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shardsofmarxx · 7 months

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Lost | Spencer Reid x GN! Reader

Criminal Minds Songfic based on/inspired by the song Lost by Dennis Van Aarssen. (This is a cover of the song "Lost" by Michael Bublé)

Summary: After a long case, Spencer decides to surprise you with a visit to your apartment. Once he arrives, he realizes that you've been struggling, and he does his best to comfort you.

Warnings: Talk of medication, and bipolar II. Reader is clearly going through a depressive episode.

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: So sorry for the delay in getting a new fic out!! Between my busy college schedule, my mental health, and writers block, it took me wayyy too long to come up with a solid idea for a fic. I was randomly listening to this song one day and was suddenly hit with the inspiration for this, so I ran with it! I really hope you guys enjoy this one :)

Spencer rushed to his car, excited to see you after dealing with a long case in Florida for the past two weeks. He didn't tell you that the team finished the case because you two just hadn't talked much today. Now that he was thinking about it, he realized you two hadn't talked much at all these past two weeks, aside from casual good morning and goodnight messages. Regardless, he was sure you'd be happy to see him.

Spencer drove out of the parking garage, whistling some tunes and tapping his fingers as he winded down the road to your apartment. He got there relatively quickly, seeing as you only lived a 5 minute drive away from the BAU. He parked his car, got out, and eagerly headed up the stairs to your apartment.

Once he got to the door, he fished out the spare key you had given him when you two first started dating and unlocked the door, opening it very slowly so as not to startle you awake. He walked in, quietly taking his shoes off and placing his messenger bag by the door. He carefully walked through the hall and saw light coming from the living room, accompanied by the low sound of the TV. He stood in the doorway and found you asleep on the couch, watching Friends reruns. As he walked towards the couch, he noticed miscellaneous wrappers and bottles strewn around the floor. He furrowed his brows and diverted his path over to the kitchen, only to find the sink full of dishes and the trash slightly overflowing, along with takeout containers spread across the counter. He walked back into the living room and over to the couch, kneeling on the floor beside you. He looked over at you and moved some stray hair strands out of your face, being careful not to wake you. He saw your eyes were puffy and your cheeks were still a bit wet, which he deduced was from crying.

Spencer’s profiler brain quickly began putting everything together. He knew you had been struggling with bipolar II for a while, but things had been getting better. He made sure that you were seeing the best people in the field for your treatment. Your therapy sessions, along with the current medication you were on, seemed to be working fine, so he didn’t understand why this was happening. There was no way you would have hidden your symptoms that well from him; after all, he was a profiler. He sat there, racking his brain, trying to figure out what could’ve gone wrong.

Suddenly, it hit him.

Spencer quickly, but quietly, got up and walked to the bedroom. As he walked in, he turned on the lights and went straight to the nightstand on the right side of your bed. He quietly looked through the cabinets until he finally found your medication. He picked up the bottle and saw it was much fuller than it should be, confirming his suspicion.

You hadn’t been taking your medication since he left.

Spencer knew this feeling all too well from all the times his mother would refuse her medication. He felt a wave of guilt rush through him as he sighed and returned the bottle to the nightstand. He slowly trudged back to the couch and sat on the floor so that he was right by your face, completely enthralled by your beauty as you slept soundly.

As Spencer stared at you, his mind began to wander. He felt guilty for not realizing the implications of your distance from him over the past two weeks. Although he loved his job, he hated how busy it could get and how it could cause him to neglect the things he cared most about, like you. Most importantly, he felt guilty that he couldn't be there for you. He did his best to push all these thoughts out just as quickly as they came, telling himself that he should just focus on the present. He was here now, and he was going to do anything and everything he could for you. He sat by your side, gently caressing you until you finally awoke, stirring for a few moments until your eyes fluttered open.

“Spencer?” You croaked, your voice slightly raspy from sleep, “What are you doing here?”

“We landed a while ago, and I figured I’d come surprise you,” he replied softly, accompanied by a warm smile.

You sat up and rubbed your eyes for a few moments in an effort to wake yourself up. As you looked around, you realized the mess that was your apartment, and memories of how you'd been spending the past two weeks began to flood your brain. As this was happening, you came to the realization that Spencer has seen all this too, which means he’s definitely figured out that you’re off your meds. You immediately stand up, and Spencer does the same, a look of concern forming on his face as you lead him to the door.

"Well, Spence, this was a lovely surprise, but I have a busy day ahead of me. You really should get going,” I said, handing him his messenger bag. As you reached to open the door, he grabbed your wrist, his warm touch causing you to turn back around.

“Unfortunately for you, I can't be fooled that easily.” His voice trailed. “I'm not leaving you, darling.”

He grabbed the messenger bag from my hand and kneeled down to place it back by the door. He stood back up and placed his hands in yours, giving you a soft look with his warm, hazel eyes.

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. All you could do was stare at the floor and mumble. “Nothing's going on, Spencer, really.”

“I doubt you would go off of your medication for nothing,” he replied matter-of-factly, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Listen, I understand that dealing with this kind of stuff is hard, really hard, but you can't keep me in the dark forever. I'm your boyfriend, and I'm always going to be by your side, no matter how hard things get. We're a team, remember?” He paused for a moment and cupped my face, making sure you were looking him in the eyes for his next sentence. "You're not alone, honey. I promise.”

As his words echoed in the room, you felt tears form in your eyes. It had been so long since you had heard those words— so long since you had someone express such genuine care and concern. You were so used to the shame, disgust, and scolding from others in moments like these, yet he displayed none of that. It wasn't long before sobs began to creep out of your mouth, and you stuffed your face into Spencer’s chest. He just held you tightly in response, rubbing his open palm on my backside and whispering words of love and care in your ear as you wept.

Eventually, you lifted my face and met his eyes once more. He gave you a small smile as he gently wiped the tears off your cheek.

“I say we go over to the bedroom and talk; does that sound good?” He asked softly.

“I think that's a good idea,” you answered.

He held your hand tightly as he led you to the bedroom. When he entered, he lay down on the bed first, motioning with his hand to the empty space beside him. You laid down, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in and completely enveloping you in his warmth. You both laid there silently for a few minutes, basking in each other's company. You lost yourself in the sound of his gentle heartbeat for a bit before you remembered what you two were here to do. You took a small breath, lifted your head from his chest, and began to speak.

“I didn't like the way I felt when I was on my medication; nothing felt right once I started taking it. I felt like I was a robot or something.” you began. “One morning I woke up and had enough, so I stopped taking them, and I felt great; I felt alive... Well, at least I did for a bit. After a day or two, it felt like reality just came crashing down and-” You paused, feeling a sob creep up your throat once more. "Suddenly, any trace of happiness was gone, and I crashed. I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed, leave the house, or talk to anyone, especially you. I just felt empty.” You stopped for a couple more moments, glancing over at Spencer, before speaking again. “I was lost and didn’t know what to do, Spence, I’m so sorry…” You finished, your voice trailing.

Spencer never stopped comforting you as you spoke, raking his fingers through your hair and kissing your forehead. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to speak up once you had finished.

“Unfortunately, that happens a lot to people when they're on medication. I’m really sorry I couldn’t be there for you, honey,” he said, holding you tightly. “We can make an appointment with your psychiatrist to discuss changing your medication as well as looking for other treatments that might benefit you.” Spencer began rambling about various treatments for bipolar II that he had recently read about. Once he got word of your diagnosis, he poured countless hours of research into learning everything there was to know about it. He wanted to make sure that you received the best treatment possible, and, most importantly, he wanted to make you feel as understood as he could. After all, he knew all too well what it was like to not be understood by anyone around you.

He began rambling about things he had found in his most recent research on bipolar II, and you felt your heart swell with joy. Even though all you could really do was nod your head every once in a while and let out a few “mhms'' and “hmms” to assure him that you were listening, mainly because you didn't understand what he was talking about half of the time, you appreciated this more than he would ever know. After all, it was his way of making you feel loved and understood. Eventually, Spencer ran out of things to say and stopped talking. He turned his head down to look at yours, moving some stray strands of hair out of your face before he spoke once more.

“Y’know, because this case took so long, we got a 3-day weekend from Hotch,” he said softly. “I could help you clean up the apartment and keep you company these next few days, if you’d like.”

You met his gaze and smiled warmly at him. “I would love that, darling.”

Spencer smiled back at you and jumped up from the bed. You were barely able to get a word out before he bent over and picked you up, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding you securely against his chest.

“Spence, what’s gotten into you?!” you said, trying to stifle a giggle.

“C’mon, let’s go get breakfast,” he said, wearing a wide grin on his face as he carried you out of the bedroom.

Thank you so much for reading! If you have any ideas for fics you want me to write in the future, feel free to send them in my ask box!

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bibuckdiaz · 4 months

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i wrote a little thing about eddie and hen and here it is. be warned, i am:

still on season six and only know about eddie’s current ~situation~ from twitter and tumblr

extremely unconcerned about canon compliance especially after tonight’s ep

a gay eddie truther

anyways. viola. eddie and hen get drunk and talk about the kim/marisol/buck situation.

***

Eddie already regrets going to Hen’s place.

On one hand, he knew she’d understand, at least to a degree. He didn’t know her when Eva was still around, but Buck had told him quietly one night when Eddie was lamenting how perfect her marriage seemed to be. It didn’t change how he saw her, and it honestly never really felt relevant, until now.

On the other hand, he knew she was going to slap sense into him when she found out what he did.

At least that part only took the first ten minutes, and then she got out a bottle of vodka and two glasses. The first shot burned, but it soothes some of the rattling, violent anxiety in his chest.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he says for the umpteenth time, at least most of the way to properly drunk at Hen’s kitchen table.

“Well, here,” Hen says and holds her hands out like she’s pitching an invention on Shark Tank. “Do you love them?”

Eddie leans forward until his forehead thunks into the wooden table. “I don’t know,” he whispers.

“You’ve been in love before,” Hen says, like it’s fact, but when Eddie doesn’t respond, she leans in to peer at his side profile. “Right?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats, not making eye contact. “Hen, I don’t know.”

Hen lets out a long breath and pours two more glasses— fuller than the rest have been, easily two shots worth. Eddie sits up and downs his in two swigs even though he knows he should probably cut himself off.

“Hen,” he says. His tongue feels slow and heavy in his mouth. “What does it feel like? Being in love?”

Hen is quiet for a long moment, blinking at the table. “Trust,” she says after a moment. “There’s nobody in the world I trust more than Karen.” The words hit Eddie’s ear with something like nostalgia. “I trust her with— With Denny.” She interrupts herself with a hiccup and a slurred giggle before twisting her face back into something resembling seriousness. “I trust her with my life. She makes me laugh, she makes me smile. She makes my insides feel… Like this.” She rests her hand on her stomach. “Bubbly.”

“Trust,” Eddie echoes, and thinks it over. Marisol, Kim— He doesn’t know if he trusts them, not with Chris. Not with the most perfect, important thing in his entire life. He probably doesn’t. He probably never will. “I…”

“Spit it out, Diaz.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he starts, and Hen waves him off, waiting expectantly. “There’s really only one person in the world that I trust like that. I don’t know… Is that love?”

Hen leans forward and rests her chin on her crossed arms. “You tell me,” she says and blinks lazily. “Tell me how it feels.”

Eddie thinks for a long moment. His mind conjures images— Chris, nestled into a nook in the roof of a ladder truck, waves rushing around him; Chris, eating home cooked breakfast every single morning while Eddie was in the hospital after the shooting; Chris, staring down at a hospital bed, crying like he hasn’t since Shannon.

“Like home,” he says finally. “Like they fill a hole I didn’t know I had.”

Hen snorts and Eddie reaches over and shoves her.

“What does that mean?” Eddie asks a moment later. His head is swimming from the vodka, but his heart keeps beating the same rhythm, over, and over, and over. He thinks maybe it has been for the past five years.

“Only you can figure that out, Eddie,” Hen says softly and reaches out to grab his shoulder. “But if it helps, I think he loves you too.”

Eddie whips his head up, startled, but Hen has nothing but drunken compassion on her face.

“Tell me if I’m overstepping, but the things you’ve said about dating? How it feels like a performance, how you don’t mind being alone— The jumping around, the lack of commitment. It’s all the same stuff I thought was normal when I was still dating men,” Hen says.

Eddie’s head spins. “But I’m not— You didn’t like men. I’m not— Like you,” he says. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

Hen rubs her cheeks with her palms and then lets out a long breath. “Karen’s gonna be so mad at me,” she mutters, and then meets Eddie’s eyes, determination in her gaze. “Have you ever actually sat down and thought about being attracted to men? Have you tested it, experimented at all? What makes you so sure?”

Eddie feels his face go red almost immediately, and he knows Hen notices because she leans in and pokes him square in the cheek.

“In the army,” Eddie relents and looks away, staring out the window at the blustery trees outside so he doesn’t have to look at Hen. “It was easy. He was there, I was there, it was just— Just letting off steam.”

“But?”

“But,” Eddie echoes and glances back at Hen. It’s clear in her expression— honest from the vodka— that she just wants to listen, and to help. She doesn’t hold pity, she doesn’t see him as a clueless child. She knows how difficult this is. “He was hot, and kind. He made me laugh. I… I never considered it cheating, because it— It was normal, I thought.”

“So men don’t count, and neither do clones of your ex-wife?” Hen asks gently. “Where’s the line, Eddie?”

It feels like an accusation, even though he’s the one who drove here and bore his heart to Hen, every part of the last miserable few months pouring out of his mouth and onto her living room floor.

Her face softens. “Listen,” she says and reaches over, taking his hand in hers. “You don’t love them, and you do love someone else. Doesn’t that make it simple?”

Eddie fucking wishes it could be that easy.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “Chris deserves a family, a mother. I can’t— I can’t be selfish, not with this.”

Hen’s expression darkens. “Does Denny need a father?”

“What—“

“Was I selfish in choosing Karen, choosing my career, choosing to take in Denny, rather than live a traditional, white picket fence life?”

“Hen, no—“

“Are my wife and I not enough of a family for him?”

“Stop, stop,” Eddie says and clutches at her forearm so tight he sees her dark skin paling under his grip. “Stop. I get it.” He looks out the window again. A bird lands on the fence.

“Christopher already loves Buck.”

Eddie flinches when she says his name. It was this unspoken, nebulous thing hanging in the room between them up until now, but Hen saying his name makes it feel real. Panic starts to make a home in his chest.

“I need to go,” he says and tries to pull away, but Hen grabs him and gives him a stern look.

“You’re not driving anywhere, not for at least the next eight hours. I hope you thought this through and got someone to watch Christopher, because calling your abuela drunk might be a little humiliating.”

“He’s with Pepa,” Eddie whispers.

“Good. You’re staying here, and we’re talking this out. Don’t run, Eddie. Answer me. What do you want? No second thoughts, no overthinking, no holdbacks. First instinct. What do you want?” Hen asks.

“Buck,” Eddie breathes.

Hen stands, walks around the table, and pulls Eddie into a hard, warm hug. “I know, baby.”

#buddie #buddie fic #911 abc #911 #911 spoilers #ficlet #ollie yaps #eddie diaz #hen wilson

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911bts · 1 year

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6x18 "Pay It Forward" Synopsis

A series of freeway car accidents leads to a catastrophic overpass collapse that endangers the lives of civilians and members of the 118 in the all-new "Pay It Forward" sixth season finale episode of 9-1-1 airing Monday, May 15 (8:00-9:01 PM ET/PT) on FOX. (NIN-618) (TV-14 D, L, S, V)

Cast: Angela Bassett as Athena Grant; Peter Krause as Bobby Nash; Jennifer Love Hewitt as Maddie Buckley; Oliver Stark as Evan "Buck" Buckley; Kenneth Choi as Howie "Chimney" Han; Aisha Hinds as Henrietta "Hen" Wilson; Ryan Guzman as Eddie Diaz; Corinne Massiah as May Grant; Gavin McHugh as Christopher Diaz

Guest Cast: Tracie Thoms as Karen Wilson; Anirudh Pisharody as Ravi Panikkar; Bryan Safi as Josh Russo; Chiquita Fuller as Linda Bates; Annelise Capero as Natalia Dollenmeyer; Chelsea Kane as Kameron; Colin McCalla as Connoir; Edy Ganem as Marisol; Freda Foh Shen as Anne Lee; Kelvin Han Yee as John Lee; Hailey & Bailey Leung as Jee-Yun; Declan Pratt as Denny Wilson

#911 fox #911 spoilers #s6 #6x18

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asecretvice · 11 months

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hi 👋 fully and deeply entranced by “and this, your living kiss,” i’ve read it a few times at this point. i was curious about the dennis brutus poem that dean quotes in cas’ office. do you know where one can read the whole thing? my scouring of his work online has turned up nothing! it’s the untitled [the sand wet and cool] one

Actual footage of me reading this ask:

Like, you have asked me about Dennis Brutus! Thank you!! Feel free to ask more!

But to answer your question, I know several years ago I was able to finagle it on google books when I didn't have access to Poetry & Protest: A Dennis Brutus Reader. But why fuss with that when I can just copy it out here for you myself straight from that book? I highly, HIGHLY recommend reading it out loud, as the sonic qualities are top-notch! Forewarning of dark themes. Without further ado:

The sand wet and cool darkening from yellow to where it was damp, from a lioness-yellow to darkness, like ash or the shadowy underside of a mushroom

and to lounge in such sand, by the sea, uncaring scuffing bare heels in the seasand with the hard ridge of the heel, half-calloused, half-feeling the cold cool in warmgold folds, over silkchill skeins

and here to thrust out the legs to feel the jar in thighflesh and flanks and through this breakthrough of thighs to find true fuller freedom of loins and thews a great freedom of the groin— an unfolding upflowering of the flesh—

hair uncaring of sand, of shellpowder broken twigs and dirt; and to feel the keening of the cold the ghost of the spray, the spume, the salt— a cold glitter as of crystals and knives in the brightness and vagrant warmth of the day:

one assents to the brightness of the day, its perfection and warmth acquiescing in the cold in its essence sharp as a shell-blade and menacing while the shadows grow long and gray and cold, one accepts the voluptuous splendor of that day

of an imaginary day and of an untrue innocent idyll that never happened and a perfection of sensuality we never knew but which they created by report by alleging this was our act and our guilt:

and straightway by the evocation of their charge it was real and true; and we entered into that sensual idyll that sunlit sensuous voluptuousness of luxurious indulgence in lush-ripe flesh:

we were guilty then accepting the untrue as the real; so our pursuers, our enemies became our donors, generous friends: one perfect sunlit day was ours: the forbidden idyll became the real: we had our beach, our sea, our sun, the stolen sensuous carnal delight and the spray-bright, spume-chill, bladed air.

[Dated January 19, 1970; published 1973.]

Though you didn't ask, I will copy out the other Dennis Brutus poem mentioned, in case people are curious about that one as well:

Milkblue—tender the moonlit midnight sky; receive me now my sleeping love. Lovelaughter—gentle, a luminous glow arches from circling horizoning hills to this plain your tremulous breast exposes:

So, gentle and tender I brood and bow over your scent, your hid springs of mirth and know here in this dusk, secret and still I can bend and kiss you now, my earth.

[1970]

I will stop there since this fulfills your brief, but seriously...if anyone wants to actually talk about this stuff, or have me go off on a related subject...my inbox is open. (people like and/or reblog the post with all the footnotes and sources and whatnot, but no one ever asks about anything in it...please...)

PS—Absolutely thrilled you enjoy my fic! To hear you've read it multiple times is just incredible. Thank you <3 I hope you enjoy the poetry!

#opal replies #living kiss #dennis brutus #poetry

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sky-fire-forever · 5 months

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Take some of my Lost OC fanfic because I enjoy writing it and enjoy sharing it

#dennis writes #oc: francine fuller #lost abc #abc lost #lost show #lost #sayid jarrah #james sawyer ford #shannon rutherford #ship: francine x sayid #sayid jarrah x oc

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wallisninety-six · 1 year

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The Quiet, Dark, Landmark Rock Experiment of the Beach Boys' "Today!"

In 1964, The Beatles arrived to America and began the British Invasion, causing the Beach Boys to play catch up commercially and artistically- they released four albums in just under a year, and started laboriously touring nonstop as a result- and those results were consequential to bandleader Brian Wilson.

Brian had already been producing, arranging, and preforming in not only the band's output, but also for other artists like Glen Campbell, and stressed hard over work, his image & artistic output, and his rushed marriage with Marilyn Rovell. And eventually, while on tour- he suffered a serious panic attack that was so bad, that he soon moved away from touring to focus solely on songwriting & production...and the first major result of it all, is the 1965 album "Today!"

Today!- by many accounts, is a really *weird* album and sticks out from not only the classic surf-era of the band, but also from the post-Pet Sounds period. The latter half of the album (and the whole work in general) is often talked about in comparison to Pet Sounds, which makes sense- but I think doing that does Today! a great disservice to what the album meant in 1965- because it's endearing, strange and even innovative completely on its own terms.

Today! was divided into uptempo songs on side 1, and dramatic ballads in side 2- and the great talents of session group The Wrecking Crew were brought to do the instrumentals for both; five of their members had worked on previous Beach Boys albums like All Summer Long, but with Today!- they had a fuller, two dozen-strong crew to help create a new, bold sound in rock and roll: progressive, atmospheric, and orchestral. And more than ever before, their sound plus Brian's increasingly complex compositions and the inclusion of instruments not heard in rock helps elevate the album's sound itself to whole new levels.

The album's ideas of a more progressive rock were very novel in a world of classic rock & roll, traditional vocal pop, and then-growing folk rock movement- that barely any major act sought to go in a similar direction in rock aside from the equally-ambitious Beatles. It made the intro "Do You Wanna Dance" have a borderline power pop sound, give "When I Grow Up to be a Man" a twinkling baroque shimmer, and "Kiss Me Baby" that much more theatrical and thunderous- with Boys' harmonies in one of their strongest forms for this album, too. And not only that, Dennis Wilson sings lead for the first time on two tracks- showcasing his deep crooner vocal style and an implicit message that this isn't the youthful boy band you know anymore.

The subjects of these songs itself helped veer mainstream rock lyricism towards something much more brutally confessional and (for better or worse) much more glaringly honest and autobiographical, to an almost uncomfortable extent- the worries of growing up and your future being bad, relationship issues of mutual distrust & suspicion- but also still wanting it all to last. Brian's lyricism was much more overtly paranoid, and much more explicitly sad- sometimes in ways that Pet Sounds wasn't. This is reflected in some songs Brian sang lead in like "She Knows Me Too Well", his voice was much more hoarse and emotional in a way that goes beyond *just* singing a sad song...

Potentially leading to the more emotional lyrics and performance- Brian started to drink much more, and he used marijuana for the first time- leading directly to the hazy sadness of "Please Let Me Wonder"- a hint of Brian's willingness to go beyond music and go *deeper* within himself to make a more personal, creative statement. All of this makes the last track more glaring- it isn't even a song but part of an interview with the band, almost certainly put there by the Boys/Capitol Records to lift the downer mood of side 2 and show that "everyone's okay!" (Brian's wife, Marilyn even appears in it chatting with the group)- but this inclusion at the very end almost feels as if the entire album we just listened to was what was brewing behind the interview the whole time.

This is the album that cemented the band's image change that moved away from that iconic surf image that started in All Summer Long, and it helped chart a new path for the band that led to great future success- But things wouldn't be so rosy. After all, the lead-up to this album saw significant and growing vulnerabilities to Brian's psyche even as he was quickly & radically expanding his artistic talents...and this was hinted in the seemingly skippable last track where Mike Love utters a line that- in hindsight, is incredibly ominous-sounding:

"Brian, we keep waiting for you to make a mistake."

#the beach boys #beach boys #brian wilson #today!#the beach boys today!#the beach boys today #1965 #60s music #dennis wilson #the beatles #music history #music production #album review #cw: alcohol #cw: weed #cw: drugs #mike love

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trashmenace · 8 months

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Death ed Stuart David Schiff

Death ed Stuart David Schiff 1982, Playboy Paperbacks

Two Bottles of Relish by Lord Dunsany (orig Time & Tide, Nov 12, 1932)

A variation on a locked door mystery - a body disposal without leaving the house mystery. This one stayed with me since childhood, though the premise wasn't as locked in as it could be.

Deathtracks by Dennis Etchison

A Nielson family survey taker visits a couple who look for hidden messages in TV laugh tracks to explain why their son died in Vietnam.

Always Together by Hugh B. Cave

One elderly twin murders the other and keeps up a ruse that she's still alive. A good setup for a twist in the tale which never happens.

Toilet Paper Run by Juleen Brantingham

Engaging story set in a girls' reform school, but the ending felt tacked on to fit the genre.

The Green Parrot by Joseph Payne Brennan (orig Weird Tales, July 1952)

Another boring entry in the "that person you thought was alive turns out was already dead" style of ghost story.

Fragment from a Charred Diary by Davis Grubb

Comedy piece about a man using a voodoo doll to commit the political assassinations of the 1960s, escalating from there.

The Scarf by Bernice Balfour

A disfigured woman concealing her face with a scarf and a curious newspaper delivery boy.

Sentences by Richard Christian Matheson

Comedy twist in the tale about a man getting his life rewritten.

Prickly by David A. Riley

A child corrupting Satanist with a monkey familiar kills himself in a British tenement building. Years later, strange creatures scuttle the halls, and children sing nursery rhymes about Prickly.

The Kennel by Maurice Level (orig Tales of Mystery and Horror, 1920)

A cuckold husband finds the body of his wife's lover and disposes of it.

Onawa by Alan Ryan

An adoptive native girl with a taste for blood

A Telephone Booth by Wade Kenny

A gambler can get tips from the future from a pay phone.

Straw Goat by Ken Wiseman

Folk horror with murderous farmers and a sacrificial straw goat.

Horrible Imaginings by Fritz Leiber

Long piece about a creep being obsessed with his neighbor, which I skipped.

The Blind Spot by Saki (orig Beasts and Super-Beasts, 1914)

Comedy piece about a killer servant.

The Dust by Al Sarrantonio

A simpleton shut-in is obsessed with dust.

It Grows on You by Stephen King

A vignette of small town misery which feels more like background to a fuller story. It's been re-written a few times, and later versions may be more tied in to the Castle Rock mythos and be more explicitly horrific. Something about a house getting a new wing built connected with people dying, but not much meat on the bones here.

The Copper Bowl by George Fielding Eliot (orig Weird Tales, December 1928)

Nasty proto-shudder pulp yellow peril story of a French Legionnaire's love being tortured by a Chinese despot.

From Amazon https://amzn.to/3vkEvlR

#book review #horror #paperbacks from hell

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