"The Gruesome Creatures" & "Chamber of Horrors"

Today we remove the skullcap of Terror Tales Vol. 4 No., 6 October 1972, just to see how much gray matter we can find. It turns out quite a lot! But first, the cover!

At center of attention we have a raven haired lass with the prerequisite shredded clothes; wrists lashed to fasteners set in the green-slimed floor of a dank cavern. So far so good. Absolutely standard fare. The denizens of this septic cavern, however, put the cover directly into the Eerie Publications zone. Where else but a Fass mag might one find a reptile/vampire and a blue-skinned, saber-toothed demon/Dracula about to do battle over a blood-spattered maiden in a tattered, black skirt? Personally, my favorite touch is the turquoise iguana man breaking the fourth wall by staring directly at the reader. Just don't return his gaze too long. His breed consider that a threat.

Our first story, "The Gruesome Creatures," has artist Alberto Macagno giving us some really fine work. I love his fly with claws - a very terrifying concept. Let the pictures run a moment in your mind, and you'll see what I mean!

Download: THIS POST!

Next we find the soot-covered stylings of Eerie Pub. master, A. Reynoso. As far as I can tell, no one knows anything (or hardly anything) about this artist. And that's just the way I like it.

ooh, don't go too far - there is so much more gray matter to spoon out of this still-warm brain case. Next, we'll try on for size "The Strange Escape" and "Vampire Witch" from the same issue!

"They Couldn't Die" & "The Madness of Terror"

Well, this post finishes off Tales From The Tomb Vol. 1 No. 7, September 1969. Hear that death rattle? That's the final two stories!
Download: BOTH GRUESOME TALES!

First for your consideration is "They Couldn't Die!" which boasts (as so many Iger Shop tales do) an absolutely sterling splash panel and gorgeous inking throughout.

The protagonist of this tale is mad scientist, Jeremy Poston; who finances is vast laboratory and insane scientific experiments via his work as a beauty contest judge. He is, naturally, an internationally recognized expert on beauty, which is a prerequisite if one wishes for steady employment in the field.

Also of interest in this yarn is the young miss selling magazine subscriptions door to door, who exhibits a phenomenal ability to "roll with it." I can't help but wonder how far this young lady might go to please the customer.

Our last fantastic fable features the medical phenomenon known as "Rictus Sardonicus," which just sounds so awesome to say and would make a great baby name. I mean, c'mon; who would screw with a kid named Rictus Sardonicus? You just know he would be the kind of urchin that would get even somehow.

In addition to that, "Madness of Terror" features the most dedicated, ballsy family physician in the history of the planet. The extent this sawbones is willing to go to prove his theories borders on insanity - not to mention the downright creepy.

Well, creatures of the night, you may go back to making your lovely music. Next up: An unhealthy serving from Terror Tales Vol. 4 No. 6, October 1972!

"Fatal Scalpel" & "The Corpse Came Home"

“Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell; And in the lowest deep a lower deep Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide, To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav'n”
Satan - Paradise Lost by John Milton

In other words, here come two more loathsome, slim-green yarns from Tales From The Tomb Vol. 1 No. 7.

First comes a tale of a surgeon who flourishes his scalpel with an artistic grace. Yet artistic genius can quiver on the edge of madness like a slug on the slicing side of a bowie knife. When one slips and falls from the blade - well, then we have the plummet into Milton's "lower deep" don't we? Remember, regardless wether ranting mad or icy sane, one can still have the soul of an artist.

This Iger shop beauty begins with a splash panel of pure heavenly hell. Really, fair souls, if you look at that splash and don't feel an electric tingling dancing over your skin like tiny, epileptic fire ants; you may need to recalibrate. Download: Both Stories!

Our second story, "The Corpse Came Home", promises a much hotter and more contented afterlife than many can enjoy while alive. If it takes a passage through the pearly gates for a workable Ménage à trois (without being French), I'd say it's worth considering.

Want the color, original version? Well, for God's sake, satiate yourself! visit Karswell!

So, that puts to rest another pair of bedtime stories for this post. Now, it's time for you to sleep. Sleep. Sleeeeeep.

"Fangs of Fear" & "Cry From the Coffin"

Let us savor another double whim wham from Tales From The Tomb Vol. 1 No. 7, September 1969. Both of these dillies are Iger Shop stuff from the 1950s, done up with the lusterous blacks of the time.

Our theme today has to do with the slippery, quicksilver nature of reality; or rather, the shifting shadow play we call "the real world." We long to see the truth but at day's end we do little more than scratch like fur-bare rats at the slick surface of possibilies; our dim, red eyes barely making out more than the movement of gray shapes. Our noses twitch and our ears swivel at any sound. What do we think we see, out there in the hard glintings of sunshine? In the cool ground fog smelling of the night and wet leaves? In the face of the one we love? We strain our tiny, mortal eyes until they burn and shed tears. We pray for vision, but all we are given is sight.

Our first offering, "Fangs of Fear," is such a tale of false perception. Once you devour this morsel, ask yourself this question: wouldn't this premise make a great television series? One way better than the current, revolting glut of bullshit, teenage vampires with pretty profiles - glowering behind their mascera? - Download THIS POST!

Our second story charts and records the various, grim steps by which a healthy citizen becomes a buried corpse - including all the accompanying slabs and scalpels. There is, however, one small problem in this grisly tutorial. Now, I believe in hearty recompense probably more than the next man - eye for an eye and all - but even by the harshest of standards our protaganist in "Cry From The Coffin" pays a heavy price for looking up a girl's skirt.

Out! Out! Oh, gutter candle and sizzle. Darkness suits our kin better than thy feeble, yellow light. Let us say goodbye until the orb of moon floods the windows of our streets three times three; and the cats howl and wail like angry babies in their horrid privacy. Then, and only then, we shall read "The Corpse Comes Home" and "Fatal Scalpel." Until then, remember - I. Love. You.