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The Vatican Tapes (Lionsgate, July 24, 2015) The Vatican Tapes (2015) – Prime

Imagine my excitement when I read that Mark Nelvedine (The Crank movies, Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance, Gamer) had made an exorcism flick. This was bound to be bonkers!

Oh, foolish lamb that I am.

This limp rag of a horror film had all the bite of a blob fish, and half the appeal. In order to hit that sweet PG-13 demographic, the film has been neutered to such an extent that it was virtually blood-free. Any onscreen nastiness takes place with the victim’s back to the camera, and none of it is helped by illogical editing choices.

It’s a waste of talent too — Dougray Scott, Michael Peña and Djimon Hounsou plod through the proceedings with all the enthusiasm of a 7th-grader getting a vaccine shot, and the poor young woman who is the subject of their attention is played by Olivia Taylor Dudley, who I can only presume was asked if she could do a Kristen Stewart face.

Boring.

4/10

The Convent (Alpine Pictures, January 22, 2000)
and Late Night with the Devil (IFC Films/Shudder, March 22, 2024)

The Convent (2000) – Tubi

Some nuns and a priest are fussing around an alter when suddenly a cool-looking chick bursts in and starts whaling on them with a baseball bat, before finishing them off with a shotgun.

Okay movie, you have my attention.

Unfortunately, the rest of the flick doesn’t live up to this intro, although it’s a fairly fun attempt to conjure up the daft delights of 80s demon films. A bunch of frat yoots are determined to break into an old, deserted convent and tag it before the other frat houses. They are also hoping to smoke some of the devil’s leaf, and perhaps partake in some heavy fondling. Unfortunately, they inadvertently awaken the spirits of unholy nuns, who promptly possess them and go on a rampage. It’s up to the original nun-knocker from 20 years ago, Adrienne Barbeau, to go all Terminator 2 on the holy horrors.

It’s very silly, occasionally messy, and mostly neon, as the demons were all shot under UV lights.

Megahn Perry was a highlight as Mo, a goth who totally looks like a 19-yr-old Olivia Colman in black lipstick. She was good, as was a Bill Mosely cameo, and Coolio acting ‘extremely’ normal.

It’s not brilliant, but it’s not awful either.

6/10

Late Night with the Devil (2024) – Prime (Shudder)

Let’s get the drama out of the way first. Lots of folks over on Xitter claimed they were boycotting this film due to its (minimal) use of A.I. images. I appreciate their stance, however, it’s difficult as all hell to get an indie horror made these days (exhibit A: the several hundred production logos at the beginning), and boycotting this one just hurts the hundreds of other crew-members who had no hand in the decision.
Sure, go ahead and be very disappointed, but to boycott it means you won’t get to see a terrific concept nicely put together.

Current horror darling, David Dastmalchian, is perfect in the role of a late-night host who can’t quite match the ratings of the great Johnny Carson (this is set in 1977). His beloved wife has recently died, the sweeps are nigh, and he’s desperate for a decent show. Tonight’s Halloween spectacular might be the last gasp for Night Owls. Jack Delroy, along with his sidekick, Gus, have invited a half-rate psychic, a James Randi type, and the subjects of possession research, June, the researcher, and Lily, the possessed. As you might guess, it all goes horribly wrong.

The film opens with narration (Michael Ironside!) to bring us up to speed, and then presents the show in its entirety, threaded with behind the scene footage. I loved the concept and the slow build-up, and the general aesthetic was spot on. I’ve seen a lot of reviews from yoots saying it’s ‘mid’, but I think it really helps if you grew up watching the late shows of the 70s and 80s.

Recommended.

9/10

The Exorcism of God (Saban Films, September 27, 2021) The Exorcism of God (2021) – Tubi

I wasn’t expecting much from this Mexican/US production, mostly because I’d never heard of it, but it was a pleasant surprise.

The director, Alejandro Hidalgo, get all of the cliches out of the way in the first few minutes, including a totally unsubtle Exorcist shot, yellow eyes, shaky beds, psychosexual taunting, inexperienced priest, etc etc. However, this story has more to offer than the usual schtick we get in these films.

This time, the priest hides a very dark secret that stems from the initial exorcism, a secret that rears up again 18 years later when he is exalted as a ‘saint’ for saving a Mexican village. Father Peter is a really interesting, conflicted character, and I liked Will Beinbrink’s portrayal of the tortured soul very much. In fact, it’s well acted all round and beautifully shot, although it relies a bit too heavily on jump scares, which were unnecessary.

Plenty of atmosphere, lots of creepiness and a genuinely ghastly plot. Recommended.

8/10

Evil Dead Rise (Warner Bros. Pictures, April 21, 2023)
and Exorcism at 60,000 Feet (Shout! Studios, August 9, 2019)

Evil Dead Rise (2023) – Crave

Curse me and my self-imposed rules. I wanted to watch this one last year, but I knew I was doing this possession project after the Tubi one, so I had to wait. It was worth it!

If Fede Álvarez’s Evil Dead in 2013 was the gritty embodiment of Raimi’s original, then this follow-up, written and directed by Lee Cronin, is a pitch-perfect take on the sensibilities of Evil Dead II. You can tell that Raimi, Tapert and Campbell were part of the production, because even though Rises is darker and bloodier, as befits a modern version, it is struck through with subversive humour. That’s the weird thing about the Evil Dead franchise — I can’t think of another film series that I gleefully watch as it inflicts so much ghastliness on decent people . It’s somewhat perverse.

The theme and storyline, with its focus on family, is quite disturbing, and yet there are several sequences that had me silently whooping; the carnage watched through a peephole, finding the right pot size to put a deadite down, and an eyeball gag straight out of the Raimi playbook. Once all the possessed are chanting ‘dead by dawn!’ and souls are threatened with a good swallowing, you know that the good old days are back.

That’s not to take anything away away from Cronin. I think he’s done a stellar job here; its a well-crafted story and it looks great. The stand-out for me was Lily Sullivan, and I would totally watch the hell out of an Evil Dead series featuring her chainsaw-toting Beth.

Brilliant stuff.

10/10

Exorcism at 60,000 Feet (2019) – Tubi

A priest (Father Romero), played very well by Robert Miano, turns up at a house, poses à la The Exorcist at the front door, barges in and shoots a demon in the head (Bill Mosely, shaggy as ever) with a crucifix gun. So far, so good. The homeowner snaps out of his own demonic possession, sees his dead wife and screams in anguish. Then he wanders off into the shadows, looking for the rest of his family, crying ‘Oh God’ every time he finds one, his voice getting more horrified with each new discovery.

Utterly disturbing and heartbreaking, and yet it is played for the darkest of laughs, and God help me, I smiled. Then, as the priest manhandles the demon’s body into the back of a hearse, Richard Band kicks in with one of his patented sound-alike scores, and blow me down if it isn’t the music from Airplane! So this is where we are going.

What follows is a uniquely offensive exercise in attempted Zucker Brothers style comedy on a trans-pacific flight (via Viet Kong, no less) with some demonic gore thrown in. For the most part, the over-the-top comedy doesn’t work (I wish they had stuck to the blacker than pitch humor of the opening), but the ludicrousness belts along lickety-split, and there are definitely a couple of moments that made me chortle.

Here’s a list of the crew and passengers just in case you think they missed out on an opportunity to upset anyone.

• Captain Houdee (aha!) the alcoholic pilot played by Lance Henrikson made up as Sully,
• Kevin J. O’Conner (who I’ve missed terribly) as the dozing co-pilot,
• Bai Ling (The Crow) and Matthew Moy (2 Broke Girls) as the racially stereotyped flight crew (Ling’s character is transsexual to boot, which wasn’t handled as badly as you might expect, but still the butt of a few jokes),
• A woman who has a golden glow emanating from her hoohah like Marsellus Wallace’s briefcase,
• An adult dwarf with Tourette’s who breastfeeds off Kelly Maroney (Night of the Comet),
• A Hasidic Jew played by Robert Rhine (one of the writers),
• A body builder,
• A pregnant woman,
• A guy who takes advantage of the pregnant woman while she is unconscious (really?),
• Adrienne Barbeau with a dead service dog,
• A deaf and mute guy who does nothing,
• A pair of nuns who get naked and then get it on,
• A Sopranos extra,
• A Tibetan holy man,
• A messy mile high club attempt,
• tampon gags,
• fart gags,
• and Bai Ling caked in makeup being told to crank it up to 26 and scream every line.

There’s also pea soup, Twilight Zone references and plenty of gore.

It would be easy to dismiss this one, but I think it’s perfect for the very very drunk or very very stoned, or for those with no moral hang-ups, and at the risk of eternal damnation, I’m going to recommend it just to you. You know who you are.

6/10

Previous Murkey Movie surveys from Neil Baker include:

What Possessed You? — Part 1
Fan of the Cave Bear
There, Wolves
What a Croc
Prehistrionics
Jumping the Shark
Alien Overlords
Biggus Footus
I Like Big Bugs and I Cannot Lie
The Weird, Weird West
Warrior Women Watch-a-thon

Neil Baker’s last article for us was Part I of What Possessed You? Neil spends his days watching dodgy movies, most of them terrible, in the hope that you might be inspired to watch them too. He is often asked why he doesn’t watch ‘proper’ films, and he honestly doesn’t have a good answer. He is an author, illustrator, outdoor educator and owner of April Moon Books (AprilMoonBooks.com).

The power of novels, the power of reading, seems immeasurable. The books we read and…

The post Free Your Mind! 6 Novels That Spark Creativity & Transformation appeared first on LitStack.

Sweet dreams are made of cheese Who am I to dis a Brie I cheddar the world and a Feta cheese Everybody’s looking for Stilton (Sweet Dreams are Made of Cheese – parody song from the Internet, to the tune of the Eurythmics song Sweet Dreams Are Made of This) Award winning John Scalzi has…

Congrats on good news in Germany, and I hope everything’s OK now.

Actually, this month has gone by pretty slowly.

In addition to being beaten with sticks, I've spent a long time working on The Pilot this month. We had a full Hidden Gnome meeting, where we hid a bunch of gnomes in a room and challenged visitors to spot as many as they could. And I've been playing League of Legends again, after a long hiatus.

Playing League was the hardest part.

Anyway, we'll be releasing news about The Pilot very soon! Then I get to work on a [SECRET PROJECT] that will remain [TOP SECRET] for the time being, but I'm looking forward to it.

And for now, since I finished a draft about fifteen minutes ago, I get to go collapse into my couch and eat popcorn! That's my favorite activity!

More soon! Thanks for reading!

​-Will

From Mod R:

If it’s Friday, it’s winner time!

The much-coveted prize of last week’s Secret Giveaway was a galley of This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me (Maggie the Undying 1), the new fantasy isekai series by Ilona Andrews. A galley is a plain-bound (no illustrated cover, sprayed edges, very likely pre copy-edits version of the Advanced Reader Copy). We do not have an exact ETA on when the galleys will arrive, but one lucky person today will have one heading for them as soon as they are ready!

Without further ado, the winner is:

Amanda says

March 25, 2025 at 4:00 pm

I absolutely love your books but don’t think I’m hardcore enough to be transported into most of them. Certainly not the Kate Daniel’s or Edge worlds, although I think I’d like living at Gertrude Hunt. One of my first sci fi reads was Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and I think as long as I had my towel, I could travel around that universe for a bit.

Congratulations!

I will contact Amanda privately with details and arrangements about the prize, from the modr@ilona-andrews.com address on the email provided with the comment. If we do not hear back from you by Wednesday, April 2nd at 12:00 pm Central, we will chose a different winner in your place, so please keep an eye on the blog and your inbox.

Happy weekend!

Harvest Day

“You have got to be kidding me.”

 Hugh stood on the side passage on the first floor of Bailey. Elara was next to him.  Three of the centurions, Stoyan, Lamar, and Sharif, waited a few feet away. Bale and his century were on duty today.

This spot gave him an excellent view of the great hall.  The last time they’d used it, they’d hosted Rufus Fortner, the head of Lexington’s Red Guard.   

 The tables were gone.  Most of the chairs were gone too, except for the single row against the two side walls for those who had trouble standing. Fall garlands draped the walls, with wreaths of wheat and oak branches encircling the decorative weapons he’d ordered hung on the walls for the Fortner’s visit.  Young maples grew from big barrels, spreading red and orange leaves.

A long red carpet stretched from the doors all the way to the back of the room, where two long banners streamed from the high ceiling, one the black and silver banner depicting a dog bearing his fangs and the other the green and white banner with a cauldron filled with herbs, the symbol of the Departed. Beneath the banners, on a raised platform, stood two thrones carved from wood in painstaking detail.  Apples, pumpkins, gourds, bunches of wheat and herbs, and baskets of fall flowers decorated the platform around the thrones, spilling to the main floor.

On the side, just below the right throne, a huge wooden barrel waited with a stack of paper cups by it.  He remembered the barrel.  They had filled it with beer for Fortner’s visit. He didn’t recall a white table on the side, bristling with skewers.  Hugh squinted at it.  Fruit dipped in chocolate.

Elara’s people flittered through it all, making last minute adjustments.

He had no problem with the maples, the pumpkins, or the wreaths.  Even the barrel.  That was fine. Nobody said anything about the thrones. Or the cornucopia that threw up around them.

“Walk me through this again,” he said.

“We are going to go and sit on the thrones,” Elara said. “The doors will open. People will enter, mostly families with small children. They will greet us with a small gift.  Something the children picked themselves. We will wish them a happy Harvest Day and then they will get a cup of spiced Harvest cider.  They will think of a wish, drink their cider, and then Nadia and Rue will give them a skewer with chocolate dipped fruit.”

“You want me to play Harvest Fest Santa Claus?”

She nodded.

He stared at her.

“You agreed to it,” Elara reminded him.

He had agreed to it. The night after he came back from Aberdine, she’d spent an hour trying to deal with Amelia’s curse. Finally, she touched her fingers to the young woman’s forehead, and he felt a pulse of magic from her.  It washed over him, soothing and cool, and Amelia’s rigid body relaxed. The curse was still there, Elara told him.  She had only slowed it to a crawl, but it was alive and growing, and if they didn’t find a cure soon, it would consume Amelia. His wife had just bought them time.

He was already grateful, and then she invited him back to her suite. They sat at a table on a secluded balcony off her bedroom and she’d served him the chicken she made.

Elara’s chicken tasted like childhood.

Hugh couldn’t recall eating it frequently when he was a child, but something about the combination of flavors and savory herbs threw him right back to that blissfully happy decade before he turned seventeen and began killing in Roland’s name. It tasted like summers in Occitanie, where winds had names, and the long sandy beaches flirted with the turquoise sea. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine sitting at the scarred table on the veranda of the old bastide that used to be his home. He would’ve spent the morning in sword practice, studied after that, then ridden a horse to the beach and swam until his body could no longer move. The house with its stone façade and pale blue shutters would be to his left, the pool and the view of the sea nestled between green hills to his right, and when he finished eating, his father would come to quiz him on things he’d learned that day.

It was bittersweet, and he savored every bite, while she promised that she would get her witches to look into the curse and talked about the Harvest Day preparations. If she had asked him to jump over the balcony rail at that moment, he might have done it.  She’d asked him to be the Harvest King instead. The fool that he was, he said yes.

Now he was standing in the middle of the main hall, wearing an embroidered white tunic, brown pants, and a red Celtic cape cloak. And Elara was standing next to him. She wore a light green gown with ridiculous trumpet sleeves.  It clung to her chest, flowing over her waist to her hips, where it flared into a wide skirt.  Her hair was down and streamed down her back like a white waterfall. A flower crown made with purple asters, bright yellow goldenrod, and red maple leaves rode on her hair. She looked like she had walked out of Edmund Leighton’s Accolade.  All she needed was a sword and some fool to kneel before her.

Nadia, one of the women close to Elara, approached, carrying a wooden box.

“I’m afraid to ask,” he said.

Elara opened the box and took out a flower crown twisted together from golden oak branches, red maple leaves, and clusters of small purple berries.

“No.”

“You promised.”

She was looking at him with her beautiful brown eyes.  He looked at her face for a moment too long and surrendered to his fate.  How bad could becoming a king for one day be?

He bowed his head, and she put the crown on his hair.

“You look lovely, Preceptor,” Lamar offered.

Hugh looked at him for a minute.

Lamar grinned back. Stoyan’s face was perfectly neutral.  Sharif cracked a razor-thin smile.

“Hugh?” Elara asked.

He sighed.

She smiled at him.  The magic was thick today and that smile was regal and witchy.  His eldritch queen, the Ice Harpy, asking him for a favor.

Oh what the hell, why not? “Let’s get this over with.”

#

A three-year-old boy with round cheeks and dark hair clutched a yellow astra flower to his chest.

“Go ahead, Bao,” his mother murmured.

Bao looked at Hugh, looked at the sword by the throne, and made a beeline for Elara.  She gave him a smile, and Bao offered her his flower.

“What a pretty astra!” Elara cooed.

They had seen at least two hundred people in the last couple of hours. Most of the ones under 5 went to her. He got older kids and a surprising number of adults. The Departed believed in Elara with all their heart.  They brought flowers, fruit, and walnuts, deposited their gifts on the cornucopia pile, made their wishes, and drank their cider. And then they lingered, watching others do the same.  The grand hall was full. People talked and mulled about, and he’d spotted more than a couple of his Iron Dogs in the crowd.

The pile of gifts by his side of the throne was growing unwieldy. Fruit, mushrooms, weird rocks from the children.  One kid brought a grasshopper.  A little girl brought a “pretty worm” which turned out to be a scarlet snake and caused a bit of commotion until Sharif grabbed it.  The snake was safely released outside, and the culprit was rewarded with a chocolate strawberry.

He didn’t mind. He understood now why Elara wanted this. The smiling faces, the content conversation, the abundance of food, it swirled together into communal happiness, and it wrapped around them all like a warm blanket.  They were together, secure, and happy. The Departed needed it, but Elara herself needed it more. He could see it on her face.  In this moment, his wife was truly happy. 

A hush fell onto the hall.  He raised his head.

Vanessa stood on the red carpet.

She looked exactly the same: arrogant face framed by dark hair, a body that was almost too ripe, with big boobs, long legs, and tight ass wrapped in a red sweater dress. Back before the wedding, he’d used her as a distraction.  He’d made the terms clear from the start, but it had gone to her head anyway, and eventually she tried to use it against Elara. They had words, as Bale would put it. To call it a fight would be giving Vanessa too much credit. Elara sliced her to pieces with ten sentences. Going back to her job as a paralegal after she imagined wielding power as his mistress proved too much for Vanessa.  She fled in the morning.

She stood on the carpet now, and there was something not quite right about her face.

The two families behind her turned and walked off the carpet to the walls.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bao’s mother pick him up and scurry to the side. The hall was silent now.

An ice-cold power flared to his left.

He glanced at Elara.

Her face was rigid with rage.  Her magic burned around her, a glacial invisible flame, a seed of a hurricane threatening to burst. The edge of it seared him, and only his willpower kept him from recoiling. She was Death.

The Departed stood frozen.

“Take it off,” Elara ground out.

Vanessa grinned.

“Off!”

Vanessa’s scalp split. The skin sloughed off her, like a biohazard suit, curving to the sides.

A slender middle-aged woman bared her teeth at them.  Thin, her features sharp, her light skin coated in a grease streaked with blood, she stared at Elara with triumphant disgust. Magic wrapped around her, a dark, violent miasma.

The last of Vanessa’s skin peeled off, falling to the ground in shreds.  How the fuck…

Elara’s magic convulsed like a furious colossal viper.

In the hall, the faces that were happy just a moment ago turned into cold, grim masks.  The Departed stared as one, and he felt it again, that collective power binding them. The cheer, the happiness, and warmth were gone, snatched away by the Departed. Everything Elara treasured, everything she looked forward to, ruined. It was the wedding all over again.

He felt something stir inside him and realized it was rage.

“Brooklyn.” Elara spat the name like it was poison.

The woman raised a bony hand and stabbed her finger at Elara. “The reckoning is here, niece—”

“Aarh sapawur eseran.”

The blinding flash of agony tore through him. He’d sank so much power into the words, the grand hall quaked.

Brooklyn froze like a statue.  Unable to move, unable to speak.

The entire hall stared at him, shocked.

“Elara,” he said into the silence, keeping his voice casual. “Why don’t you ever bake me anything from those shows you like to watch.”

Elara’s eyes were big as saucers.

He gave her a pointed look.

She cleared her throat. “What would you like me to bake you?”

“I think I would like some rough puff pastry.” That was the only thing he could remember from his trip to the ledge.

“What?”

“I’m a rough man.  I should have some rough puff pastry.” What the hell was coming out of his mouth…

The spell’s hold shattered. Brooklyn stumbled forward.

“Aarh sapawur eseran.”

The pain slashed through his gut like a sword. It took everything in his power not to wince.

“I’m having a conversation with my wife.” He hammered each word out like he was carving it into stone.  “Will nobody rid me of this annoying thing?”

A dozen Iron Dogs congealed from the crowd.  They swarmed the petrified woman. In seconds she was gagged and tied. They tipped her like a tree and carried her out of the hall.

Hugh turned to Elara. “When am I getting my desert?”

“I will make it tomorrow,” she said softly.

“Thank you, love.” He turned to the hall.  “Now, who is next?”

For a moment nothing happened.  And then a family with two children shouldered their way out of the crowd and approached, carrying some pears and a bundle of wheat.

Hugh smiled at them and waved for Irina to start pouring the cider.

The Last Hughday

From Ilona:

Hugh d’Ambray, living his best Henry II life, heh.

This week brought a lot of This Kingdom work. We pulled together a ton of material for the maps, drew the sketch of the world map, noted the major landmarks, then wrote everything out in text, moving from north to south on both sides of the map. Then we redid that same map with the political landmarks. We pulled together the city map, edited it to match the new manuscript and sent that in. Hopefully that is enough for the artist to get started. Then we worked on the cover copy for the publisher insider galleys.

I had forgotten how much work it takes to release a book through the traditional publisher. The fault is entirely mine. I’ve gotten used to self-dictated release schedule, where we determine the deadlines, the number of edits, and the cover copy. When the cover copy goes back and forth 7 times, with several people concentrating on making it the best it can be, it puts things in perspective.

Not that we cut corners when we self-publish, but usually it’s our agent and us and we are mostly on the same page. We don’t have the marketing department to guide us or the expertise of an editor who is very good at what she does.

This week, we have also gotten out first foreign rights offer. I can’t say anything about it except that it is a really good offer. We will need to review the documents today. We always read the contracts.

This is now two separate publishers who have chosen to place a big bet on Maggie.

It’s both exciting and nerve-wrecking. I really hope the book is strong enough to meet the expectations, but that’s not the biggest stress factor. We’ve written this book. It’s done. It’s too late to worry about it. It will do or it won’t.

The second book is due in November.

We’ve sent the “where are we going” summary to our editor yesterday. If it’s green lit, great. If not, we will need to adjust. The first book is almost 200K. This one will likely be of significant length as well. It’s a lot of story and there is still a lot of work left on Maggie #1. Copyedits, galley proofread, etc, etc.

All of this means that we cannot give Hugh 2 the attention it deserves. Especially not while serializing it. If this was a novella, it would be one thing, but this is a novel and it is complex. We will have to bump it back until Maggie #2 is done.

I thought we could knock it out, but apparently we can’t. This is humbling. In a way, it is a testament to the strength of the book – it requires undivided attention. But still, I really, really wanted to get it done before starting on the sequel. Not only we need to finish the story, but we need that extra release, because Maggie 1 won’t be published until March 31 of next year.

The problem is also the hands. A few months ago I developed this fun new nightmare where my hands and feet, and sometimes arms and legs, go numb. There was a lot of nerve pain with a dash of allodynia. I learned to sleep on my back with both hands in braces. There was a variety of possible diagnoses, none of them good, but right now the consensus is that this is a medication-induced side effect. I’m off the meds and getting better so we will see if this improves over the next few months.

It slowed me down quite a bit. At some point I couldn’t even sit in the chair for longer than an hour or everything went numb. You never plan for crap like to happen, but sometimes it does.

Anyway, for these reasons, we are pushing Hugh 2 to the backburner, so we can meet our contractual obligations. We may have a shorter project for you as a serial. We are not sure yet. Mod R has read it and she feels it would be a good serial.

No worries, we will figure out something fun in the meanwhile. Happy Friday!

The post Secret Giveaway Winner and Hughday first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

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Chapter 3

 

Antigua

 

Jethro continued to deal with the pain of loss of Lil Red. Shanti continued to blame herself. Both had been to a therapist but it helped to talk to each other. “I was supposed to keep her safe,” she said.

Jethro shook his head. She sounded so … broken. Like it was her fault. It wasn’t; they both knew that. She hadn’t been home; it had been a freak crash during an air show that had killed their adopted daughter.

“You can’t be blamed for a freak accident! Murphy maybe, but not you love. It happened. We can’t wrap them in cotton and keep them safe forever.”

“You’d think she’d be safe at home! I should have insisted she stay with you.”

“It happened,” Jethro sighed. “It is something that … the rest of us will have to live with. I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you too,” she murmured back, kissing her fingertips and then holding them out to him. He smiled tenderly to her holographic image.

A blinking LED caught his attention. He knew it was time up. He reached out for a phantom caress of her cheek. She smiled tenderly and closed her eyes and seemed to rub into it.

“I won’t tell you to stay safe. I know you too well,” he said.

She chuffed.

“But watch your six and kick ass.”

“Yeah,” she said huskily. “We have to go.” She dashed a tear and then straightened up and nodded. “Kick some pirate ass. I love you.”

“I know and I will. And I love you too,” he said. “Thanks, Captain,” Jethro said as he looked up.

“You’re welcome, Chief. Terminating virtual chat,” Commander Enki replied.

<<O>>

Jethro prepped for work quietly. “Was that mom?” Baghera asked sleepily. He was the black panther male of the quartet. All four had a ways to go in the maturity department. A bit of that was because he hadn’t been around to be a father. He was trying to make up for lost time but it wasn’t easy this late in the game.

“Yeah, she had to go; sorry, you lot were asleep.”

“Was she here?” Bagheera asked, looking around in confusion. He sniffed the air, his brows knit still in confusion. “Wait, I don’t smell her.”

“No, it was a holo call. Brief,” Jethro explained patiently as he cleaned up the kitchen.

Bagheera blinked in confusion. “Oh,” he said.

“Red is …”

“They cremated her body and will ship it back as a diamond,” Jethro said quietly.

 Bagheera blinked again and then yawned. “Damn,” he muttered. “It is … is she really gone?” he asked and then ran a finger under his nose as he snuffled.

“I’m afraid so,” Jethro sighed softly. Some of the family were still struggling with the loss. Red had been their adopted daughter and an older sister/aunt/sitter to each of the litters. They were each dealing with the grief in their own way. The FBI as well as the Cadre had each offered a grief counselor to the family. So far he wasn’t aware of anyone taking them up on it.

The first litter were buried in their work. They were more mature and knew intellectually such things were bound to happen eventually. The sudden reaction was what caught them off guard.

“Mom should have left her here to be safe with us,” Bagheera muttered bitterly.

“Red was an adult; she wanted to be with your mom to help her out and so she wouldn’t feel so alone.” Jethro shook his head.

“Yeah? And it cost her her life!” Bagheera flared.

A corner of his father’s mind recognized anger as one of the stages of grief so he kept to reason. He didn’t want to provoke the fragile truce with his son or make the irrational anger turn towards him.

No, it wasn’t irrational, the anger was real. It was just adrift without a target as they all were, he reminded himself before he spoke.

“No, a freak accident did. She was at home safe. It could have happened here as easily as their or anywhere,” Jethro said, trying to keep his tone even. Bagheera glowered at him. “When fate chooses to snip your thread, it's a part of the circle of life.”

“Oh gah, not that shit again,” the smaller black panther said voice rich with disgust. He snorted harshly.

“It is what it is,” Jethro said with an ear flick of a shrug as he felt his fur stiffen. Bast shook her head on his HUD. He took it to indicate a lost cause. “Some things are just out of our control. It sucks. Trust me, I’ve felt it. I still feel it.”

He reached out to touch his son but his son turned away and headed into the bathroom. The door clicked shut with a sound of finality to the argument.

Jethro escaped to his commute to work while he could.

<<O>>

Jethro saw motion in the hallway near the floor as he walked through the new section of the base. His attention flickered from thinking about the list of things he had to do to prepare for the movement to curiosity. Bast rolled her eyes on his HUD and highlighted a familiar feline figure crouching in the shadows.

He chuffed softly in amusement and pretended to ignore her in passing. Ember had figured out how to cloak in order to try to sneak out of the crèche again. She was good, but she had been tagged with an IFF tag and her cloak was only good if she didn’t move. She didn’t have implants or an AI to manage her cloaks so everything ran on instinct.

He turned suddenly and swooped in to catch her and swing her off her feet. She growled in surprise as he held her with one arm under her armpits and the other under her bottom as he leaned over her and gave his invisible prey a cheek rub.

She mock growled and her ears went flat but he chuffed and purred. After a moment, she started to purr in response.

A tech saw him cheek rubbing something and holding it but whatever it was it was invisible. The human stopped and stared until Jethro tickled his prey. Ember growled and lost focus and faded into place in his arms giggling and squirming. “Stop!” she said in a high pitch giggly voice.

Jethro churred and laughed at her and hugged her tightly. The observer then blinked and puckered his lips and looked away. After a moment, he shook his head and walked off.

“So, what are you doing out and about, young lady?” Jethro teased. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your friends?”

“No nap,” she growled as he slung her up to his shoulder. She began to play with his ear in retaliation.

“Really? You don’t like to nap?”

“No,” she pouted as he walked to the crèche.

“Uh huh,” he said. “Do they know you are gone?” he asked in a light voice. She suddenly looked shy.

Bast rolled her virtual eyes and sent a text out to the crèche as well as Zuhura.

Just as she did a security alert came over the 1MC to look for a lost black kitten.

“I think they know you are missing. Your mommy is going to be upset,” Jethro warned.

Ember looked a little contrite but then flicked her ears.

Find out supposed to be in crèche. Snuck away in naptime.

Zuhura arrived outside the crèche. She was clearly exasperated with her wayward charge.

Jethro play fought to hand her over, eventually relenting with a mock pout. Ember giggled. The byplay lightened the mood.

“You aren’t supposed to leave the crèche without an adult, young lady,” Zuhura scolded.

“She’s getting good at being sneaky,” Jethro said. “She almost got past me,” he said. He shrewdly tickled her. “Almost,” he teased as she shrunk back and giggled and then growled and play swatted at him.

She might be playing but her eyes flashed, her ears went back and she started in with her trademark head cock that said she was ready to get feisty.

“Uh oh,” Zuhura laughed. “Now you’ve done it,” she chuffed. She pretended to hold her charge away from Jethro as Jethro pretended to box with her and then hold his arms out on either side and then move in to strike. She couldn’t look in both directions and growled ears flat.

Zuhura chuffed as her father used one hand to distract and the other to strike. The head cock came out again.

“I think they need to learn to wear this little lady out a bit more before naptime,” Jethro observed.

“No nap!” a certain kitten said, crossing her arms and instantly pouting.

“Yeah,” Zuhura said with a snort as she took the kitten into the crèche. “Thanks, dad.”

“Anytime,” he said with a wave to the kitten.

<<O>>

I have just found the Inheritance of magic audio books after finishing the Alex Verus series (which I loved) I am on chapter 10 of book 1 and I am thrilled so far…..can not wait to see what is to come.
I hope your family are well.

It's time for the DOGE Supernatural Division series finale. Hope you're ready for dragons, gold, and chat room app shenanigans!

Tor Doubles

In October of 1988, Tor Books released the first Tor Double, a volume that reprinted Arthur C. Clarke’s 1971 novella Meeting with Medusa with Kim Stanley Robinson’s novella Green Mars. Over the next thirty-five months, they would publish a total of thirty-six books in the series.

In general, there was little to link the two short stories that were published in each volume, although in 1990, Tor experimented with the publication of four Tor Doubles that included a classic story, by authors including C.L. Moore, L. Sprague de Camp, Leigh Brackett, and Roger Zelazny, with original stories that were set in the same world. The following year would see addition original stories published in the series.

Similarly, most of the volumes contained stories by two different authors, however four of the books published in 1991 were single author collections, with two stories each by Gordon R. Dickson, Mike Resnick, Damon Knight, and Fritz Leiber.

Modeled after the Ace Doubles series, the books were initially published in a dos-a-dos format, with each story getting its own cover and bound upside down in relation to the other book, so neither story was first (although the presence of an ISBN code on one side had a tendency to make it feel like the “back” of the book). The four volumes that included sequels were published with a single cover and beginning with volume 27, which included Orson Scott Card’s Eye for Eye and Lloyd Biggle, Jr.’s The Tunesmith, all the volumes were published in the more traditional format.

A Mosaic of Tor Doubles covers

The Clarke/Robinson volume was not, actually the first Tor Double, although it states “Tor Double #1” on the cover for the Clarke story. In 1981, Tor published Keith Laumer’s novel The House in November with a “special bonus: complete short novel” The Other Sky as part of their “Jim Baen Presents” series When the book was reprinted in 1985, the two stories were printed in the dos-a-dos format with the words “Tor Double” appearing on both sides.

Although the final volume in the series, a collection of Fritz Leiber’s novels Conjure Wife and Our Lady of Darkness was published in August of 1991, there was at least one more volume scheduled to see print, although it was never published. Instead, Esther M. Friesner’s Yesterday, We Saw Mermaids was published as a stand-alone novel by Tor in 1992 and Lawrence Watt-Evans’ The Final Folly of Captain Dancy was first published by Tor at the back of their printing of his novel The Rebirth of Wonder (along with an excerpt for Watt-Evans and Friesner’s collaboration Split Heirs) and was later included in his collection Crosstime Traffic.

The series includes works by 51 authors (including two collaborations). Sixteen authors are represented by multiple stories, with eight appearing twice (half of those in single author volumes), six appearing three times, Fritz Leiber having four stories in the series (once in a single author volume), and Robert Silverberg having five stories.

Although there were only a handful of original stories published in the Tor Doubles series, many of the works selected to be reprinted were award nominees and winners. The series included 33 Hugo nominated works and 17 winners and 27 Nebula nominated stories and 16 winners. Robinson’s A Short Sharp Shock was nominated for a Hugo Award for the year it appeared in the series, although it had previously been published by Mark V. Zeising and Asimov’s.

Over the next thirty-nine weeks, I intend to look at the books published (or not published, as the case may be) as part of this series.

Steven H Silver is a twenty-time Hugo Award nominee and was the publisher of the Hugo-nominated fanzine Argentus as well as the editor and publisher of ISFiC Press for eight years. He has also edited books for DAW, NESFA Press, and ZNB. His most recent anthology is Alternate Peace and his novel After Hastings was published in 2020. Steven has chaired the first Midwest Construction, Windycon three times, and the SFWA Nebula Conference numerous times. He was programming chair for Chicon 2000 and Vice Chair of Chicon 7.

Very sorry to hear that book four is delayed but family do come first and, as you say, focus is on Book#3 at the moment. I hope that you are able to straighten things out quickly and get back into the routine again.

I am looking forward to the world-building articles, although I have to admit that Judgement of Powers is even more eagerly anticipated!

Good Luck!

Hope the writing goes on well.
I instantly bought the German version of Inharitance of Magic 1 and it was great. I read the thing in a couple of days and I am thrilled for book 2 in German.❤️

They Mostly Pod Out at Night, Mostly, hosted by Graveyard and Salem

One of the best parts of my Black Gate side hustle is the cool people we get to meet, and there’s nothing more exciting than connecting with those who are most definitely “our people.” I am embarrassed to admit that the Fall Days of the Dead show in Chicago last November was my first encounter with the geniuses behind the podcast They Mostly Pod Out at Night, Mostly, who go by the monikers Graveyard and Salem. And after all, who doesn’t love an Aliens reference?

​They Mostly Pod Out at Night, Mostly is a weekly podcast dedicated to all things horror. Each episode features in-depth discussions, covering a range of topics from classic and contemporary horror films to broader themes within the genre. The hosts provide insightful analysis, engaging reviews, and lively conversations that appeal to both casual viewers and die-hard horror enthusiasts. Their passion for horror is on full display as they explore the intricacies of various movies, offering listeners a comprehensive understanding of the genre’s evolution and impact.

Since meeting them in November I’ve become a regular listener, discovering yet another dark and intriguing corner of the horror subculture, and last night I had the honor of being a guest.

Honestly, I had mixed feelings about doing this. Though I loved what I had seen since becoming a fan of TMPOaNM, I am far more comfortable behind the keyboard than in front of a webcam. I have my own horrors of freezing up or saying something stupid, not to mention the fact that for all my many years at Black Gate I have determinedly remained out of any pictures or videos associated with Goth Chick News.

Still, the draw was strong, and the host “Graveyard” (aka Matt Van Bodegraven) went to great lengths to make me feel comfortable. He had done his homework on Black Gate and Goth Chick News so the whole event really felt like “coffee between friends” as he promised.

Check it…

​For his part, Van Bodegraven is a multifaceted figure in the indie horror genre, recognized for his work as a writer, director, actor, as well as podcast creator and co-host. In the realm of filmmaking, Van Bodegraven has contributed to several projects. He is known for The Murder of the Monster (2024), The Ruck March (2025) as well as Vampyre and Tahoe Joe 3: Concrete Wilderness both in pre-production.

He is also the producer of the upcoming ‘found footage’ horror film The Fairfield County Four, directed and written by Joshua Brucker for Horror Dadz Productions.

The Fairfield County Four (Eye4Eye Productions/Gray Sky Pictures)

The narrative follows four individuals — Emma Grove, Amy Hanson, Randy Farris, and Peter Moore — as they venture into the Connecticut woods to investigate the legend of the Wolf of Fairfield County. Their subsequent disappearance leads to the discovery of their recovered footage, unveiling the chilling events they encountered.

As of now, The Fairfield County Four is in pre-production, with filming anticipated to commence in April 2025 and a release date yet to be announced. However, Van Bodegraven did promise to keep me updated so I can tell you all about the process of bringing an indie film to life. For a glimpse into the eerie atmosphere, you can watch the campaign teaser below:

While we wait, definitely check out They Mostly Pod Out at Night, Mostly, for entertaining insights into the horror genre. A huge thank you to Graveyard and Salem for creating such a memorable experience, and one that is truly unique in the Goth Chick universe.

Black Gate photog Chris Z and I are off to the spring version of Days of the Dead on Friday, so watch this space.

The full-cast dramatized adaptation of Small Magics will be released by Graphic Audio on July 2nd and the pre-order is live on the GA website here. Audible and all the other usual audio retailers should have the preorder sometime in the beginning of May.

The release will include the full content of Small Magics: extended Curran POV; Jim POV; Questionable Client prequel; the Julie-POV short Magic Tests; the Kate-world story Retribution Clause, featuring Saiman’s cousin Adam; as well as Of Swine and Roses and Grace of Small Magics, set in independent universes.

Nora is hard at work on the Small Magics script and finishing touches on GA Magic Triumphs, and I have an arm-long list of pronunciations clips and questions for Ilona due back to her. But GA Magic Binds came out just Tuesday and I’m still busy replaying the “I won’t allow it” Deimos reveal scene 476 times a day! A girl has to have priorities.

Speaking of audios (but not Graphic ones), the small chapter data issue in the Hoopla version of the Wilmington Years has been identified and fixed by Dreamscape, so it should now synchronize properly. Thank you so much Teresa for signalling.

And finally, I am so sorry to be the bearer of p*tience-requiring news, but to everyone who is emailing in dismay that Maggie the Undying first installment, This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me, is being released in 5 days and there’s complete radio silence about it on the blog…it’s 369 days, beloved. The date is indeed 31st of March, but the year on the announcement is 2026. Sorrows, sorrows, prayers. We will weather that storm and This Year of W*it Will Not Kill Us!

I won’t allow it! ::Deimos flight::

The post Small Magics and Small Housework first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

In The Fantasies of Future Things, two men in Atlanta reconcile their human dignity against…

The post Spotlight on “The Fantasies of Future Things” by Doug Jones appeared first on LitStack.

Here are 7 Author Shoutouts for this week. Find your favorite author or discover and…

The post 7 Author Shoutouts | Authors We Love To Recommend appeared first on LitStack.

 Sitrep:

So, yesterday I was at the hospital waiting on dad's pacemaker install and heart checkup. He's good, ignoring doctor/nurse's orders as usual so... normal. That is a relief? Maybe? 

Anyway, while I was out Rea finished Jethro 9's edits and shot it back to me. I just dealt with the final edits and shot it off to Goodlifeguide.

On to the next snippet!

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Chapter 2

 

Antigua

 

Jethro called a family meeting. Cleo and Shy were on their way home and arrived before the Cadre members did.

Bagheera complained about the interruption when Cleo went into his room and practically dragged him out by his ear.

“Will you sit down and shut up? This is important,” Cleo growled.

“How do you know that?” Bagheera demanded as the toilet flushed in the hallway bathroom. The sink turned on for a moment.

“I can tell just from looking at them,” Cleo retorted, nodding her chin at the Sabu, Suqi, the holograms of their AI, and Jethro.

“This isn’t another lecture about getting a job or going to school is it? I mean, I am taking classes …” Bagheera insisted.

“Believe it or not this isn’t about you,” Sabu rumbled quietly. Bagheera glanced at him and then fell into a pensive silence when he started to pick up on the vibes in the room.

“Yes, well, Zuhura and Ember will be joining us in a bit. But …,” Jethro broke off and glanced to the side as Shy left the bathroom and sank into the seat next to Cleo. Suqi reached out and grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

She looked at her and noted that Suqi was looking grave and sad. Her ears were back. She looked to Sabu and saw similar looks coming from him. She felt her ears go back as trepidation mounted. “What’s wrong? What happened?” she asked.

“Did the cancer come back in White?” Cleo asked suddenly. Bagheera felt the mood shift and slowly sank into a chair. Sabu reached out and patted his shoulder gruffly.

“No …,” Jethro said slowly.

“I’ve got a class in an hour and a half …,” Cleo warned.

“You may want to skip it,” Suqi said softly. She looked expectantly to Jethro.

Jethro felt his insides twist. Bast gave him a sympathetic look.

“There is no easy way of saying this,” he said. He wiped at his eyes. The kittens all stared at him. The ones who didn’t know suddenly had an inkling. All of their ears were back and eyes wide.

“There was a crash on ET …”

“Mom!” Cleo wailed, lunging to her feet.

Jethro and Suqi immediately shook their heads. Suqi pushed Cleo down gently. Slowly she sank back into her chair. “If not mom …?”

“I’m afraid Red was killed by a fighter that crashed into their apartment complex. Your mom is fine,” Jethro said roughly. He paused as there was a knock at the door and then it opened to reveal Zuhura and Ember. Zuhura was somber and Ember had clearly picked up on the vibes and was looking troubled and confused.

Cleo and Shy teared up as Suqi tried to comfort them. Sabu hugged Bagheera. Jethro got up and hugged Zuhura, squeezing Ember between them until she nipped him.

He chuffed in amusement and felt her little arms wrap around his neck. He took her from her adopted mother and hugged her for a moment. “Sorry, sweetie, we just got some bad news,” he murmured.

“I’ll say,” Bagheera said. He got up and went to his room and slammed the door. The others watched him go and then gave out a soft collective sigh.

“We each deal with grief in our own way,” Sabu said as he still looked at the door.

“Give him a moment. We’ll talk to him in a bit,” Jethro said.

<<(O)>>

Jethro had to deal with the flood of sympathy from friends and colleagues.

Hurranna texted him that she had received the news. She sent her condolences to Jethro and the family and stated that she’d be by later for a hug.

He appreciated that.

<<(O)>>

Chief Warrant Officer Ox and his dwarf counterpart Warrant Officer Mariah Willow were putting their finishing touches on some of the robots when he received an email about Riley. He shook his head.

“What?” Willow asked. Minotaur and Peggy were busy going through lines of code with their respective debug bots to clean it up.

“Riley will be in town shortly. But she said she has a gig and can’t chat tonight. Oh, well,” Ox said with a flap of his ears as his hands continued to assemble a robotic leg. There were some delicate connections but his massive fingers handled them easily.

It helped that he and Minotaur had a master grade level of control over his implants and nanites.

Minotaur and Peggy looked up and then both turned to their respective partners.

“What?” Willow asked. “Finished all ready?” she asked.

“No. We have news,” Peggy said.

“Out with it,” Ox said absently.

“There has been a death in the McClintock family,” Minotaur said in a bass rumble. Ox stopped what he was doing and looked up sharply.

“Suqi and Sabu?”

“No. Lil Red was killed on Epsilon Triangula.”

“Oh, damn,” Willow said. “Isn’t that Jethro’s adopted daughter?”

“Yes,” Peggy replied.

“Please send our condolences,” Willow said.

“Done,” Peggy said.

“Minotaur, do the same. And tell Jethro I’ll check in with him when he’s ready,” Ox said gruffly.

“Understood,” Minotaur replied.

Ox went back to working, but after a moment, he pushed the robot leg aside and sat down heavily.

Willow patted him on the shoulder gently.

<<(O)>>

Social interaction is a minefield, isn’t it? Whether it’s gathering with the family for the holidays, relating to people at the workplace, or making small talk with the checker at the supermarket, any encounter with other people, no matter how casual or seemingly benign, is fraught with uncertainty and even, sometimes, menace. That may be why such interactions have so often been depicted as a form of combat. (It may also be why the trend towards “contactless” social transactions that reached warp speed with the advent of COVID isn’t going anywhere, but just continues to gain ground even as the Coronavirus era recedes.)

Of all the opportunities for social victory and defeat, triumph and humiliation, the party may be the most hazardous, but no party has ever been such an ordeal as the one endured by the hapless dinner guests in Luis Buñuel’s merciless 1962 nightmare, The Exterminating Angel (in its original Spanish, El ángel exterminador).

Filmed in Mexico and set in a “wealthy district” in an unnamed country (Roger Ebert declares that it’s Spain and that the movie is an attack on the regime of Francisco Franco, but I know of no statement by Buñuel that places the film so specifically or that defines its meaning so narrowly), The Exterminating Angel is the blackest of black comedies; I have no doubt that it would have made the chap who invented the rack and thumbscrews giggle uncontrollably.

Buñuel was one of the original cinematic surrealists, beginning his career in the mid 1920’s and earning his first fame — or notoriety — with two films made in collaboration with Salvador Dalí: that bane of unsuspecting college film students, Un Chien Andalou (1929), with its sudden, shock shot of an eye being sliced open by a razor blade (it was actually a cow’s eye) and 1930’s L’Age d’Or, which provoked scandal and rioting with its unbridled attacks on the Catholic Church.

Buñuel spent the next three decades bouncing between his native Spain, the United States, Mexico, and France, all the while producing work that was unconventional, to say the least. This period culminated with The Exterminating Angel, a film which inaugurated his final and greatest phase, a period which saw him produce his subversive masterpieces Belle de Jour, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, The Phantom of Liberty, and That Obscure Object of Desire.

The Exterminating Angel opens on a beautiful and tranquil night on the Calle de la Providencia, an elegant, upper-class street, as Edmundo Nóbile (Enrique Rambal) and his wife Lucia (Lucy Gallardo) return from an evening at the opera, bringing with them seventeen guests, artists and professional people whom they have invited to join them for a post-performance dinner party. As the gay and sparkling group walks in the luxurious mansion’s front door, the Nóbile’s large domestic staff is rushing out the back; spurred by some obscure impulse that they scarcely understand, cooks, maids, and servers all flee into the night with no intention of ever returning.

Soon the only ones left are several sheep and a bear that the hostess is planning to use for some strange and never-to-be-enacted entertainment, and the Nóbile’s butler, Julio (Claudio Brook), whose total identification with his employers apparently inoculates him against the “running sickness” that is affecting the other servants.

The festivities begin in the time-honored way — the guests sit around the huge table, and oozing well-mannered malice, lean toward their neighbors and cheerfully gossip about the other people at the party, the sexual proclivities and perversions of their “friends” being an especially popular topic. (Other people’s medical conditions are also freely discussed, and an army colonel casually confides to the woman next to him that he doesn’t give a damn about the Fatherland he ostensibly serves.)

After Julio has served the meal, the group repairs to the spacious drawing room, which is only separated from the dining room by an open archway (which looks suspiciously like a theater proscenium), where one of the guests entertains everyone by playing a classical piano piece. More socializing ensues, masks of politesse and good breeding barely concealing the contempt and jealousy that lie beneath. (More than the usual spite and backbiting are hiding behind the polished social surface, however; during the piano recital, a woman opens her purse and has to dig beneath its other contents to reach her handkerchief. What has this elegant society lady brought with her? Lipstick and a compact? No, the feathers and feet of a chicken, the elements of a Cabbalistic ritual.) Finally, as the hour grows late, the partygoers begin to gather coats and purses, in preparation for their leave-taking. Only…

No one leaves. A few people hesitantly walk up to the archway leading to the dining room, which they must pass through in order to reach the cavernous entry hall and the front door, but they pause at the threshold, seemingly unable to take a step further. They stand bemused, expressions of confusion and even fear flickering across their faces, like skydivers at the door of an airplane who suddenly realize that they’re not wearing parachutes (or people standing at the brink of “The undiscovered country from whose bourn / No traveler returns”, perhaps?) They mutter a few weak justifications for staying just a little longer, and retreat back into the drawing room.

It soon becomes obvious that no one is going to leave, as people settle down for the night on couches (the lucky ones), in chairs, or on the floor. At first, the Nóbiles are outraged at this shocking breach of etiquette, but when they realize that they too are powerless to walk out of the drawing room, they find their own places to bed down for the night.

In the morning, Julio wheels in a tray with some breakfast… and finds that he too cannot leave the drawing room, and the new day has brought no change for anyone else, either — no one can leave. The group fumblingly tries to figure out what is happening; almost as frustrating as their inability to leave the room is their inability to understand why they cannot leave the room. Dr. Carlos Conde (Augusto Benedicio), the party’s leading rationalist, counsels that only “dispassionate analysis” can solve the problem, but no one seems much interested in that approach, not that there’s any indication that it would work if they tried it. In the meantime, people are making what arrangements they can — a closet in which large ornamental vases are stored becomes the de facto bathroom, and a pair of young lovers finds another closet where they can be alone; Buñuel allows you to imagine for yourself exactly what they’re up to in there.

As the days pass, territory is staked out, accusations are made and recriminations are hurled, and hunger grows. The lower-class Julio takes to eating paper as he did when a schoolboy and recommends it to the others; it’s better than nothing. An ornamental axe is used to chop through the wall to get to a water pipe; anarchy briefly reigns when water spurts from the pipe, but order is quickly restored — ladies first.

As the prisoners wonder why no one has come to rescue them, we are able to see outside the mansion, where police and crowds of onlookers have gathered, powerless; the same strange force that prevents exit also prevents entrance.

Inside, some react with hysteria, some with lethargy; some fight to maintain hope, some give way to despair. Some people cling to rationality while others call on occult powers, seek help through Masonic rituals, or promise a special mass for their deliverance. All the while, death is a force to be reckoned with inside the house just as it on the outside; lacking his medication, one of the older guests who was in poor health dies after the first night. (Just before the end, he mutters, “I’m happy I won’t see the extermination.”) They put him in the lovers’ closet, which is only fitting, as the pair — who were to be married later in the week — eventually commit suicide together in their trysting place.

An overpowering stench from the improvised lavatory (and morgue) and sweaty, unwashed bodies soon makes the air in the crowded room fetid and foul, and though they can toss their trash into the dining room (despite not being able to enter it), after a few days the drawing room is a filthy, cluttered shambles. Under these conditions, the thin veneer of civilization flakes off as people grate against each other physically and emotionally. Insults and fists fly, and the last tattered remnants of civility begin to disintegrate.

When the erstwhile members of the upper crust are approaching the last extremity, starvation is fended off when the animals escape from the kitchen. While the bear roams the upper floors, emitting eerie moans and cries, the sheep providentially trot into the drawing room; whatever sardonic divinity presides over this hell, he is at least willing to provide manna for his erring children. A fire is made from smashed furniture and soon roast mutton is being devoured by people indistinguishable from their primitive ancestors, who also squatted around open fires, eagerly tearing meat off of bones with their teeth.

Full stomachs only sharpen the edge of the guests’ desire to escape their prison, however, and a group of women (among them the devotee of Kabbalah) begin to push the idea that only a sacrifice — a human one — will free them. Who should the victim be? Who better than their host, the man who got them all into this mess with his impertinent dinner party invitation, Edmundo Nóbile? (Who, it must be said, has lived up to his name by comporting himself with more dignity and self-control than almost anyone else.) Some oppose this move, the ever-reasonable doctor most prominent among them (for his pains, someone shouts that they should get rid of him too) and the two sides, those for human sacrifice and those against it, wind up wrestling in the middle of the ruined room.

Just as the pro-sacrifice faction seems to be getting the upper hand and someone is reaching for the same knife that was used on the sheep, Nóbile tells them all that it won’t be necessary — taking a pistol from a drawer, he says that he can easily solve their problem for them. But before he can use the gun on himself, one of the women, Leticia (the wonderful Silvia Pinal, a Buñuel regular) tells everyone to stop where they are — she has realized that are all in the exact same places they occupied when the nightmare began, countless ages ago. If everything is repeated — positions, music, words, gestures, might that not free them from this spell? (Buñuel has slyly prepared for this by repeating several shots in the film; for instance, the shot of the guests first entering the house, along with the accompanying dialogue, is shown twice in succession. The only difference is a slightly different camera angle. Buñuel claimed that there are about twenty of these repetitions in the film.)

Everyone (except the dead) exactly repositions themselves as they were that unlucky night. The last few bars of the piano piece are played, followed by the same words that were spoken, and the doors of the sorcerer’s castle (“after all, this is not a sorcerer’s castle” someone rashly declared after the first night) are miraculously unlocked, and the captives are free. They immediately sense that whatever was restraining them has disappeared, and they ecstatically rush out the front door to meet the people waiting outside, who are also now freed to run to meet them. (Even the servants are there, seemingly drawn back by the same force that impelled them to run away.)

The curse has been lifted and the evil dream can fade from memory as all dreams do.

Well, if you think that, you don’t know Luis Buñuel. Of course, this deliverance is illusory; the torture master has withdrawn the knife only to reinsert it, merely repositioning the blade for the final, fatal twist.

The last scene of The Exterminating Angel shows all the dinner guests, again clean and fresh, immaculately groomed and expensively dressed, gathered together in church along with hundreds of other worshippers, attending the special mass that they promised to celebrate if they were saved from their ordeal.

As the service ends and the bells toll, the priests start to walk out of the nave… and stop.

They cannot leave, and neither can anyone else; they all stand paralyzed, new captives and old alike unable to walk through the door in front of them, and not long afterward, as panic mounts inside the church, shouts are heard from the outside, where mounted police are clashing with a large crowd. Rioters or the merely curious? Does it matter? The disorder and chaos that leaked from the human heart into an elegant upper-class drawing room has now overflowed into the wider world, spreading through the streets like a plague.

But have no fear; the degraded human race, corrupt and corrupting, will be looked after. The final shot of this extraordinary film shows a large flock of sheep, placidly trotting through the doors of the church while the city outside echoes with screams and gunfire. FIN.

The Exterminating Angel is one of the greatest films ever made, bursting with resonant, unforgettably suggestive images — a bear climbing the pillar of a chandeliered hall, crying with what sounds like anguish; sheep roaming up the wide stairways and through the deserted rooms of a richly-appointed mansion; ragged people listlessly standing around in the shattered ruins of what was once an elegant drawing room, hopeless as damned souls in hell; Nóbile and Leticia sitting with a sheep between them — as Leticia blindfolds the animal and hands Nóbile a knife, the doomed creature tenderly lays its head on its executioner’s shoulder. (Buñuel later said he wished that he had left the animals out of the film, because then he would have been able to make his people resort to cannibalism. Fun guy, that Luis.) Though there are a few other works it brings to mind (Jean-Paul Sartre’s play No Exit, which came before the film, and J.G. Ballard’s novel High Rise and Jean–Luc Godard’s film Weekend, which came after) The Exterminating Angel is very much its own thing, a bracingly original achievement, a ticking time bomb placed under the padded chairs of the complacent.

What is the meaning of this savage allegory? Does it say that hypocrisy and malice constitute the irreducible baselines of human behavior? That the comfort and luxury that we almost all desire are nothing but degrading prisons? That life is defined by its frustrations? (Later, in The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, Buñuel plays a variation on the impediment faced in the earlier film; in Discreet Charm the people of the privileged class can go where they want, but every time they sit down to dinner, something prevents them from eating; they are never allowed to complete a meal.) Does it say that the world is nothing but a desert island where we are all shipwrecked? (In 1954, Buñuel had filmed his own version of Robinson Crusoe.) Is it about the loss of belief that can suddenly undermine the most powerful regime? (Buñuel didn’t live to see the Soviet Union collapse overnight, but if he had, I can’t imagine that he would have been very surprised.) Is it a parody of the Book of Exodus? (When the Destroying Angel passed over Egypt, the Children of Israel couldn’t leave their houses.) Is it a monument to misanthropy, a horror movie in which the monsters are other people?

Hell, maybe if you could have administered a truth serum to the cagey Spaniard, he would have told you that the movie isn’t about the people at all — it’s about the sheep.

All respect to Roger Ebert, but whatever this singular film is, it has to be more than just a declaration that under Francisco Franco, Spain was oppressed by a corrupt and evil government. We know that already, and having grasped that fact, there’s nothing more to add. But The Exterminating Angel is deep enough to convey that specific meaning and many, many more. Like all the greatest works of art, it’s almost limitlessly expansive; it contains more and means more every time you see it. (Watching in 2025, it’s hard not to attach a meaning to it that it couldn’t have had for its director or original audience in 1962; the film works perfectly as an allegory of the anxiety and isolation of the COVID era.)

In watching this eccentric masterpiece, you may find yourself appalled, shocked into bitter laughter, filled with pity and dismay at the irremediably tainted human race and its benighted condition. What you won’t be is bored or dismissive; you’ll have no doubt that you’ve seen something absolutely unique and uncomfortably pertinent to the human dilemma, and you’ll find yourself turning it over and over in your mind long after the final credits have rolled, looking for a way out.

Really, what more could we poor, stupid sheep ask for?

Thomas Parker is a native Southern Californian and a lifelong science fiction, fantasy, and mystery fan. When not corrupting the next generation as a fourth grade teacher, he collects Roger Corman movies, Silver Age comic books, Ace doubles, and despairing looks from his wife. His last article for us was The Beating Heart of Science Fiction: Poul Anderson and Tau Zero

 

Buy LAST CHANCE TO SAVE THE WORLD
Read the review of Book One: Full Speed to a Crash Landing

OFFICIAL AUTHOR BIO: Beth Revis grew up in the Appalachian Mountains with a cemetery in her backyard, which is probably why she prefers her stories to be dark and full of twists. She’s the New York Times bestselling author of the Across the Universe trilogy, which has been translated into more than 20 languages. Beth lives in a house full of boys—her husband, son, and two massive dogs—and she forces them all to watch reruns of Firefly and Doctor Who. Visit her at bethrevis.com.

FORMAT/INFO: Last Chance to Save the World will be published on April 8th, 2025 from DAW Books. It is 133 pages and available in hardcover and ebook formats.

OVERVIEW/ANALYSIS: It's a race against time as con artist Ada pulls off her most daring escapade yet. The target: the launching facility of a fleet of nanodrones during one of the most publicized (and secured) events in the galaxy. The mission: upload a code that will delete the secret planned obsolescence code in the nanobots planted by the company that built them, ensuring the bots fulfill their mission to clean the environmental damage on Earth. Ada's convinced government agent Rian to help her, but can she count on him not to betray her at the last minute?

Last Chance to Save the World is a fun and frenetic finale, even if it does lose a bit of the chemistry between its leads along the way. While all the books in this novella series revolve around individual capers, they've all been part of one overarching arc that we see play out in this last adventure. Once again, we're treated to the unreliable narrator of Ada, who doesn't always tell the reader everything that's going on. Is everything going according to her plan? Only Ada knows until the final chapter plays out.

I do love seeing a well-executed plan, and there's plenty of that here. Seeds planted in previous books blossom into fruition for the finale and there's always one more ace up Ada's sleeve. It's a slick Hollywood heist film ending where the real bad guys get their just desserts.

But I also love seeing evenly matched opponents in these kinds of stories, and that's where Last Chance to Save the World fell a bit flat. In the first book, Rian was a worthy foil to Ada, with his own counter-moves that she had to outfox. Here, he's little more than helpless eye-candy. Sure, we're teased that he has a plan of his own, but he never surprises Ada or has the upper hand. She's always one step ahead and we know it, which takes away the chemistry between the two characters. The heat in the romance came from the danger of knowing that Rian COULD outsmart Ada if she's not careful, and that's just not showcased here.

CONCLUSION: From start to finish, the Chaotic Orbits novellas are a rollicking fun time that will leave you grinning. Now that the trilogy is complete, readers can watch Ada's plans unfold from start to finish in just a few sittings. I will always be a fan of Ada's chaotic energy, her constant shifting of conversational topics and goals designed to put her opponents on their back feet. If you're looking for a quick and easy entertaining adventure, these are just the reading snack to bite into.

 

I received a review copy from the publisher. This does not affect the contents of my review and all opinions are my own.

Once Was Willem by M.R. Carey

Mogsy’s Rating: 3 of 5 stars

Genre: Horror, Historical Fiction

Series: Stand Alone

Publisher: Orbit (March 4, 2025)

Length: 320 pages

Author Information: Website | Twitter

I think I may be in the minority on this one, but while I generally love the dark, thought-provoking works of M.R. Carey, I struggled to get into Once Was Willem. Granted, the novel was another testament to the author’s storytelling abilities, tackling a medieval horror fantasy told in a unique narrative voice. However, the style and structure of the book also made it difficult to parse at times, and this is something you have to get used to, or—if you’re like me—you just can’t.

Set in the mid-12th century, the story begins in a poor peasant village where the untimely death of a young boy named Willem leads his parents on a misguided attempt to bring him back. They turn to a powerful sorcerer named Cain Caradoc, who promises that he can help resurrect their son. However, what he failed to mention is that he will also be taking a piece of Willem’s soul as his price, and that the boy will come back as a grotesque shell of who he once was, becoming a monstrosity lingering between life and undeath. Horrified by the creature that once was their beloved son, his mother and father are joined by the rest of the villagers in driving Willem out.

Exiled, Willem makes his home in the surrounding woods, but he finds he is not alone. Others like him have taken refuge in the wilderness, among them individuals deemed oddities who have also been cast out—shapeshifters, elemental creatures, monsters, and spirits. Together, they form a band of seven to keep each other safe, eventually bringing the fight to Caradoc, whose nefarious plans have led him to set his sights on more than the souls of dead children. As the sorcerer’s magic threatens the villages and the residents turn to those they’ve cast out for assistance, Willem and his companions must confront the enemy in a final battle that not only determines the fates of the villagers but of the afterlife itself.

To be honest, although I appreciated the folklore and found family themes of Once of Willem, the book starts off slowly, and its ponderous pacing is further exacerbated by the archaic writing style. Indeed, the novel’s distinct narrative style is a double-edged sword, at once its greatest strength and greatest weakness. The story reads like a memoir told by Willem himself, but much like his physical body, his mind is also neither here nor there. He jumps around, meanders, inserting fragments of memory or asides at seemingly random places. Like the old-timey, period-appropriate prose, Willem’s voice makes this story feel authentic and immersive, but it is also very demanding on readers.

That said, Willem’s character arc is deeply moving, driven by his relatable need for acceptance and purpose. Afterall, everyone understands what it means to belong and to be accepted. It is universal, and it is human. Brought back to life only to be discarded by his own people, Willem also struggles with the meaning of his existence. Later, he finds solace in his group of companions that he meets in the wilderness. Bound not by blood but by a shared understanding, their camaraderie is truly the heart and soul of the story, bringing warmth and depth to an otherwise bleak tale. These characters shine whenever they are on the page, and unfortunately, their togetherness feels underused, making me wish we saw more of those connections.

In various reviews, I’ve seen Once Was Willem described as medieval Frankenstein meets The Magnificent Seven. Given its elements, I have to say these are good comparisons, and you should definitely check it out if you are interested in a unique blend of horror, folklore, and adventure. However, it can also be a frustrating read, especially if you prefer your stories to be more structured and organized. The dense prose can also present a challenge, and in fact, I found it more enjoyable after a while to switch to the audiobook, which made it easier to get into the story. Ultimately, I was glad I finished this, but it doesn’t quite reach the heights of M.R. Carey’s more readable books.