Eric Robert Nolan graduated from Mary Washington College in 1994 with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology. He spent several years a news reporter and editorial writer for the Culpeper Star Exponent in Culpeper, Virginia. His work has also appeared on the front pages of numerous newspapers in Virginia, including The Free Lance – Star and The Daily Progress. Eric entered the field of philanthropy in 1996, as a grant writer for nonprofit healthcare organizations.
Eric’s poetry has been featured by Dead Beats Literary Blog, Dagda Publishing, The International War Veterans’ Poetry Archive, and elsewhere. His poetry will also be published by Illumen Magazine in its Spring 2014 issue.
I only saw one third of Roy Ward Baker’s “The Monster Club” (1981), when I was maybe in the third or fourth grade. It was a typical 80’s horror anthology movie, and I walked in when my older brother was watching the third and final segment on television. I’ll be damned if that segment alone didn’t creep me out, though. (And the reviews of the film that I’ve read indeed name “The Ghouls” as the scariest entry in the trio.)
It’s pretty tame by today’s standards, or at least to my adult sensibilities. It was definitely a lower-budget scary story, and probably pretty safe for television even back then. But I watched it again the other night, and it still retains its creepiness after … about 35 years, I guess. The titular monsters are indeed “ghouls” in the classical sense — they are human-looking fiends that are very much alive, but that feed on carrion (which actually makes them the reverse of zombies, I suppose.)
I can’t vouch for the rest of the movie, as I’ve only seen snippets, which seem pretty cheesy. The wraparound segments star none other than Vincent Price and John Carradine, which will of course appeal to fans of classic horror. (Carradine actually portrays a fictionalized version of R. Chetwynd – Hayes, the prominent British author who penned the stories on which the movie is based.)
If you saw this back in the day and “The Ghouls” got under your skin, then let me know. I’d get a kick out of knowing that I wasn’t the only one.
Rest in peace, Sir, and thank you for all the fun, magic and imagination that your pencils brought to the readers of “Batman.” You made study breaks endlessly more enjoyable for a stressed-out 1990’s undergrad. And you made weekend discoveries of your work at the shops in downtown Fredericksburg a pure joy.
Probably. But these were too cool not to put up as soon as possible. As you might remember from last year, they’re handmade by a sublimely talented craftswoman I know who has a truly macabre touch. They’re much better than anything store-bought.
Care to hear the convoluted worldview of a pathological poet? Then be sure to stop by this site’s My musings page. I promise you that my random ravings are truly infused with strangeness. (Or you get your money back.)
This isn’t the best reading of a poem, but I had fun last Fall when I recorded it. I’m not sure why I sound like Christopher Walken at the start of the piece: “He WATCHED with all his organs of concern …”
