wife. All he knew was he would do anything to keep her and their son safe.

A strange huffing noise caused Joseph to turn and, for the first time in what seemed like forever, he began to laugh.

Two cows from the nearby farm had wandered over, attracted by the late night shenanigans, and were watching them placidly through the doorway with kind brown eyes.

Joseph reached out to pat their heads, when suddenly the animals jerked in fright and scrambled backwards.

At that moment, a bright beam of light shone down through the open rafters. The crashing sound of thunder and rushing wind was all around. A booming voice carried through the tumult.

Stumbling outside, Joseph stared up in hopeful wonder which very quickly turned to abject horror.

This was no heavenly choir but a large, black helicopter whose spotlight was trained on the young man’s face.

Joseph went to run back to his wife when he saw another figure standing to his left. Recognising the cassock and trappings of a priest, he held out his arms in supplication, but the man turned away from him and spoke into his phone, gesticulating wildly in their direction.

The power of the sleek mechanical monster lowering itself from the sky drove Joseph to the ground where he lay weeping in the dirt, Mary’s screams echoing in his ears.

Father Jamieson watched on without pity.

There was a substantial reward for turning these people in, and the church needed the funds to finish the new community hall. With the current rate of unemployment in the area, it wasn’t like he could ask the parishioners to pay for it. That would be cruel.

He was a man of faith.

He had to care for his flock.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

A creator of worlds, stumbling through his own dark world, returns home to find a pathway from his grief. Yet, when we are lost, the uncertain road is sometimes the only one to take.

The two boys braved the busy road to make their way down to the sweet shop that lay just a few blocks down Paris Street. It was a rare trip for the four year old Connor and, as Patrick was three years his elder, the younger boy clung to his brother’s hand to find some safety against the trucks and cars that thundered through the town of Grangemouth. If Patrick minded this making him look uncool, or whatever, then he didn’t show it. There was pocket money to be spent and sweets to be munched.

A few minutes later they were wandering back home with their little white paper bags full of sherbet lollies, raspberry bon bons, Chelsea Whoppers and flying saucers. Tooth decay not even a vague concern on a sunny weekend morning.

However, it was at that moment that Connor tripped on a loose paving slab, falling to the ground, and spilling the content of his bag into the gutter.

He burst into tears. Not sure if his grief was due to the pain of a skint knee, the loss of his sweets or the embarrassment of being laughed at by the other boys hanging about the store.

Carefully lifting up his little brother, Patrick glared at the cackling hyenas until they slunk away, brushed the dirt from the burst skin that was beginning to leak blood in a steady flow, and handed over his own bag of sweets.

“I’m here,” he said kindly. “Look, now you’ve got a cool scar to show off at school on Monday, and there’s still plenty of sweets for both of us.”

Connor’s sniffling slowed and he wiped his eyes.

“Really?” His big brother nodded and gave him a hug. “Wow. Thanks Patrick. You’re the best brother ever.”

“Of course I am,” Patrick said proudly and saluted him with a comic look on his face. The two of them laughed all the way home.

“Rerouting ….. rerouting ….. rerouting ….”

The sat nav seemed to be having a brain fart.

Connor leaned over and turned it off.

He didn’t need it now anyway. Hadn’t actually needed it to begin with.

Twenty years since he first left, even with darkness falling and a low fog lurking dankly against the car windows, he still knew the way back home.

Of course, it hadn’t been that long since his last trip here, he thought sadly.

It was 2005 when he had left for his new life in America. Packing up and taking a huge risk. Full of excitement and nerves. The local author finally making it big. Telling the stories he had always wanted to. Not just with his books either, but in Hollywood as well.

And the times had been good. Studios lining up to turn his work into the next big fantasy or horror franchise. The money. The recognition. It had been everything he had ever dreamed of.

Then, five years ago, it all stopped.

Screenplays abandoned. Novels left unfinished. He just couldn’t do it anymore.

The road sign, illuminated through the thickening fog, told him it was ten miles to Grangemouth, and he took the next junction.

Back to his hometown. Back to where it had all began.

It used to be that on the approach to this once bustling port town, the flare stacks and hydrogen towers from the massive petrochemical plant lit up the night sky for miles around. It was the surest way to know you were heading in the right direction. For over a hundred years it had been the heart of Grangemouth, bringing employment and opportunity for so many. Now, because a billionaire decided he needed a few extra million in his coat pocket, everything was shut down, and all was dark. The abandoned buildings standing as testimony to the corruption of absolute wealth.

Connor frowned. At least he should be able to see the Kelpies statues that guarded the entrance to the town like giant equine sentinels, spectacularly marrying the supernatural with the area’s industrial past.

“Where the hell are they?”

Sure, the fog was thick, but they were normally framed in a night time multi coloured light show. Maybe there had been a power cut, or maybe the whole town was dying. Used up and spent, he thought sarcastically. Sounds familiar. Sighing, he flicked on his indicator and took the slip road for his hotel.

A room had been booked for him at The Leapark.

It was meant to be his big homecoming. His agent’s idea to get him back on the horse. Plus, his first horror novel was getting a reprint, and it seemed like a good PR exercise to return to his roots and give a talk on his creative process.

“Stick my process up your arse,” he muttered bitterly, turning onto Bo’ness Road.

For five years he hadn’t written a single word. What the hell could he tell anyone about writing when he couldn’t even sit at his desk without feeling sick? This was a complete waste of time.

However, if he didn’t do it, his agent was going to dump him. History only carried you so far in business. No matter who you were.

He had chosen the hotel.

It wasn’t too far a walk from the library where he had first read the books that would shape his career, and where he was giving his lecture.

Of course, the other reason was that it sat directly across from his old family home.

As he drove down the road where him and his brother Patrick had roamed and played, he felt time claw its way back to the surface and his throat tightened.

He sighed. “Get a grip man.”

Being cautious in the ever thickening fog, he edged closer to the pedestrian crossing he knew was there from memory, when something ran in front of his car.

The headlights picked out the tall dark shape with a long coat trailing behind it sprinting across the road.

Connor slammed on his brakes and brought the car to a shuddering halt.

Wiping a shaking hand over his sweating brow, he scanned the pavement on both sides, but nothing could be seen through the oppressive fog.

“Idiot,” he muttered and pulled into the car park.

It wasn’t that The Leapark had seen better days, it was that those days had never actually existed.

The white paint was peeling from the stonework as if the building was shedding its skin like an ancient rotting zombie revealing the crumbling bones beneath. Two bulbs in the illuminated letters had blown, changing its name to The Lapak, which immediately made Connor grasp for a far off memory, but then he shuddered as the dank fog settled on his skin. Quickly grabbing his case he hurried inside.

Faint piano music could be heard from the low lit bar to his left as he entered through the double doors, and a stairway with frayed green and gold carpet climbed to his right. Standing at reception was a pale man, with black slicked back hair dressed in a white tuxedo jacket with a red bow tie.

Well, at least he’s still trying, thought Connor sardonically.

The man’s face lit up as he spotted the approaching guest.

“Ah, the creator,” he said clapping his spindly hands.

Connor smiled thinly at the joke, recognising the slightly sarcastic tone.

He nodded.

“Connor Lambert. I have a room booked for this evening.”

“Of course, Mr Lambert. We all know who you are.”

Yup, there was no hiding it now. The words were dripping with contempt.

Connor frowned but the man went on.

“Room 27. Up the stairs and right along the corridor. Hopefully everything is to your liking, and we’ll see you in the bar later for a quick bite before your big day tomorrow.”

Then, much to Connor’s concern, the receptionist licked his red lips through which white, sharp teeth protruded.

Connor shook his head. Jesus, he was tired.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking his key and stumbling up the stairs. As he looked back, he saw the man watching him through narrowed eyes, his smile completely gone.

The dark corridor seemed to stretch onwards ahead of him and, as he continued forward, the floor tilted to his right to such an extent that he had to hold onto the wall to keep his balance.

“What the hell?” he muttered. This place really was falling apart. His hand brushed against the wallpaper, and he could feel swirls and lines, like scrawled words frantically gouged into the stone.

Finally he reached room 27 and, as he opened the door a strange rustling noise, like pages turning in the wind, sounded behind him. He looked back and the corridor was now level floored and brightly lit. Blinking slowly in disbelief, he pushed open the door and walked into his bedroom without hitting the light switch.

The street lights on Bo’ness Road shone faintly through the open curtains into the room and gave him enough visibility to shove his case on the bed and walk to the window. Directly across from where he stood was his old house. A faint glow, dimly flickering through the fog, could be seen coming from the small room on the top floor, where they had gathered all those years ago to play Dungeons and Dragons and he began the journey that led him here.

Connor had always been a dreamer.

Even at school, kicking the crisp autumn leaves that littered the playground, a faraway expression on his face, there were those who mocked his flights of imagination, but they only ever went so far knowing that Patrick wouldn’t let his wee brother get bullied.

He was the one who listened to Connor’s tales of fantasy and adventure, convincing him to write them down and send them away. Then, urging him to keep going when they were rejected.

As he looked over at the family home they had stayed in all those years ago, an old memory bubbled to the surface of his mind.

He was standing with fists clenched, staring angrily into the distance.

“Hey man,” Patrick said from behind him. “That was a tough campaign. Chaz is the most brutal DM in the world. Can’t believe we lost so many characters.”

Nodding, Connor kept his back turned and tried not to show his upset.

“Bjorn was my favourite character ever. Can’t believe he’s gone.”

He was the youngest of the group. All the other players were his brother’s age and sometimes it showed. Tonight had been a slaughter with a dragon laying waste to most of their party. His barbarian, Bjorn Foehammer, had been amongst the last to go. A raking claw removing his remaining hit points in one fell swoop.

Patrick put his hand on Connor’s shoulder and turned him around, holding something out in his hand.

It was the lead figure that Connor used for Bjorn. A giant, bald headed warrior covered in heavy furs and a splodge of dark paint for his long beard.

“Bjorn will always be with you,” he said. “He’s your character. You create the worlds for him to explore. They’re already within you.”

He smiled and punched Connor lightly on the arm.

“C’mon we better get this cleaned up before mum and dad get back.”

“The creator,” Connor muttered and shook his head.

The first story he ever got published had been about Bjorn Foehammer and his adventures fighting dragons, pirates and all manner of evil foes. When it sold for less than a week’s wages, he took Patrick out for beers to celebrate.

That was a long time ago.

Suddenly a dark shape fluttered in front of the hotel window, piercing the fog and causing him to step back in surprise.

He looked again but wasn’t sure. Was there something out there? The mist seemed to swirl and begin to form strange shapes that resembled pale, gaunt faces staring back at him. A scratching, scrambling noise started from the eaves just above his head. It continued for a few seconds and then stopped.

“Probably just a flock of birds,” he said more shakily than he would have liked.

God, he needed a drink. Creepy receptionist or not, he was going for a pint.

He had been in the lounge a few times growing up and thirty five years later it hadn’t changed very much.

It was a large open space with twenty or so tables dotted around, and a long wooden bar running the length of one wall upon which multiple beer taps stood proudly to attention.

Connor caught a few figures lurking in the shadowy corners but apart from that it seemed very quiet.

A full pint of lager sat patiently waiting for him in the centre of the bar. He looked around at the other patrons but nobody appeared to be paying him any mind.

Suddenly a huge figure stepped through the door from back of house and glowered at him.

Connor shrank back in fear.

As tall as he was broad, with a shaven head and long dark beard, the bartender cut an imposing figure.

“Tonight you must find the way.” His voice was deep and sonorous. He pointed to the glass. “Take this and listen to our tales. I must return to Lapak. Our quest awaits. He cannot go on without me. The land of Traja is in peril. All has fallen to darkness. We are needed. You are needed.”

Opening his mouth and then closing it again, Connor couldn’t even begin to formulate a response. Between this and the receptionist, he was beginning to wonder what was going on here.

The man raised his giant tattooed arm and pointed to where fog pushed needily against the bay windows. A dark figure, enrobed in shadows sat at a large round table. His eyes, the only features visible in the faint light, glittered menacingly.

“He waits for you.”

Looking to the corner, and then back to the giant barman, Connor hesitated, lifted the pint, took a large swallow, and walked over.

As he approached he could see stringy, sinuous shapes caper and dance outside in the fog. Sometimes they would come close to the glass so he could almost make out what they were, only for them to skip away and disappear back into the murk.

There was pressure building. Connor could feel it on the inside of his skull. He tasted iron in his mouth and realised he had bitten his cheek.

A long black leather trench coat lay thrown across one of the chairs that surrounded the table. Its owner leaned languorously back in his seat with a sardonic smile on his thin, angular face.

Connor had a moment to realise that this was who had ran in front of his car, before the man began to speak.

“Hey Connor,” he said in a strange accent. Like he was from somewhere and nowhere. “Could you sign this for me?”

He threw a blue cardboard folder down on the table with the words “Nick’s Trip” scrawled unevenly across the front.

Connor rocked back as if he’d been slapped. With a shaking hand he reached out and flipped the folder over.

On the back, in Patrick’s neat and clear penmanship was written : -

“Romero is your coolest character. Can’t wait to read more about this guy. What a brilliantly creepy story. Well done little brother!”

His supernatural detective, Nick Romero, fought demons and devils, in a black leather trench coat wielding swords and spells, whilst trying to keep his family and friends safe from the marauding hordes of undead.

Those words had been written over thirty years ago when Connor had completed this, his first horror novel. However, it had been rejected everywhere he sent it and, in a fit of rage, he had thrown it in the trash. Where, at the time, he thought it belonged. Only, years later, did he return to the character, but never quite able to remember what the first story had been about. He had never told anyone what he’d done.

Putting down his pint, he pulled aside the cardboard flap, flicking through the smudged and unevenly formatted pages. He remembered the old typewriter Patrick had got him for his birthday one year with the wonky “F” that only occasionally connected with the paper, and the space bar you had to hammer down to make it work. Whiting out spelling mistakes and then eventually just scoring them through with pen as it took too long for the whiteout to dry. Because this story needed to be told fast.

Out the windows translucent wraiths and spectres began to writhe frantically. Pulsing lights whirled behind them. A nightmare in motion.

He looked at the strange man sitting opposite him, anger beginning to bubble to the surface. “How did you get this?”

“Does it matter?” the man sighed. “This was my genesis. You brought me into existence. That kind of power can’t be extinguished so easily. You need to find that magic again.”

“You people are crazy,” Connor spluttered staring around. “What the hell is going on?!”

“My time is up. Your last visitor is here.”

He signalled to the bar and Connor looked up to see a familiar figure waiting on him.

The mannerisms and stance of people we love are unmistakable to us. There is a familiar comfort to the way they are at rest that is instantly recognisable.

That was why Connor instantly knew it was his big brother standing at the bar.

It had always just been the two of them.

A car accident had claimed the lives of their parents when they were much younger, and the boys had struggled into adulthood together. Brought so much closer by their shared grief and fortitude.

Then, five years ago, Patrick had died. And everything Connor had been was lost.

Nothing mattered anymore. How could he tell stories of magic and monsters when all he wanted to do was scream at the heavens until his throat was raw?

Patrick turned and Connor saw he looked just as he had on the day they had last seen each other. Dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. His broad face and clear eyes free from care and worry. Happy to see his little brother.

“Come on Connor,” he said with a smile. “These beers won’t drink themselves.”

Walking over on shaking legs, Connor swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to speak, but Patrick shook his head.

“I know, man. I know,” he said hoarsely. “But I haven’t got much time.”

He held up his pint and the two of them tapped glasses together.

“Sláinte mhath,” they both muttered and grinned. The years falling away.

“I brought you something.”

Patrick reached into his back pocket and gently placed the small Bjorn figure on the bar.

Connor looked at the figure and then back to his brother. In all their many house moves over the decades it had been long lost. And now, here he was again, just like Patrick.

“You’re the storyteller, Connor. You’ve always carried these worlds within you. They’re part of who you are. Don’t let your grief for me destroy them.”

Patrick nodded and Connor turned to look across the room.

Standing there was the barman, now clothed in furs and carrying a large metal axe. With a sudden realisation Connor remembered that Lapak was Bjorn’s thief companion from the novels. How could he have forgotten that?

The warrior thudded his axe against his scar crossed chest in salute, ready for battle.

Approaching the brothers, with his leather trench coat slung over his shoulders, the pale stranger touched the folder that Connor still held, with a hand that was covered in hexes and wards.

“What’s outside these walls, and that ghoul at reception, won’t be held back for much longer,” Nick Romero said. “The dark is gathering. I need your help.”

He walked over and clapped Bjorn on the shoulder. The two of them waiting patiently for their worlds to turn once more.

Finally, with tears in his eyes, Connor spoke to his brother.

“I can’t. Not without you.”

“I’m here,” Patrick said softly, tapping his brothers heart. “Where I’ve always been. Your worlds, your stories, they all come from there. We’ve got so many journeys still to take. That road never ends. Come on, we can still walk it together.”

He smiled, punched Connor lightly in the arm and drained the last of his beer, savouring every drop. Then, pulling his brother into a warm embrace he whispered, “It’s time for you to get back to work.”

Connor closed his eyes and held him close. Never letting go.

The next day, a watery winter sun rose over Grangemouth library.

Connor Lambert walked down the pavement, kicking the piles of autumn leaves as he went. They floated in the air, carried on the chill wind that blew down Bo’ness Road, before settling back to earth, waiting for the next dreamer to come along.

He could already see a large crowd gathered outside the old wooden doors that led into the main foyer and then onwards to the fiction section where endless worlds were waiting to be found.

Grasping the small figure of Bjorn tightly in his left hand, with the blue cardboard folder tucked under his right arm, he smiled with excitement.

The long familiar road opened ahead of him.

He had so many stories to tell.

Not all roads lead us home. We have to choose the right one. Even if that way is full of peril. Within each of us is the infinite possibility to create magic and wonder. Sometimes it just takes our better selves to show us the way. The only way.

Firstly, I have to say that I’m a fan of del Toro’s work. Blade II, Hellboy and it’s sequel are all hugely enjoyable. The Devil’s Backbone and especially Pan’s Labyrinth are works of absolute genius. The rest of his filmography I feel is a bit of a mixed bag, with The Shape of Water, Crimson Peak and Nightmare Alley not really being my cup of tea.

Anyway, I had very high hopes for his version of Frankenstein. Not least because he’s a visionary director and was bringing the novel back to its roots by filming a lot of it in my home country of Scotland, with location work in Edinburgh and Glasgow, but also because it had to be better than the last version I watched, which was so disappointing : -

Branagh’s adaptation left me cold, but I know it does have its supporters. However, I found it a really tedious watch but one paragraph stands out from my review of the 1994 adaptation when I was trying to put my thoughts together for del Toro’s film : -

The first half of the film is incredibly dull with such on the nose dialogue that it literally made me groan out loud. We probably all know the story behind Frankenstein - “The Modern Prometheus” - and a man’s obsession about trying to create life. However, even for those not familiar with the tale, this doesn’t mean we need lines like, “No one need ever die,” shouted in super dramatic fashion with an anguished look on your face.

And that, in a nutshell, is almost the very same issue I have with the start of this movie.

Again, we begin with a frozen ship trapped on the ice with a mutinous crew suddenly faced with an injured Victor Frankenstein being pursued by his “monster.”

Or is he? For some reason, they seem to have made the monster sound like the werewolf out of American Werewolf in London. If, as we see later in the film, he has learned English and can communicate well, why is he howling at the moon like an absolute loon. It’s a very effective visual set piece, but thematically it seems a bit odd.

Anyway, the crew soon drag Victor on board and he begins his tale from his early memories as a young boy, losing his mother, played by Mia Goth, in childbirth with his brother, William and having to put up with his bullying father, Charles Dance (doing his best Charles Dance) whilst studying how to “conquer death.”

We jump forward a few years, and Frankenstein is now in Edinburgh, studying medicine and ponderously obsessing over reanimating dead matter. And this, despite a few strong scenes, is where I found the story really began to drag.

Even though the old town has never looked better, Oscar Issac as the grown up Victor, swans about the grimy city streets in a big shirt and tries to look like Byron. Issac basically plays Victor as a complete arse, who only gets worse as the film goes on. I’m sure this is a deliberate choice, but it makes it hard to care what happens to him. He meets the rich entrepreneur Herr Harlander played by Christoph Waltz, who funds his experiments to create life, and his niece Elizabeth (Goth again, in a bit of a Freudian casting twist when Frankenstein falls in love with her), who is now engaged to Victor’s younger brother, William and we get even more discussions on life, death, love and the human anatomy.

Now, for the sake of full disclosure, I have to admit to falling asleep during this part when I first watched it.

The sets look amazing. The costume design is exquisite and the “dark angel” coming to life is very cool and very del Toro. The scenes of Victor chopping up bodies is nicely grisly, and the early interplay between Issac and Goth is clever, light hearted banter. But then it gets all po-faced and overwrought and as I’d seen that before with the Branagh version so, unfortunately, I did nod off. Which is never a good sign.

Of course, I did go back and watch the whole film again, but my thoughts are still pretty much still the same.

However, once the monster is created and we get to hear his side of the tale, then things really do come alive, if you ignore the pun.

Jacob Elordi, an actor I’m not that familiar with, is very convincing as the lost and lonely creature. At once tender and childlike and then, the next moment, raging and savage.

As we see him basically growing up and learning how cruel life can be, you feel sympathy for his plight, and anger at how he got there. It’s a great performance.

His story really picks up the pace in the second half and it makes for a much more interesting film.

Unfortunately, Goth, normally an electric screen presence, starts strongly in her role as Elizabeth, but is pushed to the side a wee bit with Issac’s flashy turn, and so we don’t really get to know her character and thus her affection for the creature is not entirely convincing.

The well known scene with the blind old man in the cabin is touching and particularly magical when the creature sees his first snow fall. Obviously, it all ends in tears, and we’re back to Frankenstein being hunted by his creation, but it is a well played diversion, even if the CGI wolves look pretty ropey.

When we get to the denouement with the two main characters on the boat, it is touching and tender, but, if I’m being honest, having watched what has come before, I’m not sure it’s entirely earned as it’s over a bit too quickly, with all being forgiven in the blink of an eye, but there we are.

It’s ultimately a film about fathers, sons, being a good parent and what being human should actually mean. All in all, a good effort by del Toro, if not perhaps the masterpiece I was hoping for.

Both this and the Branagh version, randomly, made me think back to Frankenstein Unbound (1990) which was directed by Roger Corman, of all people, from a story by Brian Aldiss, and starred John Hurt, Raul Julia, Bridget Fonda and, even more strangely Michael Hutchence from INXS. It’s an odd film which mixes a fictional past where Mary Shelley and her creations co-exist, with some properly bonkers moments. It may actually be my favourite modern interpretation of this great book, even though it contains time travel and alternative realities.

Maybe, like Dracula, doing a straight forward adaptation is too ripe for cliché with a modern audience, as it all becomes a pastiche of itself. I think we still await the perfect adaptation to match Shelley’s genius.

Either way, this was still a worthy addition to a great year of horror cinema, which I’ll be looking at in more detail, as well as all the other movies I’ve enjoyed in 2025, in my end of year review in a few weeks.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

The conference in Munich, and meeting the rest of the European team, had went well. He was too old to be staying up so late and drinking so much, but luckily he hadn’t done anything stronger. That was definitely a lesson learned from last time.

For one reason or another it had been a while since they had been together, so it was great to catch up with everyone.

Of course, there had been a few incidents towards the end of the night, which he couldn’t fully remember, but wasn’t that always the case when a bunch of rowdy sales guys got together?

Anyway, after battling through security, passport control and boarding, where everyone seemed a bit rude and snotty, and his patience was severely tested, the flight was slowly descending into Edinburgh airport. He would be driving home before long.

Hopefully the car had enough range to get him up the road. He was sure he had charged it the night before he left. Then again, he had been so busy with prepping his presentation and organising his agenda, that it might have slipped his mind. That seemed to be happening more and more these days. Probably just old age creeping up on him, he thought with a sigh.

However, something else was nagging at his mind.

The wing pierced the puffy lair of cotton wool clouds that shrouded the rugged land from sight as the aircraft began its final descent. A small shudder of turbulence rattled the fuselage and he grasped onto the seat in front of him, causing a sharp pain in his hand, whilst a memory finally surfaced.

He’d had an EV charger fitted at home a few years back, after his company car scheme went fully electric. The control box was on the outside wall of the house, just at the front gate that led to the garden. However, the keys for the box were in the drawer in the utility room, so it made sense to go out the back door and round the house if he ever needed access.

For some reason, in the last few months, the charger fuse had started tripping when he plugged in the car. Not right away, and not all the time. It always seemed to take a few minutes to fail. Just enough to make him think all was working well before the electronics gave up. The frustration being it always needed a hard reset, and that meant going outside to switch it back on. Fine in the summer with light evenings, but this was November, and the depth of a Scottish winter.

On the night before he was due to drive to the airport he had plugged it in and waited.

The green light briefly pulsed for a couple of flashes and then went dark. Cursing, he had grabbed the keys and headed out.

As he had never got around to fitting an outside spotlight, he’d left the back door ajar so there was some illumination to find his way. They had lived here for twenty years, but in the dark, everything became uncertain.

It was a meagre light, and by the time he got to the side of the house, it was almost completely gone, with the street lights only seeming to add to the lengthening shadows.

A strong wind was blowing making the light drizzle that was falling sting his eyes, and spray the taste of metal into his mouth on the back of its swirling gusts.

Swearing under his breath, he had tried to fit the small plastic key into the lock, but couldn’t get the right angle, as if it kept dancing away from him, and it fell from his fingers, quietly clattering onto the slabs. He palmed around on the damp ground as his curses became more industrial. Just at that moment, the wind picked up with such ferocity, that it caused him to stumble back against the fence.

“Jesus,” he muttered, and didn’t like the little crack in his voice when he said it. He had never been the most patient man and he could feel his head begin to thud ominously. The thought of planting his foot through the cover, to gain access to the switch within, began to seem like an appealing option.

Finally his hand closed over the key and he sighed in relief. Get this done and get to bed. Early rise tomorrow.

It was then that he heard the noise.

He wasn’t sure what it was initially.

Could it have been the cry of a bird? He looked above, but couldn’t see anything in the inky blue night sky.

There it was again. A high pitched keening sound.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose and his mouth went dry.

What the hell was that?

Linda was travelling on business in Dubai and Jamie had moved into his flat for university just a few weeks ago. No wait, was it weeks or months ago? It was getting hard to remember. So much going on. At least he remembered taking the dog to the kennel earlier. No one to look after him with them all away. Probably be good for him to see other dogs. He had been acting weird since Jamie left as well. Whole lot of weirdness going on recently, and now this noise …

He straightened and walked tentatively towards the back garden. The leaves on the overgrown hedges rustled furtively in the breeze, the garden furniture, he hadn’t yet put away for the winter, lurked on the unevenly slabbed patio and the long damp grass swayed and whispered. But all these things he recognised and understood. The other noise was the stranger in this familiar surrounding.

As he fully rounded the corner of the house it came again, and he let out a sigh of exasperation and relief.

The back door was blowing back and forth in the wind, and because he hadn’t got around to oiling the hinges recently, they were making an annoyed screeching noise at the neglect.

Letting out a little chuckle, he had walked back into the house to get his torch so he could see what he was doing.

“David,” said a soft voice.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Linda?”

It had sounded like his wife and yet not. Similar intonation, but older with a sinister rasping tone.

“Hello?”

His voice was flat and muffled in the quiet house, and he shuddered at how dead it sounded.

David shook his head.

Linda was in Dubai. Jamie was at his flat in Glasgow. The dog was in the kennel.

Weren’t they?

As the wheels bumped down onto the runway with an alarming jolt, David came back to himself.

Yes, he was sure he had gone back out and sorted the car. Of course he had.

He remembered it taking him a while to get to sleep and waking up suddenly thinking someone was standing over the bed, but there was no one there. Just too many beers, he reckoned.

But, man, that had been one strange night.

As usual it seemed to take forever for people to do the simple task of lifting their luggage and shuffling down the aisle. By the end of it, he was telling a few of them to hurry up and was thinking of shoving the rest in the back to get a shift on. But finally he made it back into the airport and headed for the car park.

He had stopped off for a few essentials at the Marks and Spencer as he would have to make his own dinner with Linda still being away. He had been doing that a lot recently. She sure was a busy woman these days. Travelling far more than he could ever remember. They had crossed words about it in the past. It had seemed odd to him, her being away that much.

The woman helping at the self service tills had been watching him carefully as he packed his bags, and David wondered at the attention. Probably just thinks I look exhausted, he thought. Which was pretty much on the money.

“Long week,” he said to her, and was met with a thin, unsure smile.

Making it back to where he had parked, his steps slowed as he saw the large grey score across his red front bumper.

“What the hell?!” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Bloody airport car parks!”

However, looking at the damage, it didn’t seem like a dent from someone reversing into his car, but as though it had been scraped across stone. Had he done that? Not that he could remember. A headache built on weariness and stress began to grow once more behind his eyes, and he put down his bag of shopping to rub his face. The glass bottles clinked loudly on the stone floor, echoing around the low ceilinged structure.

“Just go home,” he ordered himself.

This could all be figured out in the morning.

Night had fallen by the time be made it out onto the road. Sure enough the car had enough charge, but he kept the radio low, trying to focus on when he might have scraped the bumper, but the recollection still didn’t come. He let it go. He was going home and that was all that mattered.

Red brake lights of late rush hour traffic told him it was going to be a slow drive, so he turned up the music and tried to will away the next thirty minutes to his house.

The last few miles of his drive was on an unlit single carriage way. He had been driving it for twenty years so knew every twist and turn. Other drivers weren’t so confident, and in the dark, it was even worse. He ground his teeth as he slowed to forty miles an hour as the wary few in front slowed everybody down.

A light rain began to fall. The wipers came on automatically and smeared the water over his greasy windscreen. They really needed replaced. He would book the car in for a service as soon as he got a chance.

Visibility wasn’t great as he finally rounded one of the last bends and turned onto the back road to his house.

Standing on the grass verge across from the junction, illuminated in the twin beams of his headlights, was his son.

Jamie was dressed in just his shorts and t-shirt as if he had been out for a jog, despite the weather. He slowly raised his hand in a slow, welcoming salute, a malice filled grin on his face.

As he passed, David turned in confusion to look back at the figure, briefly letting go of the wheel. The car drifted across the lanes and the bellowing cry of a trucks horn brought back his attention.

“Shit!”

He swung hard right, across the junction, into the adjoining road as the truck roared past, missing his car by just a few inches. Another scream of its horn faded into the distance as it thundered past.

The shakes came, and sweat sprung out on his forehead as he slowed to a crawl, pulling over next to the kerb. Opening the door, leaving the car running, he jogged back down the road and stared all around.

Jamie was nowhere to be seen.

He had never been there. Of course he hadn’t. He was in his flat in Glasgow. University, he told himself. Remember.

Of course, if he had been there, it wouldn’t have been the first time Jamie had done something daft, and David had to put him right. That’s what fathers were for.

David began to feel sick. He walked back to the car and drove the short distance home.

The house skulked in darkness on the quiet street.

Linda wasn’t back yet, and he had to pick the dog up tomorrow, but it still felt eerie turning the lock and opening the door onto the heavy silence.

Quickly flicking on all the lights, David walked from room to room, checking everything was as it had been when he left.

There was a bad smell in the air. A pile of dirty plates lay by the sink in the kitchen, jackets and clothes were piled on the dining room table and a thin lair of dust seem to coat everything in the living room, but it seemed secure.

Remembering the strange incident before he left, he cautiously made his way to the bedrooms. Again, all was silent and safe. He sighed and went down to turn on the heating and get to work on the shopping he’d bought.

With his suit hung up, the TV turned up too loud, and the washing machine rumbling away washing his clothes from the trip, David began to feel slightly more normal. It was still odd that the house was so unnaturally quiet, but these background distractions kept his mind from it.

So, when he heard the first noise from up the stairs, he didn’t pay it any mind. It could have just been the boiler cranking into action. But when it came again, he knew there was someone up there.

Putting down his glass, he muted the volume on the TV, stood up, wincing at the pain in his back and knees, and crept into the hallway.

Had he left the lights on in the top landing?

Suddenly he heard a sharp squeaking sound like nails scraping across the glass of the front windows and then the clatter of claws on the tiled kitchen floor. A child’s giggle came from above as he craned his neck to try and see, his hand a frozen claw on the banister. Was that blood under his finger nails?

This time he was sure he heard footsteps and he angrily stamped up the creaking stairs, puffs of dirt lifting up from the threadbare carpet with every step.

A wall of pain was forming behind his eyes again and he wasn’t sure anything could break it down this time.

“I’m coming for you,” he snarled.

The rage was rising with the pounding in his head. Whoever was doing this was going to pay for their tricks. No one ever got away with fooling him.

Banging from room to room he slammed open doors and checked under beds. Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.

Then he realised he hadn’t looked in the cupboard in the main bedroom, where Linda kept all her clothes, and retraced his steps, his fists clenching, convinced this is where he would find the intruder.

Instead it was empty. But not completely.

The suit he had just removed hung from the one and only hanger.

He stared at it in confusion.

Where were all Linda’s clothes? The dresses, jackets, trousers and blouses? The cupboard should be full of them.

He lifted out the suit as if to confirm it actually existed and wasn’t an optical illusion to cover up some kind of trickery, but it was real enough. However, he noticed for the first time the elbows were scuffed and the knees seem to be tattered and holed. Before he could investigate any further, there was the clatter of bottles being knocked over from downstairs. He threw the suit to the floor and ran back down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Who are you?” he gasped between breaths.

As he stumbled back into the living room, his feet caught the empty whisky and beer bottles that had fallen and sent them spinning across the wooden floor to join the scattered remnants of long forgotten others, dribbling out the last of their flat and bitter promises under the sofa.

The door crashed shut behind him and he jumped back in fright.

As he turned, for the briefest of seconds, he saw Linda and Jamie standing there, watching him sadly, and then they were gone.

The alcohol burned its way back up his throat and he rushed to the bathroom.

There was no time to lift the toilet lid so he puked his guts out into the small sink. As the toxic bile splattered against porcelain and once freshly painted white walls, David felt like he was dying. And yet, at the back of his mind, he knew he would never get off that lightly.

When it was finally over, he grabbed the towel and wiped his face, lifting his head away from the foul stench and then looked at himself in the punch cracked mirror.

His left eye was bruised and bloodshot. A ragged cut on his lip had burst open again and wept slowly down his chin. Two red scuff marks from flailing fists marked his forehead and cheek.

David stumbled back and looked down at his hands. The knuckles were scraped and swollen, his fingers aching as he moved them. What had he done?

Then he remembered the fight. About something and nothing. Rolling in the street as the other guys pulled him off and sent him back to the hotel in shame. A career in ruins.

Stumbling back into the hall, he shook his head in horror, but there were worse memories fighting their way to the surface.

As he made his way back to the living room he saw the chaos and mess that lay all around. Bins overflowing, empty booze bottles everywhere, pictures hanging askew or lying shattered on the floor, from where they would have been bumped into in a drunken stumble, and then thrown to the ground in a petulant fit of anger and loss.

Because he was alone. He knew that now.

Linda wasn’t in Dubai. There was no dog to pick up. He remembered Jamie cursing him as he slammed the front door, swearing never to come back.

His temper and drinking just too much for them. Months and years of it. Rage and accusations. Suspicion and paranoia. Screams and fists. Until they had all finally had enough. Leaving him to rot.

The doors in the house all began to slam shut. One after another. Closing off the rooms where memory and love had once long ago resided. But that time was gone. Driven away by the monster he had become.

This home, witness to his many crimes, was finished with him.

As the kitchen door banged, the front one swung open with a final weary groan, and the lonely night waited impatiently for him over the threshold.

“Get out,” a hate filled voice whispered.

David stumbled forward, sobbing pitifully, still hopelessly searching for a life that he had lost, as the darkness reached out hungrily to embrace him. The front door slowly closed on his dwindling form.

The house sat empty and watched him go.

Happy Halloween everyone!

A huge thanks to and the team for the inspiration behind this domestic horror story with their Inanimate Objects Writing Event : -

Top In Fiction

Ordinary Objects. Extraordinary Terror.

Dear Writers of Fiction…

Read more

9 months ago · 58 likes · 17 comments · Killer Shorts and TiF Team

It’s certainly different from my usual tales of terror, so I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.

Here is my guest post for the Halloween series of spooky stories that the wonderful is publishing throughout October. Thanks to Caro for asking me to take part, and please go and check all the other great tales of terror!

“I brought you here to kill you.”

James looked curiously at the girl sitting next to him.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d heard. His heart was still thundering in his ears, blood racing through his veins, making his body thrum like a freshly played guitar string.

They’d been making out on this rickety old bench, with its peeling green paint and crumbling supports, for a while now. It was perched precariously on a grassy knoll at the top of one of the steep, tree lined streets in Glasgow’s west end.

Darkness had enveloped them.

It was late.

The rest of the world seemed to have taken on a strange consistency. Like it was a thin, distant mirage and the two of them existed in a universe of their own creation. Free from everyone else.

His thoughts were muffled and confused. What was her name again?

Breathing out slowly, he tried to clear his mind.

He had been at university for just over a month. It had taken a few weeks to find his feet, but James was a personable lad and soon made friends both in his course, and the wider community. His group had been in the midst of a raucous evenings at the student union, where they regularly gathered to pickle their livers and put the world to rights, when someone had pulled a poster from the bulletin board.

“Fancy dress Halloween party! We gotta go to this!”

And so it was they ended up traipsing up Byers Road dressed as musicians, gangsters and movie stars.

Not one of them a monster, ghoul or ghost.

Everyone else seemed to have got the same memo on costumes.

Except her.

That’s why she caught his eye.

She stood tall in a long black dress that highlighted her pale, unblemished skin. A sparkling ruby red choker was around her neck. Dark, curled tresses tumbled over her shoulders and framed smoky eyes that watched carefully as he walked over, without waiting for an introduction.

“You look incredible.”

Her ruby red lips curled into a smile over sharp teeth. “Thank you, James.”

Wait, did he know her?

She looked about the same age as him, but it was hard to tell. Was she in his year? His mind was already racing to catch up with his actions. He was never normally this forward.

They ended up talking for hours about the important and vital things that only seem to matter when you are young and still have hope for the world. Then, when she asked him if he wanted to take a walk, he didn’t hesitate.

And so he found himself in the middle of the night, next to a beautiful girl whilst dressed as Indiana Jones, trying to figure out why it was, the longer he sat next to her, the more unsure he felt.

They kissed again and he tasted fruit, smoke and something much deeper and full. His worries fled and he looked into her eyes again, completely smitten.

“You know I saw my family being murdered.”

The statement was so sudden and blunt that James lurched back in shock.

“What?! That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“He kept me alive long enough to watch. Saved me for last.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated lamely.

James was flailing, as he tried to grasp on to what he was being told. He wished his teenage mind could conjure more comforting words to ease her terrible sorrow, but he’d had too many beers, and nothing seemed enough.

And yet a question was itching at the back of his mind, if he could just find the clarity to ask it.

“It was a long time ago,” she sighed. “I made sure he paid for his crimes.”

She made a strange low growling noise at the back of her throat.

“What …?” James asked. Fear beginning to outweigh all other emotions.

She leaned in close to him.

“Where do you think we go when we die, James?”

The night sky and its millions of stars shimmered above, reflecting the dazzling city sprawled out before him, like a painted reflection of its celestial magnificence.

“I was raised a Catholic,” he began uncertainly. “Now I’m not sure anymore. Hopefully we see the people we’ve lost again. I hope so, but …”

His words trailed off. He looked at the girl sitting next to him and shuddered. Her hooded eyes glinted yellow in the jaundiced street lights, as a blood tear rolled down her porcelain cheek.

Then he finally understood her earlier words, and knew death was coming for him.

“I’ve got to go.”

He frantically tried to rise but his legs were pinned to the bench.

The growl came again. This time more guttural and hungry.

“I wonder …” she muttered huskily.

Her face was changing. Skin bulging and stretching. The jaw snapped and crunched, becoming elongated and angular. James tried to move, heart racing in terror, but his body was still fixed in place. He would witness this unfolding horror before the end came.

“I need you to see, James. See what happened to me and not let it happen to others. They must be stopped. I have chosen you. Do you accept this burden?”

“What? Who?” he whispered.

“Hold my hand.”

Her voice broke on the last word. He wrapped her ice cold fingers in his warm, shaking palm and did as he was told.

Long, sharp serrated teeth, like bleached white razor blades, pierced her gums, flesh tearing open, yet no blood came from the wounds. Goblets of flesh splattered wetly onto the bench between them as her mouth became a glistening, gore drenched maw of death.

James felt his mind start to break as it struggled to comprehend this monster in front of him.

It leaned forward, eyes now slits set deep in a narrow canine shaped skull. No longer human. Something foul and ancient and evil. A red, forked tongue slithered out and caressed his neck.

“Yessss,” the creature whispered.

Suddenly it scrambled back with a shriek.

He looked to the horizon and saw the first glimmers of dawn break over the city.

The creature tried to pull away, but it’s hand still held tightly onto his. Two souls fighting for supremacy in one host.

As the sun continued to climb, filling the sky with its golden radiance, there was another shriek of pain and James saw that the monster was shrivelling back, its face becoming human once more.

Its body convulsed with a hacking, spewing cough, and puked out a long, black slug like creature with straggly white veins running through its slimy body, onto the grass. As soon as the sunlight touched it, the thing burst apart with a pathetic high pitched squeal, and exploded in a wet plop of puss and blood.

The girl let out a shuddering sigh, and James was stunned to realise he was still holding her hand.

Her skin was even paler. Almost translucent.

“You saw?” she gasped and he could only nod. She removed her hand from his and he noticed that her choker was lying in his palm. “This shows you when they’re near. I’m tired of being their killer. I’ve fought it so long. It’s up to you now, James.”

Tears came to his eyes and he shook his head.

“I don’t know …” he began.

“My name was Rose.” The words were faint. Her skin started to glow in the red of the early morning light. “Find them. Hunt them. Avenge us.”

As the last words left her lips, the sun fully crested over the hill and set her body aflame.

James scrambled off the bench and stood watching as the fire consumed what had once been, many centuries before, a teenage girl, and yet now was also a monster straight out of his nightmares. She didn’t scream or cry out, but instead let the all consuming inferno take her, with a calm look of relief, her eyes never leaving his.

The swirling orange embers floated up and away, towards the brightening sky, taken on a never ending autumn breeze to dance and be free amongst the wonders of this world.

To be at peace.

And then it was over.

No mark was left on the wood of the horror and magic that had happened there.

Just a young man, standing with an ache in his heart, and deep fear in his soul.

Face turned to the blue sky, he let out a breath he had been holding for too long. The plume of air misted in the cold, like he was expelling part of what he had once been, and drifted solemnly away.

Then heat began to radiate from his hand. He opened his clenched fist, staring down at the scarlet gem lying in his palm.

It was glowing with a bright, desperate light.

James looked to the sprawling city he had once trusted as it crouched menacingly below, and nodded.

His fingers closed over the jewel.

He knew what he had to do.

So this is, somehow, my 200th post on Substack. When I joined back in April 2023 with a little article about Star Wars, I didn’t think I’d get to 20 never mind 200, but here we are. I’m grateful for all you folks for continuing to read my ramblings, and give me help and support whilst I find my way on this journey of telling tales and writing nonsense. I guess here’s to the next 200 posts!

Hope you enjoyed this story.

Thanks for reading. Until next time.