Hellhole: An Anthology of Subterranean Terror
Edited by Lee Murray
ONE HELL OF A WHOLE
James A. Moore
I love anthologies. I can’t stress that enough. I used to hate short stories and the very notion of an anthology was wasted breath, but I got over that around the same time I actually read an anthology of shared world stories ‒ the shared world was the Thieves’ World as edited by Robert Lynn Aspirin ‒ and realized that short stories could be as refreshing and exciting as a novel. The rub had been, apparently, that I hadn’t read any good short stories, or very few in any event. I thrilled over my pulp favorites, like Fritz Leiber, H.P. Lovecraft, and Robert E. Howard, but otherwise I found few tales were worth the telling as far as I was concerned.
I wanted the depth, you see. I wanted characters that had life to them and had back stories and emotions and a history, with other characters that went beyond a sentence explaining that Bill and Bob did not get along very well and never had. To be fair, those stories probably existed, but I was addicted to comic books at a young age and was used to getting backstory by the bucket load. All I had to do was look over my previous issues to see all that had happened between the Fantastic Four and Doctor Doom. Short stories? Pfeh! Why bother?
You live. You learn. Sometimes, what passes for wisdom takes a while.
I don’t know if it was my impatience as a young reader or if it was simply that I ran across a lot of mediocre (in my mind) stories, but at any rate I didn’t used to like them very much.
Happily, that changed as time went on, first, because I was convinced to give a few writers a chance and I listened to the suggestion that I just might like their short stories, even if I didn’t much care for their novel-length works. Honestly, if I’m telling the truth, there are several writers who, for me, cannot understand the form and function of a novel-length work, but who have mastered shorter fiction. No, I will not mention names, but meet me some time in person and maybe I can be convinced to discuss the matter.
The second reason is that there really are some incredible stories out there. You just have to look for them, or find a good editor or editorial team. In the case of the book in your hands, it’s one editor and Lee Murray managed to knock this collection out of the proverbial park.
I’m working under the assumption that you read what the anthology is about, so no surprises here when it comes to the concept, but it’s still a notion that fits perfectly in my wheelhouse, I heard about the anthology and was already excited. I read the list of contributors and was excited all over again. S.D. Perry has never disappointed me with a story. That’s a rare and precious treat. Guard Duty keeps the record of winners running at one hundred percent. Jessica McHugh was an unknown quantity and her story, Ghosts of Hyperia, blew me out of the water. I do so love reading new talents and being surprised by the writing. I had the pleasure of being on a panel with J.H. Moncrieff at the last Horror Writers Association annual meeting. She was delightful. That said, I was even more delighted by The Offspring. The lady is charming, lovely, and properly twisted.
Remember how I said I love reading new authors and not being disappointed? You can add Aaron Sterns to the list with his novella Black Lung. I may well never look at criminal pursuits the same way again. Michael McBride’s works are well known to me and finding a new story is like finding twenty dollars in your coat when you haven’t worn it in months. A Plague of Locusts is more like finding a fifty, actually. A damned fine read by a damned fine author. Sean Ellis manages to keep the levels of what-the-hell-was-that high and fine. It’s always best to end an anthology with a strong story and I didn’t have to worry about Ms. Murray not understanding that notion. He Who Fights is a mighty fine way to wrap things up.
On the opposite end of that spectrum, you had best start an anthology with a hard hitter and few people know how to deliver a punch as well as Joe Ledger or his creator, Jonathan Maberry. The Devils Are Here is Maberry at his best, and his best is a very, very hard act to follow. Rena Mason carries it off, though. That’s not a surprise, really. If you’ve ever read the lady, you know she’s well beyond competent. She’s incredible. The Devil’s Throat lives up to the high standards I expect from Ms. Mason. Sometimes an author just throws a title out there that should be impossible to do justice to. I find the title Ginormous Hell Snake, is one of those titles for me. How the hell do you live up to the expectations that come with a title like that? Jake Bible, that’s who. The story was warped and fun and absolutely a pleasure to read.
The biggest problem I usually have with reading a new author is being disappointed. Sometimes the biggest problem comes from wanting to read every last thing the author has ever written, which can get damned expensive if you’re not careful. Paul Mannering’s Where The Sun Does Not Shine has made a fan of me. Either the story is a fluke (doubtful) or my first glimpse at a serious talent. Looks like I’ll be ordering a few books from Amazon to find out which. Proving that she doesn’t like to be outdone Kirsten Cross added Pit of Ghosts to the blend. Again, a writer I have not read before and now one I must examine more carefully. There’s a lot of that going on here. I’m delighted by the notion.
The only surprise I found in Hellhole is that not a single story slowed me down. I can bank on at least a few tales failing to catch my attention properly on an average day, but Lee Murray picked carefully, either when she chose the authors, or when she chose the stories. Either way, I am delighted to be included in this book. Best of all, I get to be included without actually having to write a story. I get to ride on the coattails of excellence and look like I did any of the hard work. Really, I can’t call this effort. I had far too much fun reading the stories.
James A. Moore, 2018
ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE
A Joe Ledger/Lizzie Corbett Adventure
Jonathan Maberry
1
“LOOK AT THE spiders,” said the guide.
The American diplomat, James Mercer, did not look up. He stood staring out over the rim of the fiery pit.
“It’s been burning for over forty years,” Mercer murmured, but the guide did not react. Both men were caught up in their own thoughts, as if they were in different movies playing at the same time.
The guide, a thin young man named Çariýar, stood on a piece of rock and kept turning in a slow circle, looking down. “Look at them, sir,” he said in a mixture of fear and fascination. “There are so many spiders—”
“Everyone thinks this was an accident,” said Mercer. “A mistake made by employees of a drilling company.” He smiled. His eyes were completely unfocused as if he wasn’t really seeing the tongues of flame licking at the sky.
The hole had a diameter of seventy meters and plunged to a depth of twenty meters. Big, deep, ablaze. The stink of methane filled the air and soft columns of gray coiled upward like snakes coupling in an eternal and erotic dance. It fascinated the diplomat, riveting him to the spot.
There was no one else at the site. Tourists did visit the pit, drawn by the lurid news stories or YouTube videos of the place known as the Gate of Hell or the Door to Hell. Turkmenistan did not see a lot of tourist dollars, and so encouraged the visitors. Today was an off day, though. Cold and cloudy, with a biting wind out of the northeast. The young guide shivered in his anorak, and the diplomat — a senior assistant to the American ambassador — wore a heavy coat, hat and gloves. He, however, was sweating. Not from the heat, which was considerable but from blood pressure that had risen steadily since coming here.