The Horror of Abbot's Grange, by Frederick Cowles (1936)

The work of Frederick Cowles seems to be a mixed bag, from the limited experience I have with it.  While the pulps, and most especially the horror pulps, were never really that known for subtlety or nuance, Cowles’ work seems to exist somewhere in a league below them, somewhere seemingly more approaching the shudder pulps or even comic books.  That’s not to say the writing isn’t good, or the stories uninteresting, it’s more to say that the narrative hits one over the head from almost the get-go, with no mystery or style truly present (at least in the tales I have read so far). 

Now, that said, I’ve always been a fan of the supernatural in pulps, and I typically don’t care for it when the supernatural ends up explained away, or written so vaguely that one questions whether the ghosts were real or some mental delusion (ala Henry James), but even I find it a little off-putting when there is no mystery whatsoever, and the evils are utterly unmasked from the opening pages.  Cowles’ writing seems to fall, to this reader at least, somewhere between the likes of the original Tales from the Crypt comic books and the original Scooby Doo cartoons.

His stories are adult in nature, their monsters real and deadly enough, but the reactions all seem stilted by adults – particularly educated ones – leaving the reader wondering why any sensible person would remain in a house knowing haunted by some deadly specter, as is the case with “The Horror of Abbot’s Grange” (1936).

Here we have an utterly typical gothic vampire tale presented long after many other pulp and horror writers did their best to modernize or update the over-exposed undead.  People move into an old house with a sinister past and are plagued by a vampire after entering his crypt despite repeated warnings not to.  Priests are called, vigils are held, and the ending is something lifted directly from Stoker himself.

The only real originality to the plot involves a portrait that the vampire uses to maintain a link to life (similar in vein to Dorian Grey) and a slight backstory that suggests some occult and Satanic links.

All the above in mind, I really can’t say that the story is a bad one, it just isn’t terribly original or memorable, written seemingly to check the boxes of what the reader would expect in a vampire story from perhaps 50 to 60 years earlier.

Cowles has a very readable style and he wastes no time or words in telling his stories, moving from introduction to action faster than most of the pulp writers who came before him, but this seems to be both his gift and his curse, leaving the reader wanting more and perhaps with a few more shadows (or at least a lot less light) on the things that should be hidden (even slightly) in the background.

Easily the antithesis to the likes of M.R. James in style, there are still a few effective moments to be had at Abbot’s Grange, and I’d still recommend fans of the horror pulps to at least give this story a try to see if you like Cowles’ style.

Originally published in a collection with the same title, these tales are sadly out of print and oft overlooked by readers of classic horror.  Depending on your tastes, this may be an understandable thing.

Caterpillars, by E.F. Benson (1912)

 As an admitted newcomer to the works of E.F. Benson, I must say that he seems to have an obsession, or at least a great dislike, of small things that crawl along either on their bellies or on many legs – an idea I’d largely say I agree with.  Some four stories into his works, I’ve seen such beasts appear either in corporeal or incorporeal forms (or in the case of one slug, a wood cutting that turns into something more manifestly real), and obviously that is the case with “Caterpillars” (1912), which gives away what the menace is in the very title.

Or does it?

The story begins with a brief description of ghosts, and what their visitations may entail, which leads this reader to believe that the titular villains are perhaps not so terrestrial as they may seem.  Take into consideration as well how they do away with their victims (if one believes them to be so), and we can perhaps consider that they are something more than mere insects.  Ghosts though?  Even to me that’s something of a stretch, and I far prefer the bestial “ghosts” of M.R. James to the spectral ones of Henry James.

The narrative is brief, as is the story.  A group of friends gather in a large country house, more a mansion than anything else, where the odd room assignments trouble on guest’s sleep.  Awaking one night in something of a fit, with a feeling of apprehension, he discovers (or perhaps dreams) that a swarm of odd caterpillars are on the landing and in a room downstairs.  Phosphorescent and otherworldly these insects are, glowing with evil as well as a dull light, and our narrator is quite traumatized by the experience, whether it was merely a dream or a true nocturnal visitation.

The next day a similar insect is found and dubbed “Cancer Inglisensis” because of its crab-like pincers.  The men dispose of the beast but see it again later, squashing it as it seems to have become aggressive towards them (as aggressive as a small caterpillar can be, at any rate).  Later that night the dream resumes, with more of the insects, this time making their way higher in the house and entering the bedroom of the narrator’s friend.

From here we jump forward a space and our narrator is talking about his dreams and experience there, when its revealed that the friend who was intruded upon was found dead shortly after his visit to the house.  In the same manner as the previous person who died in that same, forbidden room.  Not from any supernatural cause, nor from insect bites or wounds, but from a far more insidious death.  Cancer.

Benson leaves much of what has occurred vague and never delves very deeply into what, if anything, the caterpillars are.  We know they’re real, and that they seem to destroy whoever inhabits that downstairs room (similar in theme to James’ “The Ash Tree”), but how they cause cancer and death, or why, is a complete mystery.

Their glowing suggests potentially that they’re radioactive and thus cause cancer in that way, but their attitude towards humanity (open hostility and a sense of cunning) suggests they’re likely more than mere insects.  Whatever they are, I think we can all agree they’re in no way ghosts, despite what Benson says about specters and suggests that the ghosts have planned within this tale.

What exactly the theme is here is hard to say.  Premonitions, nature’s revenge, a weird haunting, perhaps radiated insects, or even something related to the oft-mentioned Sirocco (essentially a desert wind storm that travels from the Sahara and carries real-life superstitions), Benson never fully fleshes out what he’s driving at.  He delivers a great weird tale with some unnerving imagery, but ultimately the downfall of the tale is the downfall of the narrative.  Things have happened, and they’re awful, but they happen for no real reason to people who’ve committed no other crime than going to bed at night.

Regardless, I’d still suggest reading Caterpillars (which seems to have been anthologized many times over) and avoiding any glowing insects you might see crawling up the stairs at night.