Creature-Feature Conversations: Tombs of the Blind Dead

Tombs of the Blind Dead movie poster

Creature-Feature Conversations is a series of movie reviews as dialogue between horror authors, with a focus on unique, engaging, or cult-status horror films.

Tombs of the Blind Dead, 1972, directed by Amando de Ossorio

With guest reviewer Dominique Lamssies

JONATHAN RAAB: Unlike Zombie Lake and Inferno, I don’t believe I had heard of Tombs of the Blind Dead before, but it does have some imagery that is familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen the blind Templar zombies somewhere, maybe on a heavy metal or punk show flyer. This movie has that trashy, late-night monster-a-thon vibe to it, like you found it playing halfway through on some forgotten cable channel you didn’t know existed.

Speaking of TV, I didn’t realize until about halfway through my viewing that I was probably watching a censored version, as some of the comments under the video indicated it as such. There was still some gore and mild nudity in the beginning, so who knows. I’m not sure how much would be added by more of the cheap-looking gore effects.

DOMINIQUE LAMSSIES: I watched the full version. I don’t think I’ve actually seen the edited-down version. I’m one of those “but the director intended it to be watched THIS WAY!” people. Really, if you’ve seen Lord of the Rings, that’s where you’ve seen the Blind Dead before. Whether intentional or not, Peter Jackson pretty much lifted the design of the Black Rider Nazguls from this movie. Even the horses! I think watching the longer version is actually why I love it so much because the longer version, while punctuated by that gore (which I actually don’t think was so bad for the period), is very slow and there’s a lot of “look at all this Gothic stuff! How cool is this?” going on, which I’m all about.

This movie, while quite sleazy, and there are parts that annoy me as a female horror fan, actually exemplifies quite well why I adore Continental European Gothic films so much and how different they are.

JR: The castle compound is an amazing place to film, and looks great here. I also adored the graveyard scenes/shots, with rolling fog, odd tombstones, and goofy zombies emerging from their graves. Absolutely killer stuff.

I’m glad you brought up the sleazy aspects of the film, as this movie does not handle its female characters very well. That’s not to say that the men are competent or even sympathetic, but the very obvious boyfriend-wants-to-sleep-with-her-friend subplot and bizarre, inappropriate flirting and touching in the train scene really came across as gross and weird. There’s also a rape scene in the uncut version that I apparently missed, but frankly I don’t feel the need to see it, especially because the post-assault scene I did see was played as an awkward but consensual moment that is not at all important to the plot, the characters, or anyone else, for that matter.

But how to explain this movie’s plot? While her boyfriend is playing grabass (literally) with her friend in another car, our heroine decides to just… jump off the train in the middle of the Spanish (?) countryside. She wanders into a spooky old castle-monastery compound, decides to camp out there, and is bitten to death by the Templar zombies as the sun rises. Pretty straightforward stuff. It gets more bizarre from there, as her body is brought to the morgue and her horned-up boyfriend and friend identify the body. But the man showing them the body—was he the coroner’s assistant, or another cop? I can’t tell—behaves like a silent film actor doing a comedy routine with the dead bodies. It’s very odd.

The Templar zombies on horseback.

DL: This movie is pretty basic: Dumb people stumble on town with some form of reanimated dead, blood ensues. Later movies fleshed out the backstory and the Eastern Knights themselves better. I actually don’t quite understand why Virginia, the first girl that got attacked, came back, but the scenes where she did were very cool and had this odd Frankenstein vibe to them. Almost like Armando de Ossorio (the director) watched Hammer’s Frankenstein Created Woman and thought, “chicks with their boobs almost hanging out, melted crayon blood… hold my beer!” And that fortress is a real place, the Monastario del Cerson, near Madrid, though I think the movie is supposed to take place on the Portugal/Spain border.

The morgue attendant was… something else. I feel like they were reaching for an Igor with that one. I also wonder if being a morgue attendant is really looked down on in some cultures (ours too, actually) so they only assume that mentally and physically deficient people would want or are worthy of doing it. Like the job itself is so inherently wrong, but necessary, so we give it to someone who isn’t employable in a “decent” capacity. But it seems like I’ve seen that same type of character in the same position in a lot of films.

JR: I actually really like the scenes with re-animated Virginia, especially the mannequin scene. There’s this ill-fitting subplot about a woman who makes mannequins who is somehow connected to our surviving leads, and Virginia shows up to kill her. It’s a legitimately spooky scene, with rows and rows of formless bodies arrayed in the dark, and the Virginia-zombie stalking the set. My guess is they had access to that warehouse and decided they couldn’t not use the mannequins for their horror movie.

DL: As for the use of sex in this movie, no, you did not need to see the rape. It is ugly. They, in no way shape or form, gloss over it or romanticise it as can sometimes happen in these movies.  It’s bad, and it’s uncomfortable. And what’s worse, it actually takes place after Bette says, “no, I can’t, I have sex-related trauma,” and Pedro decides he’s going to “cure her of it.” I half-suspect that they put it in there so we would have someone in Pedro that we’re glad to see the Eastern Knights kill, but watching a rapist die doesn’t make a female viewer as happy as the rape not taking place at all.

But in the uncut version, the sexuality of the film gets weirder because it’s revealed on the train that Bette is a lesbian and she and Virginia had a fling in boarding school. Virginia jumps from the train after they talk about it and Virginia seems to be feeling guilty that she enjoyed the fling.  That gives a different dimension to Roger and Bette’s relationship toward the end of the movie because, as you noted, he’s clearly horn-dogging for her, but he stops pushing and whenever anyone points out that he likes her, he rebuffs them, almost like he knows and just thinks she’s someone he wants in his life in some capacity, even if he can’t screw her. Which makes the beginning even weirder because Roger is clearly a skuzz bucket!

Now, this movie is cheap and skeezy, no doubt, but I also think there’s some well-hidden meaning here. I think it’s significant that the first person the Knights wake up and kill, even though she’s a girl inexplicably running around an abandoned ruin in her underwear (of course she is), is someone who is flouting a sexual norm.

It is impressed on us at every turn that the Templar zombies are evil and there’s nothing good about them. And the first thing they do is crush someone who is part of the changing sexual landscape. The Eastern Knights are a religious order that was tasked with saving Christianity as the Pope saw it and they got drunk with power and corrupted, but, as a church order, they still viewed themselves as having the moral high ground and thus were allowed to destroy people who didn’t fit in with their ideas.  

One of the things we’re realizing in this day and age is that “degenerates” aren’t one-size-fits-all, and the people who point fingers at others are just as screwed up. Of course, this is also at the end of Franco’s Spain, so it’s possible that I’m seeing a religious critique when it was really intended as a Facism critique. That makes the sensationalism a little more understandable as Franco would have crushed these people if he suspected they were criticising him, so they filled the film with lots of boobs and Karo Syrup to hide it.

JR: Right, the Templars here are so obviously evil. They use the ankh rather than the cross as their symbol. I think the filmmakers were not directly criticizing the church, or if they were, they were playing it safe by making the villains those that had fallen away from the faith in favor of sorcery and satanism. Many horror movies of the 1970s and 80s are religiously and culturally conservative in their depictions of satanic evil, but that could just be a cover for a more contemporary critique that I’m not read in on. 

DL: Another random aside, with all the above stuff bouncing around in my head, as I was watching this in preparation for this conversation, the flashback scene had a really strong KKK rally vibe to me. That’s not what the director would have intended, Spain had their own problems, they weren’t making movies about the KKK, but I saw it as an American.

The weirdo at the morgue gets bitten by a zombie while playing with a frog.

JR: The KKK and that particular iconography are widely known, so it’s possible. The KKK was and is, in many ways, a secret society-occult organization, with rites and titles and masks and rituals.

We’ve spent some time rightly taking this film to task for a number of its tropes and choices, but at the end of it all I have to admit I really enjoyed this movie, as bad and trashy as it is. The atmosphere at the castle grounds and the design of the zombie-Templars—even and especially those random shots of rubber skeleton hands—is really arresting and nightmarish. The finale where they attack the train is legitimately gonzo and great, and there’s plenty of blood and rubber-masked monsters to go around. I’m definitely looking forward to checking out the sequels!

DL: I adore this movie, but in some respects I’m easy to please. Your dead people just got up again? I’m in! And you are right about one very important thing that I feel needs more emphasis,  because there is nothing in this world that makes me happier than Skeleton Barbie Hands. Skeleton Barbie Hands are love and joy and all things bright and beautiful in this world and whatever else is going on right now, we can forever take comfort in the fact that this movie, and the Skeleton Barbie Hands in it, exist.

Seriously, I don’t know why I love those dumb little hands so much, but I do. And that’s a good way to sum up the fandom of this movie, I think!

Dominique Lamssies is a relapsed Goth who is obsessed with dead people in all their forms.  She was born and raised in Portland, Oregon, but has a problem with itchy feet that has taken her to places such as New Orleans, Boston, Ukraine, and Japan. She believes in horror as anthropology and clothing with copious amounts of velvet. Her work can be found in Behold The Undead Of Dracula (Muzzleland Press) and Test Patterns: Creature Features (Planet X Publications), and Women In Horror among others.  She is also head necromancer at The House Of Silent Graves Etsy shop which sells all manner of stuffed animals based on old horror movies, and has a blog, The University of Bizarre. She hopes her stories remind you of Mario Bava films and you find the monsters she makes sufficiently huggable. She hopes Saint Ed Wood blesses and keeps all of you.

Jonathan Raab is the author of numerous short stories, veteran advocacy essays, and novels including Camp Ghoul Mountain Part VI: The Official Novelization and The Hillbilly Moonshine Massacre. He is the editor of several anthologies from Muzzleland Press, including Behold the Undead of Dracula: Lurid Tales of Cinematic Gothic Horror and Terror in 16-bits. He lives in Colorado with his wife Jess, their son, and a dog named Egon. You can find him on Twitter @jonathanraab1.

Creature-Feature Conversations: Inferno

Creature-Feature Conversations is a series of movie reviews as dialogue between horror authors, with a focus on unique, engaging, or cult-status horror films.

Inferno, 1981, Directed by Dario Argento

With guest reviewer Sean M. Thompson

Jonathan Raab: I have a lot of fondness for Dario Argento’s Inferno, as it is a strong example of supernatural Italian horror—and yes, I would consider it a giallo, even if the emphasis is on the occult goings-on rather than the black-gloved killer.

Inferno very much works as a sequel to Suspiria, and, depending on my mood, sometimes I like it more than its predecessor. But I will admit it is not quite as visually interesting or coherent as the original, although the luxurious red, pink, and blue-purple lighting is wonderful, and many of the apartment building interiors have a delightful Art Deco flair that evokes the dancing academy of Suspiria.

It’s hard to describe the film’s plot, or even what it’s about, really, but I suppose we should give it a shot. The film begins by immediately connecting itself to the mythology of the first film through overwrought exposition delivered to us via an excitable narrator reading from a book called The Three Mothers by E. Varelli, which describes three powerful witches in three great houses in the U.S. and Europe. Inspired by the book’s reference to keys hidden away in secret areas, our heroine decides to go bother the antique bookseller, then climbs into a hidden basement, and loses her snake charm in a flooded, underground chamber below that.

The scene is actually quite beautiful, with the water giving the submerged room and its contents an ethereal, dream-like quality that will hang over the rest of the film. It doesn’t really make any sense whatsoever, but the corpse that emerges from the depths is fantastic, and the idea of swimming through that water makes my skin crawl.

SEAN M. THOMPSON: I love that during the water scene in question the logic goes from, okay let me just stick my arm into this water and try to reach for my jewelry to immediately like, okay, well, one attempt did not work so let me just SUBMERGE MY ENTIRE BODY into this gross standing water, in a basement in New York City. Girl, that’s how the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were born! Anyway, the scene is certainly interesting, even if it is just a ploy for Argento to begin the string of women in soaked-through dresses throughout this film.

Alternate movie poster for Inferno

I like Inferno well enough, but I have to admit I literally memory dump any semblance of the “plot,” as soon as I finish watching it. For instance, the next scene, where we cut to a middle-aged man who is apparently in college (sigh) named Mark. Yeah, I did not remember this scene at all.

Mark is studying musicology, listening to some classical, and he looks across the room to see a woman staring at him lasciviously… holding a cat. Because, you know, I guess in Rome they just let you take your pets into your university classes?

As you mentioned before, it’s hard to describe the film’s plot. Inferno is more about atmosphere, and those sweet, sweet red and blue Argento gels. The purpose of this university scene is to show that Mark, rather than being a CPA is in fact in college (sure), and has received a letter from his sister in NYC—the woman in the water from the earlier scene we now learn is named Rose. I mean, I think we learn that.

Damn it, there is a woman with a cat we keep cutting back to who disappears—you can forgive me if any other aspect of the scene is lost on me. I don’t really remember who this woman is supposed to be. Maybe she’s the lady from the next scene? Christ, I don’t know, shut up and watch the pretty colors.

JR: Funny you should mention memory. I’ve seen this film three or four times now, and, aside from a couple of set pieces (the underwater scene, Mater Tenebrarum’s transformation into Death), it’s like watching it for the first time, every time. That could have something to do with how the plot is structured: first we follow the sister, then the brother briefly, then his girlfriend (?), then him again, then the weird neighbor lady, then the brother again—with a few offshoots with side characters here and there.

I think the woman holding the cat in class is the Mother of Tears, the third mother-sister-witch, but I’m not really sure what she’s up to, to be honest. 

It’s also interesting that I don’t seem to have space for this movie in my head outside of the vague impressions of color and weirdness, as this film is very much about space. On Twitter a few weeks ago I was talking to people about “horror movies about architecture,” and Inferno certainly fits the bill. The setup is literally about the forbidden knowledge of the Three Mothers as recorded in a book by a friend of the architect who built their great houses—and the architect even plays a role in the film’s final act.

Inferno is obsessed with secret spaces, wings, holes in the wall, ventilation systems that allow conversations to carry at great distances, a labyrinthine library, the secret flooded sub-basement, and the black-gloved killer’s manipulation of locks, doors, and the crawl spaces of the apartment building itself. These spaces enable violence and magic to seep into the world of the protagonists, or, rather, represent the unreality that they have ventured into themselves. There’s a moment where one of the female leads cuts her hand on a glass knob that shatters, drawing blood, thus gaining her entrance to these esoteric passageways.

ST: Yes, and in this regard, Inferno works as a wonderful horror film dealing with architecture. Arguably, some of the buildings are more characterized than the people, much in the vein of an H.P. Lovecraft story. 

There’s a real dreamlike quality to the film. There are moments, for instance, when the character of Sara goes to the library, where it’s like one moment she’s in the library, picking up the book about the Three Mothers, and then she wanders into the basement, and really, barely even hidden is a passage to a basement lair. In the lair is supposed to be an alchemist or wizard of some sort—who then of course proceeds to shove her head into a vat of boiling liquid. It is an Argento film, after all.

I want to talk about the music in this film for a second. The soundtrack is, frankly, one of the more schizophrenic combinations in any of Argento’s oeuvre. Unlike the soundtrack by Goblin from Suspiria, Keith Emerson does the main score for Inferno, which is more of a traditional style of score, if not very operatic… until it isn’t. There is one track, and I swear to you, it is just the theme to a level of Sonic the Hedgehog 2.

This music in part seems to contribute to the scattered nature of the film, as the score goes from one style, to a completely different style, from scene to scene. It almost plays like the music from completely different films spliced together. That’s not to say I don’t like it, it just comes across as really odd at times. I mean, the whole movie is really odd, so it fits.

And man, this movie does not mind killing off characters. If there is a main character I suppose it’s Mark, but jeez, we’ll spend 20 minutes with someone just to have their head pushed into a vat of boiling liquid, or have them stabbed, or stabbed in a different way, or cut: there’s a lot of knife action.

A woman stands outside of the haunted apartment building.

JR: Speaking of knife action, I know there’s purists out there who don’t consider these movies as representative of Argento’s giallo work, but to me they are inseparable. There’s a black-gloved killer and faceless others, including the alchemist/weirdo in the library underhalls, who commit all sorts of gnarly violence against our protagonists.

Before we let this one go, I want to say that I really, really like this movie, and think it’s almost as good as Suspiria in its own right.

And I can’t wrap up this conversation without mentioning the cats. There is a cat-attack scene wherein I believe you can see someone’s arm in the frame, because they just throw cats at the poor actress or stuntwoman or whomever, and those cats look pissed. Then there’s the weirdo antiques dealer who drowns a bag of angry cats and then falls into the water and is attacked by rats. A nearby hot dog vendor, possessed by the power of the eclipse or something, rushes over to slit his throat. This is all displayed without context or explanation. Magnifique.

The film works for me because it’s a joy to watch. It’s a beautiful mess, one born out of Argento’s messed up vision and iteration on the more pure gialli preceding it. Head into this one ready to absorb it into your subconscious, because trying to interpret it as anything other than pure black-magic chaos might just leave you frustrated.

ST: I want to say I’m iffy on this film, except I’ve seen it like three damn times, or possibly even more? This is a slippery piece of cinema. Is it giallo? Is it merely supernatural horror? Is it architecture porn? Is it all of them? The point is, it’s entertaining, it’s bananas, and if you want a good film to laugh and make fun of, one you can also appreciate the cinematography of, Inferno is a great pick. I think Suspiria is the better of the two films, but, as stated, I could still watch this film over and over. And damn if it doesn’t make you want to binge some more Argento. Amen.

Sean M. Thompson is the author of the novel TH3 D3M0N, the novellas Farmington Correctional and Hate From The Sky, and the short collection Too Late. He has had stories featured in Vastarien, Unnerving, Letters of Decline from Orford Parish Books, Behold the Undead of Dracula and Terror in 16-bits from Muzzleland Press, and Test Patterns from Planet X Publications. Though a native of Massachusetts, he recently uprooted his life and moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where the air is as dry as his sense of humor.

Jonathan Raab is the author of numerous short stories, veteran advocacy essays, and novels including Camp Ghoul Mountain Part VI: The Official Novelization and The Hillbilly Moonshine Massacre. He is the editor of several anthologies from Muzzleland Press, including Behold the Undead of Dracula: Lurid Tales of Cinematic Gothic Horror and Terror in 16-bits. He lives in Colorado with his wife Jess, their son, and a dog named Egon. You can find him on Twitter @jonathanraab1.

Creature-Feature Conversations: Zombie Lake

French movie poster for Zombie Lake

Creature-Feature Conversations is a series of movie reviews as dialogue between horror authors, with a focus on unique, engaging, or cult-status horror films.

Zombie Lake (aka Le Lac des Morts Vivants), 1981, Directed by Jean Rollin

With guest reviewer Mer Whinery

Jonathan Raab: I have so many questions. What’s your history with this movie? Why’d you subject me to… to whatever it was I just watched?

Mer Whinery: I first encountered this oddity back when I was probably around twelve-ish. That would make it 1983. This was the Platinum Age of VHS and video rental stores. We had this video store in my hometown called Nite Owl Video, and for years it was the only rental place in town.

Now, this was McAlester, Oklahoma and not Tulsa. The kind of flicks that came our way were often the underside of the barrel bottom. Like the grimy shit you would scrape off that barrel bottom. The best of these trashtastic turds arrived in the form of a big box cover, and the box would be this glossy and garish number designed to get your attention. The images on the front usually involved tits and blood and were obviously directed at a target audience of me and my friends. Two of the biggest distributors of this rancid output were Lightning and Wizard Video. This was the only sort of entertainment these companies put out. Such notable titles I saw in the format were heavily butchered Fulci films, City of the Walking Dead (aka Nightmare City), Alien Prey and… Zombie Lake.

I think it was the cover art that got me. It reminded me of the cover of another undead Nazi movie I like called Shock Waves, which I think Zombie Lake was trying to rip off.

The first few minutes I got to see boobies. I was sold. It’s a repeat player for sure.

I chose this because I was pretty sure you had never seen it. It’s really transcendent with how godawful it is.

The main zombie stumbling around outside.

JR: I wouldn’t put this on the same level of Nightmare City, which is far and away a more competent movie, but I won’t deny that this film is very entertaining, mostly because of how baffling it is.

You mentioned the nudity—and, yeah, it’s got a ton of that, as every ten minutes or so another woman is taking her top off and going skinny dipping in the titular Zombie Lake, aka Lake of the Damned, aka the most disgusting water I’ve ever seen. Usually the boobs are followed by the emergence of the zombies—schlubby actors in green makeup that is running off their skin, and wearing Nazi uniforms. The film barely tries to explain how it is these undead Nazi bastards are able to return to life, and, if I was inclined to give this movie any credit, I’d say that contributes to the dream-logic and nightmare atmosphere. Instead I’d attribute those characteristics to what I can only assume is a complete and utter lack of a shooting script.

MW: You said titular. Hehehe.

JR: I was hoping someone would catch that.

MW: Seriously though.

I attribute the quality of the atmosphere to the director, Jean Rollin. This was characteristic for most of his cinematic output. He cranked out mostly erotic lesbian vampire flicks, all of them well worth your time. I believe when this film first came out he released it under another name. It was definitely a paycheck movie for him, although Good Lord it had to have been like thirty bucks and a case of Natty Light at the most. The Spanish director Jess Franco was the original captain of this leaky vessel, and it would have been interesting to see what he would have done with this. Probably would have turned out much worse, as this was near the end of Franco’s artistic heyday. I think that died with his muse, Soledad Miranda.

Ah, the makeup. That, and the fact the film has an utter disregard for annoying things such as the laws of time and narrative cohesion are what struck me the most. Even as a kid, stuffing my face with nachos and RC Cola, I was baffled by this. But I was also drawn to it. This was seriously weird stuff for that time. Movies like this—Nightmare City, Gates of Hell—all had a serious impact on me creatively.

JR: I definitely felt like I was watching a “Mer Whinery” movie, for sure, as it’s gratuitous, violent, and over the top—although those are generally good qualifiers for your work. In this film’s case, those things kept it entertaining, even when the “violence” was just the zombies popping a squib pack on some victim’s neck.

Personally I couldn’t follow what the hell was going on, and I was paying attention. There’s a plot involving one of the zombie-Nazis falling in love with a local woman after the worst battle scene ever filmed, their daughter, his death at the hands of resistance fighters, those same resistance fighters not aging at all in the 40 years since, rumors of devilry and black magic, a college women’s basketball team, a news reporter who dies for no reason, a zombie-on-zombie fight that’s completely pointless, and the daughter of the Nazi trapping the zombies by offering them blood in a barn that is promptly torched by a flamethrower. What the hell, man.

Also, is it just me, or does the film portray the Nazis as the good guys, and the resistance/townsfolk as reaping what they’ve sown?

That seems like a lot, and it is, but that implies that any of this adds up to anything, which it doesn’t, not really. But at the end of all of this I have to say that I had a lot of fun watching this flaming garbage pile, and I would seek out the director’s other works. It’s an exploitation film held together by fraying duct tape, but it’s worth a watch. Final thoughts?

The flame-soaked finale of Zombie Lake.

MW: Yeah I still don’t get it. I don’t care either. It’s fine. The zombie vs zombie fracas was basically just some dude came up with the idea “Hey, we have 10 mins to pad this sumbitch up with. These zombies getting into tussle might be rad.” Kinda like the shark vs. zombie scenario in Zombie. Is it necessary? No. Neato? Yes. Same thing with all the useless T&A. Give them what they want, and they will come.

Zombie Lake is most definitely a product of its time. It kinda dwells in that dim shadowland between incoherent and unsettling. Another similar film is Burial Ground. Wow, talk about craptastic. The intention of these monstrosities was just to simply make money. Fast money. Like, just quickly make enough money for Rollin to enjoy a week in Thailand, pay off the studio’s organized crime benefactors, and then forget about it. This was the primary goal of most filmmakers who worked in the direct-to-video market of the 80s/90s. It don’t have to be good, it just needs to tickle the peculiarities of that target audience. What’s funny is some of these films actually turned out to be more than decent. Of course, this isn’t one of them.

It definitely holds a special place in my past. I watch it and I am immediately transported back to that time and place I first encountered it. Sounds weird, but I find watching it oddly comforting, although the sensible adult in me is shaking his head going, “Wow, this really is just utter pig shit.” 

Mer Whinery was born and bred in southeast Oklahoma… aka Little Dixie. He frequently dreams of empty, lonely houses filled with screaming ghosts. He is the author of The Little Dixie Horror Show, Phantasmagoria Blues and Trade Yer Coffin for a Gun.

Jonathan Raab is the author of numerous short stories, veteran advocacy essays, and novels including Camp Ghoul Mountain Part VI: The Official Novelization and The Hillbilly Moonshine Massacre. He is the editor of several anthologies from Muzzleland Press, including Behold the Undead of Dracula: Lurid Tales of Cinematic Gothic Horror and Terror in 16-bits. He lives in Colorado with his wife Jess, their son, and a dog named Egon. You can find him on Twitter @jonathanraab1.

Support small press horror—and your local book store or library!

I’m using a different distribution platform for Behold the Undead of Dracula. Although the Kindle version will eventually be available on the Big A, I wanted to try a more independent model for the paperback.

If you still want a copy of Behold the Undead of Dracula AND also want to support your local indie book store or library, request a copy through them! It nets us a sale, supports local horror literature peddlers—and gets you the best Gothic horror anthology to grace the shelves this spooky season.

Behold the Undead of Dracula
ISBN/SKU: 9780997080377
ISBN Complete: 978-0-9970803-7-7
Publication Date: 9/21/2019
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