Ghost Train

Book Review: TALES OF TERROR FROM THE TUNNEL’S MOUTH
Written by: Chris Priestley
Published by: Bloomsbury
Released: 2009
260pages
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And so I have reached the end of the line: the third and final (to date) portmanteau Tales of Terror anthology from modern master of the macabre Chris Priestley. What a bittersweet joy it was to disembark from this scenic journey; I really could read these wicked little yarns all day long! I just hope that more instalments are forthcoming following the release of Priestley’s Frankenstein-esque novel, Mr Creecher, in October.

Despite recycling the same storyteller-and-audience framework established in Uncle Montague (click HERE for my review) and Black Ship (HERE), I was still enraptured by the ambiguity which surrounded Tunnel's Mouth's peculiar story time: who is this detail-reluctant Woman in White who has boarded the train to Kings Cross, why is schoolboy Robert Harper so quick to submit to her spectral stories despite his uncertainty towards his curious carriage companion, and what is keeping Robert's neighbouring passengers in such a deep trance-like slumber?

As the train draws to an unexpected stop at the mouth of a foreboding dark tunnel, its steep enbankment cloacking the carriage in an unnatural twilight, the mystery surrounding the strange, unrelenting storyteller steams forward undeterred as logical Robert senses supernatural forces are at work: why else does he keep having such vivid dreams of the make-believe yarns she spins, why else do his legs feel weak and his eyes so heavy at this time of day, and why else can he not rouse the dozing commuters around him?

Priestley shrewdly works in a delightful correlation to the dreadful events in Uncle Montague – making it feel like Robert inhabits the same shared, nightmarish universe as the eccentric teacher from hell – and while the pay off at the climax isn’t as bone-chillingly ghastly as Black Ship’s startling sting in the tale, it is nevertheless a well-worked – and finely set-up – twist even if we all anticipated a twist by this stage in the series anyway.

The short stories themselves are a stronger and more twisted batch than Black Ship’s castrated selection, but then they aren’t restricted to sea-themed scares this time around. From malicious mannequins (“Gerald”) to botanical beasts (“The Glasshouse”) and ferocious fairies (“The Little People”), I was particularly impressed by the variety of imaginative devices employed, even if they are all familiar tropes of the horror genre.

My personal favourite chapter was “A New Governess”, which really captured the creepiness of Victorian-era ghost stories such as The Turn of the Screw and genuinely made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Gerald”, too, was a devilish voodoo delight at making the innocent deadly, and “Sister Veronica” shocked me in its tortuous brutality because it was the only story which didn’t imply supernatural phenomena (rather juvenile malevolence) in its all-too-plausible horror.


In a CR@B Shell: A strong end to a superb trilogy; Tales of Terror from the Tunnel’s Mouth makes the horrific entertaining without sugar-coating the frights, and I don’t care if it’s meant for a teen audience – I loved it, and I’m exceedingly jealous of Chris Priestley’s effortless knack for sumptuously poetic and evocative prose!
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To the Manor Dead

Book Review: THE DEAD OF WINTER
Written by: Chris Priestley
Released in: 2010
Published by: Bloomsbury
217pages
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In an attempt to temperate my ravenous consumption of the marvellous “Tales of Terror” series from Cambridge’s own young adult horror author Chris Priestley (click the links for my reviews of Uncle Montague and Black Ship), I decided to jump forward to his latest release; once again a ghost story with a young protagonist, but this time a singular extended story rather than an anthology of quick-fire yarns.

Newly orphaned Michael Vyner is this tale’s diminutive narrator, recalling the “heartbeat hastening” events of the last Christmas, where he was obligated to leave behind the life he knew to spend the holidays in the desolate and shadowy Hawton Mere, an ancient East Anglian abode which is home to his enigmatic and aloof guardian – the sickly Sir Stephen Clarendon – and a solitary woman in white who wanders the snow-covered fens…

The Dead of Winter could quite easily have been reduced to a 20/30 page short story from a “Tales of Terror” compilation, which is not to say it is an agonisingly drawn-out or humdrum affair when spread over a novel’s length, only that a lot of the time is spent accumulating a chilling ambience – shadows in the darkness, knocking behind walls, ghosts in the mist, etcetera – while the plot is never thick or complex. But then this is horror aimed at a teen audience.

Priestley’s descriptive prose is his greatest creative strength – he has great fun with his graphic and evocative imagery and metaphors, conjuring up a truly fearful vibe from the slightest of actions or most sensitive of sentiments. Par exemple:

“As I recoiled in horror, her face shone with a light of pure evil. Her eyes
that had been so bright in life were now white marbles, as if the fire had
licked all colour from them. She was like some spider who had waited for this
moment, and now the moment came…”

While the climatic clarification of the ghoulish goings-on did fall a little short of Uncle Montague’s extreme depravity (a wonderfully creepy faceless boy with just a mouth for shrieking in agony and the supernatural ability to morph into a giant arachno-lizard creature was sadly underused) and the solution to the overriding mystery of how Sir Stephen’s beloved wife died was all too predictable, what did impress me about The Dead of Winter was how well Priestley handled the increasing cast of supporting characters.

Cooks, lawyers, coachmen, servants, guardians, sisters; all play a part – for better or worse – in Michael’s sorrowful secluded stay at Hawton Mere, and none are given short shrift in the narrator’s first-person account. Even if they depart for extended periods of time, their presence is always felt by their absence, most notably Sir Stephen’s lawyer, Tristan Jerwood, who Michael gradually warms to and comes to see as a confidant, missing this new-found friend who must leave on business for long periods at a time. Of course this desire for companionship is only natural when your parent’s have died and you are imprisoned in an alien environment.

This kind of continuity may seem insignificant to some, but it is crucial to producing a consistent and relatable chronicle (particularly as Michael is only a child and – no matter how brave – still dependant on support from his elders), and it impressed me as proof that Priestley – an author who I have become acquainted with as a short story scribe – and his compellingly lurid shocks can translate to longer stories. I fervently await Mr Creecher, which is due for hardback release in October.


In a CR@B Shell: While not as vividly distasteful as the gloriously grotesque Uncle Montague, The Dead of Winter still succeeds as an old fashioned gothic yuletide nightmare in the fashion of Dennis Wheatley and Henry James ghost stories; not least because of Priestley’s slow-building tension and disturbingly macabre ambience.
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Fisherman's Fiend

Book Review: TALES OF TERROR FROM THE BLACK SHIP
Written by: Chris Priestley
Published in: 2008
Bloomsbury
242 pages
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Having been so enraptured by gothic anthology Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror (reviewed HERE), I was genuinely ecstatic to discover that it was just the first in a (hopefully not yet finished) series of Tales of Terror from Cambridge author Chris Priestley. Book two, Black Ship, follows Uncle Montague's winning formula of having an obscure storyteller narrating thematically-associated supernatural chronicles to a young protagonist.

This time around we are marooned by a ravenous storm in the isolated cliff-perched dwelling The Old Inn, where home alone siblings Ethan and Cathy Matthew's are the scare-hungry youngsters bewitched by shelter-searching sailor Jonah Thackery's nightmarish ocean-orientated fables. Waiting for their father to return with the medicine they need to cure their ailing sickness, Ethan is guardedly cautious of their yarn-spinning guest, while Cathy seems transfixed and eager to be spooked.

The reveal in penultimate chapter “The Black Ship” that there is both more and less to Thackery's own history is disappointingly predictable, but the absolutely superb and genuinely spine-chilling twist in the conclusive “Wolfsbane” was an unanticipated knockout which raised the bar and blew me away, totally justifying the back cover warning: “This is a seriously scary book – younger readers be warned!”

Regrettably, away from the superior climax, while I still found Black Ship to be a well written and atmospheric collection, I have to admit that the other short stories were not quite up to the high standard set by Uncle Montague. There's a motley medley of macabre monstrosities without doubt – from vampires in the slave cargo (“Piroska”) to giant flesh eating snails (“Nature”), paranormal tattoo's (“Irezumi”) and an escaped exotic creature devastating a crew of scavenging pirates (“The Monkey”) – but, ultimately, none of the tales are as dark, daring or deadly as last time around.


In a CR@B Shell: Lacking the emphatic bite which made Uncle Montague such a ghoulish treat, but nevertheless as engrossing and enjoyably digestible as the original; Tales of Terror from the Black Ship is saved from sinking by a devilishly remarkable eleventh hour shock in the spectacular final chapter. Shades of genius to be shore.
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Tales From the Decrepit

Book Review: UNCLE MONTAGUE'S TALES OF TERROR
Written by: Chris Priestley
Published in: 2007
Bloomsbury
239 pages
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Ostracised by the local children and detached from his cold-hearted parents, little Edgar has taken to visiting his reclusive and eccentric Uncle Montague for company. In his creaky and creepy dilapidated house in the woods, Uncle Montague entertains his young guest with a series of gothic ghost stories, each inspired by the curious artefacts which clutter the man’s living room: a brass telescope, a gilt frame with no picture, a wedding photograph from bygone times, a demon bench end…

Each chapter presents a new chillingly atmospheric story, but after each story is completed, Edgar and his withdrawn uncle’s own story is expanded too. Just where did Uncle Montague get all these bizarre collectables? Why does his butler, Franz, refuse to show his face? Who is it rattling at the windows and running across the upstairs floorboards if Uncle Montague lives alone? Is there any truth to these outlandish tales? All these questions accumulate as the collection continues, climaxing in a final bone-chilling tale of revelation: Uncle Montague’s own.

Some of the yarns are stronger than others – my particular favourites are “The Un-door”, “The Gilt Frame”, “Ghost Story” and “The Demon Bench End”, while “Jinn” and “Offerings” lack definition or intent – but all successfully evoke a macabre ambience and involve child protagonists who invariably meet ghastly ends in wickedly unforeseen twists. If these Tales of Terror are indeed meant for children (they are published by Bloomsbury, after all), the author doesn’t restrain from audaciously shocking deaths and grotesque descriptive passages:

“The features were utterly ruined and looked like something glimpsed in an
abattoir or a nightmare. One side of the face was a hideous mass of gristle and
torn flesh, like a sheep carcass after the rocks have worked it. An unblinking
eye look out from the other side.”

Chris Priestley’s taut but immersive raconteur-befitting prose is complemented by a selection of over-stylised line-drawn illustrations by David Roberts which bring to mind the gothic works of Tim Burton and really help to set the scene: angular tree branches, imposing buildings, never-ending shadows et al. Edgar Allen Poe would undoubtedly approve – and I can only assume Priestley’s protagonist was named as such in homage to the master of the macabre.


In a CR@B Shell: Reader beware you’re in for a scare… Uncle Montague’s Tales of Terror is a remarkable anthology of campfire ghost stories which is delightfully presented and makes for a tense and morbid treat for all ages – just don’t blame me if you get goosebumps!
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