The strangeness of the suburbs. A few reviews for Langwell Sorrow

Langwell Sorrow Stephen Hargadon

Last year (how briskly the years fall away, yet each day takes an age) I was privileged to be published in the tenth anniversary issue of the excellent Black Static. I was in the company of three other writers who published their very first stories in that magazine: Carole Johnstone, Tim Lees, and Ray Cluley. (I still remember, and still cherish, the excitement of that first acceptance.)

My story, Langwell Sorrow, is set in Manchester. There are pubs, there are big screens. There are voices. There are football teams. There are memories and hopes. There are streets to which you should never return. I do not quite know how the story began, or why it needed to be written. These things happen. The words happen.

I’m pleased to say it gathered a few decent reviews. Here they are.

For me, the real jewel in the crown in issue #60 is Langwell Sorrow by Stephen Hargadon. Quite simply, this is one of the best short stories I’ve ever read. It centres around a mans encounter with a patron at a pub that leads him on the trail of a local football team that few have heard of. The team is/was called Langwell Sorrow. Why is there no history online of Langwell Sorrow? Where is the ground they played at? Why have only a few heard of them? Why are they spoken about in hushed voices? These are all questions that need answering as our narrator seeks to piece together the truth of their existence, and perhaps his own. This is a beautifully melancholic story. I simply adored it. Many of the places mentioned are close to where I grew up and I believe this is one of the reasons I became so drawn into this story. Hargadon perfectly captures the feel of being a football supporter with his wonderful writing along with honing in on the camaraderie that exists between followers of the sport. The narrator is full of hope and sorrow at the same time, a wonderfully realistic character. The ending to the story is simply perfect. I enjoyed it so much I read the story again, twice! it is just brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, nothing else to say. The Grim Reader

The best tale this issue is novelette “Langwell Sorrow” by Stephen Hargadon about a depressed single office worker who becomes obsessed with discovering an otherworldly amateur football (soccer) team that he learns about in a pub. It’s an engaging story full of insights … Michael J, Goodreads

“ … giving way to wrinkles and creases, the eyes ever more frightened, more alert, too sensitive for the world, and then becoming dim …” I have long lived with the truly remarkable Stephen Hargadon canon of stories in Black Static, and this one I tell you is that canon’s latest apotheosis, beyond which I cannot conceive of a greater apotheosis. Except I expect there may be one. I put nothing past this author, least of all a goal. Here, we have pub talk as a sort of religion, pubs as scatologically and eschatologically worse than even one’s memory of them, one’s living in them … and better, too. Football, too, as soccer puppets of the darkening soul. I imagined stigmatised bodies hanging from those chanting outstretched soccer-scarves to the Sorrow. I cannot do justice to this text packed with wise saws, homilies, unique locals, the strangeness of suburbs of a city that are ordinary to the people living there but an alien land to you, like life and death themselves. The good-hearted winks at sometime bad bonhomie, a rough cut mix of rarefied Quentin S Crisp and something overwhelmingly and completely off-the-bar but true … And the narrator himself is a real character and a half. Full of anxieties as well as hidden hopes. DF Lewis 

… the local color and characters make [this story] a rewarding experi­ence. The nameless narrator finds old Gary Gorse at a local pub and listens to him grouse about his football team. Despite his discon­tent, he exists for the Langwell Sorrow (“Named after a church. Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows on the Lower Langwell Road”) and remains true to the green-and-maroon. The narrator is fascinated and goes off to find Langwell, the church, and the team. Paula Guran, Locus Reviews

“Langwell Sorrow” by Stephen Hargadon. The narrator meets a man in a pub who tells him about an obscure football team from an unknown town. He tracks down the village, which is not listed on any map. His journey leads to an unexpected discovery. The point of the story seems to be the narrator’s search for a way to escape his lonely existence. Victoria Silverwolf, Tangent Online

Our narrator drinks a lot in a pub and doesn’t have much more in his life. One night, a man he sees all the time started talking about all the football clubs he hated, which seemed to be all of them. What club did he support? Langwell Sorrow. Team colors were maroon and green. Our narrator is intrigued but can’t find out much more from the man, only that it was associated with a church called Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows. He starts to look around and finally found where they play. Nicely chilling ending. Sam Tomaino, SFRevu

Black Static 60 can be bought from TTA Press here. (If dark fiction is your thing, it’s well worth getting yourself a subscription.) For Kindle, it is available here.

black static 60 Langwell Sorrow

Cover by Ben Baldwin

McMara’s Rock – a few reviews

McMara’s Rock, published in Black Static #55 (Nov-Dec 2016), is my longest story to appear in print. (It is not the longest thing I’ve written, but those other beasts have yet to find a home.) I do not know, or cannot remember, how the story developed: often a story begins with no more than a certain image, a particular phrase – it’s an inkling, I suppose. But quite often the words go nowhere. I scratch my head. I drink coffee. The hours drift by. My heart is not in it. The words are flat, they do not fizz. I look at the story: it’s not you, I think, it’s me.

And when I revisit an unfinished or abandoned story, read through the notes (notes that had been jotted down with such enthusiasm, such energy) – well, quite often it’s like meeting an ex. I’m baffled as to what I ever saw in the thing: where’s the spark, the twang, the mystery? My notebooks are full of such false starts, unfulfilled beginnings. So are our memories. So are our days. From my window, as I type this, the bare winter trees, black against the white sky, look like old medical drawings, macabre and grave.

There is a real split rock, of course. I remember it from childhood holidays (rain, green fields, windy beaches, Tayto cheese and onion crisps, hens, gnats, churches, bungalows, more rain). The rock is still there, I believe, in County Sligo, although it is many years since I set eyes upon it. Perhaps you’ll visit it one day. Perhaps you’ll walk through it three times. If so, I wish you  luck.

Here are a few reviews of McMara’s Rock:

From Tangent Online. Review by Seraph:

Given that this was the story chosen to headline #55, so to speak, I expected very great things from Mr. Hargadon. He did not disappoint. We are taken to Ireland, and while the year is indeterminate, it’s not too far in the past, as cars are mentioned at several points. The titular rock, split in half in times far past, is a spectre, like that of death, shadowing the characters within the story like the Reaper himself: Always present, only occasionally seen or mentioned, and inevitably but a few steps behind.

The story follows two brothers, Jerome and Michael, on whose property the rock rests. There is a lengthy legend given to explain the presence of the rock, well executed, and while much of the story revolves around the brothers, never is the rock forgotten, and it haunts the lives of the two boys. Michael is a quiet, withdrawn boy, skirting the line between sanity and madness for much of his life. Jerome is the opposite, outgoing, constantly chasing after the ladies, lost in a different kind of madness that afflicts quite a few young men in their youth, or so I hear. However, it doesn’t take long to find just how disturbed they both are. Ever more withdrawn, Michael clobbers a young girl Jerome had brought to their cottage, purely out of what can only be described as the result of a paranoid persecution complex. Jerome doesn’t seem even to be bothered, suggesting Michael have his way with her while she is twitching half-unconscious on the floor. Were that not bad enough, when she wakes, and cries that she will go to the police, Jerome simply slips her some arsenic and buries her in the vegetable garden. Nonchalant. As if one does such labor every day. Michael is appalled, but only because he is afraid “his brother might make him do something he didn’t know how to do.”

Throughout, the references to Michael’s texts, his strange prayers, his muttering, yield an impression of an incredibly disturbed individual, and yet we see not quite as disturbed as Jerome. Not yet. There is plenty of evidence later in the story that this event has catastrophic consequence. While Jerome spends their inheritance, eventually drinking himself out of his mind and into a ditch, Michael delves deeper and deeper into madness, devouring every book, kept company only by the droning of Mrs. Dolan, an elderly woman who takes care of him as best she is able, and the many feral cats that have made his cottage their home. It’s during this time that the rock captures Jerome’s mind, and in one of his many endless schemes decides to charge admission to viewing the rock. This of course goes over as well as it could, which is not at all. He finds himself shoveling manure for a circus, scheming to make a fake replica of the rock and take it on tour with the circus, and in his drink-addled delirium manages to force himself upon the daughter of the ringmaster, and gets soundly thrashed for his reprehensible conduct. While Jerome wakes up in yet another ditch, Michael is steadily losing his tenuous grasp on reality even further, and his mind is also captured by the rock. It twists and warps the fading sanity of his waking visions, and his desires turn towards the grotesque, fantasizing sexually about his dead mother and his elderly caregiver. It’s not long after, as Jerome is cheating and bedding his way into the pocketbooks of women to make his way home, that Michael turns to far darker pursuits, slaughtering a goat and eating parts of it in a semi-ritualistic experiment, thinking to gain the virility of the goat fabled in arcane texts. Not long after, Jerome finally makes his way home, and after a drunken rage pounding on the cottage door, finds his way out to the field, to test the legend and curse of the rock. He passes out between the two halves, only to fall afoul of Michael’s panicked madness. When Mrs. Dolan brings her daughter to visit him, the daughter finds not only Jerome’s body with his brain scooped out, but any number of just as disturbing elements, such as the goat and the parental bedroom. She falls prey to his grotesqueries, and suffers the same fate as Jerome and the goat. Mrs. Dolan arrives just in time for Michael to offer her the brains of her daughter to eat, claiming it was all for her, so they could live together, forever. She flees, and when the authorities rush to the cottage, they find everything aside from Michael himself, who has vanished. The macabre story ends with another dash of legend about the rock, about how it is cursed. About how it curses anyone who sees it split in half, that it really may not be split at all, finishing on a chilling note. So, there you have it … The most chilling part of the story for me is just how perfectly Michael’s slide into madness is described. It’s also rare to find an author who just takes their time with the story, not rushing it, letting it slowly build so that the mind of the reader does the work of horror. It doesn’t rely on shock value or the supernatural to convey the fear, although there are elements of both present. It is the marching inevitability of death and insanity, building and building, that makes this a masterful stroke of the pen, much like the horror stories of Edgar Allen Poe. If you are a fan of horror/weird fiction, which I can only assume you are if you are reading a review of Black Static, this is a must read, and I heartily recommend it. It is by no means a short offering, but don’t let that discourage you in the slightest. It is well worth your time.

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DF Lewis:

…  a classic worthy of your attention …  the characterisation of the two brothers is to die for.

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SFRevu:

The titular rock is actually a rock split in two. It’s in a field owned by two brothers, Michael and Jerome, near the town of Drumsheedy. There is a legend about how the rock got there, but no one really knows. The two brothers are different. It is Michael who stays at home and would never leave. Jerome travels and gets himself into trouble. But it’s when Jerome comes home that things happen. Nice build-up … to some true horror.

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This Is Horror:

First up is ‘McMara’s Rock’, by Stephen Hargadon, easily the longest story here (verging on novella length). It is a … tale of a mysterious split rock in a field in rural Ireland, which finally settles on two brothers who come to inherit the land (and rock), and their tangentially tragic, yet wildly different lives … lyrical and poetically detailed … hints at a larger cosmic horror … there are some wonderful images to be had, and a keen sense of the tragedy of insanity.

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Black Static 53 is available from TTA Press here (or from Amazon). Well worth buying a subscription.

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Illustration for McMara’s Rock by Ben Baldwin. http://www.benbaldwin.co.uk

Roll up, roll up: Mittens, a new story.

The last story I had published in Black Static was ‘Listen, Listen‘, back in March.

Time moves quicky, the world is a different place, perhaps a shittier place, and here I am again, in the current issue of Black Static, with a new story, ‘Mittens’, a treat for afficiandos of fine knitwear and fast knitting.

The accompanying artwork, stylish and eerie, is by Richard Wagner, who illustrated ‘The Visitors‘ in issue 45.

Here’s how the story begins …

The first time I met him he was sat on the edge of a bed, naked except for a pair of pink mittens. The Foxbridge Hotel in Buxton. We found the body of a woman in the cupboard. She had been strangled and her chest had been cut open. Knitting needles pierced her major organs. There was blood on Percy Scollop’s mittens. Under the bed we discovered a black sports holdall containing several skeins of yarn and a selection of knitted items such as dolls, gloves, half-finished scarves. Scollop denied everything. He said he wasn’t Scollop. And he said the woman in the cupboard was not dead.

Black Static 53 Contents

BS 53 looks a strong issue, with stories by Priya Sharma, Steve Rasnic Tem, Harmony Neal, Kristi DeMeester, Danny Rhodes, Charles Wilkinson, plus regular features by Stephen Volk and Lynda E. Rucker. There are Peter Tennant’s book reviews, while Gary Couzens casts an eye over the latest DVD and Blu-Ray releases: The Witch, Penda’s Fen, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Goosebumps, The Hound of the Baskervilles, That Cold Day in the Park, Journey to the Shore, Evolution, Night of Fear, Inn of the Damned, Me and My Mates vs the Zombie Apocalypse, The Club, Even Lambs Have Teeth, Cherry Tree, The Ones Below, Visions, Baskin, i-Lived, The Forest, Intruders.

Black Static 53 can be bought here.

BS53cover

Cover illustration by Tara Bush

Reviews for ‘Listen, Listen’

Some reviews for ‘Listen, Listen’ (Black Static 51)

When his father dies, Robert Haig moves into his house. His aunt tells him she had been telepathically in communication with his father and that his last words were about a place that had been burned and in which a man who died. The ghost of old Haig reprises his last dream. A nasty, very effective, grim tale. Sam Tomaino at sfrevu.com

Hargadon is the name of an author of whose work I have become a fan over the last few years … The main theme, of how one dies and what is supposed to happen after death, depending on whether one dies peacefully or while dreaming, is certainly original … We have spontaneous combustion, regrets, guilt, collected toys, Yeats’s Byzantium, father-son relationship, life without dreams not being a life at all, workers-boss relationship, money-making, the nature of bodies when burning, telepathy, death as the most dramatic thing you ever do… DF Lewis

In ‘Listen, Listen,’ Stephen Hargadon introduces us to Robert Haig, who inherits his toy-making father’s fortune. But Robert’s old man comes back to torment him in a unique way in this wonderfully written study of ghosts and the afterlife. The Horror Fiction Review

… reminds me a little of Mark Samuels crossed with Reggie Oliver … There’s far too little witty, decadent and disturbing prose out there, and I’m delighted to have discovered another author who is so good at it. John L Probert

Black Static 51 is available from TTA Press or Amazon.

LL

Illustration by Vince Haig: barquing.com

 

Listen, Listen

I have a new story, “Listen, Listen”, in Black Static #51.

The March–April issue also contains new novelettes and short stories by Mark Morris, Stephen Graham Jones, Gary McMahon, Caren Gussoff, and Norman Prentiss. The cover art is by Martin Hanford, and interior illustrations are by Vince Haig, Jim Burns, Ben Baldwin, and Richard Wagner. Features: Coffinmaker’s Blues by Stephen Volk (comment); Notes From the Borderland by Lynda E. Rucker (comment); Case Notes by Peter Tennant (book reviews and an interview with Molly Tanzer); Blood Spectrum by Tony Lee (DVD/Blu-ray reviews).

You can read and see excerpts from issue 51 here.

I’m particularly pleased by Vince Haig‘s artwork for “Listen, Listen”. Seems to capture its tone and atmosphere very well.

LL

Here’s how the story begins:

“Richard Haig, known to long-standing business acquaintances and certain family members as old Haig, died five weeks ago. On hearing the unhappy news, his eldest son and heir, Robert Haig, had returned from Peterborough where he had been working on his memoirs (two hundred and forty-one pages of rhyming couplets) to attend the funeral, a grand, sombre masque of white blooms and black veils. The whole town came out to smirk. Robert softened himself on gin and swapped polite words with various unremarkable cousins, nephews and simpering admirers of the dearly departed. Resisting the call of Peterborough (where his latest muse, Emily, was waiting for him in a flat above a fish and chip shop), Robert decided to stay on at Haig Heights, an ugly Tudorish pile perched on a hill at the northern end of town. Its timbers creaked and moaned in the cold winds that blew in from Russia. The home, if it can be called a home, had all the charm of a dusty and infrequently visited provincial museum, a certain dull menace, and was efficiently run by a robust housekeeper called Mrs Furnivall. No one knew if this woman was married, or had been married, or wished to be married; it seemed unlikely that she would tolerate something as frivolous in her life as a husband. On the other hand, no one could quite imagine that she had ever been a little Miss, all ribbons and plaits and moonlit intrigues. It was as though Mrs Furnivall had turned Mrs into an entirely new category of being, the mysteries of which were known only to her. While at the Heights, young Haig did his best not to interfere with Mrs Furnivall’s endless round of cleaning and arranging. He retreated to the leathery gloom of the library and set about putting old Haig’s estate in order. But young Haig wasn’t so young anymore and he wasn’t very good at putting things in order. Quite often he abandoned the library for the Cock and Badger, where he found strong ale and a serviceable muse.”

Black Static 51 can be bought here.

Enjoy. And don’t work too hard.

 

 

 

 

Some reviews of The Toilet (published in Black Static 49)

“Down in the neon gloom of the Toilet, among the mumblers and dribblers, the dead souls with their dead dreams, Rio Snagg indicated, with a buyer’s nod, that he wanted the same again; the same again being a pint of the celebrated local brew, Knicker Sniffer, a fierce and sooty fluid cited as the malign inspiration behind many a Friday night coshing and bludgeoning.”

The Toilet Stephen Hargadon Black Static 49

Since it’s appearance in Black Static #49, a few curious passers-by and hardy souls have stepped into The Toilet. Here are their thoughts:

 

Stephen Hargadon steps up to bat next [in Black Static #49] and, quite frankly, knocks it out of the park with The Toilet. Doing what he does so well – urban horror that takes the everyday sights and sounds of the city and twists them into something much grimmer – here he takes us on a journey into a semi-hidden inner city bar that serves a very special kind of home brew.

When a murder occurs outside, police inspector Burroughs heads into the dingy joint in an effort to collect statements… only to find himself trapped in a waking nightmare. It’s a remarkable piece, and despite the short length, Hargadon manages to dredge up an atmosphere so sickly, decrepit and smeared in human excretions that you can almost smell it. It’s dark, it’s nasty, it’s slightly confounding (don’t expect to grasp its secrets easily on the first read)… and it’s bloody brilliant.

Gareth Jones ~ Dreadcentral.com

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While investigating an assault, detective Frank Burroughs becomes addicted to an unusual beer in Stephen Hargadon’s ‘The Toilet.’ The Toilet is a small bar, located a flight below street level. Burroughs’ life changes after he visits the restroom in this creepy, noir-ish mind bender.

The Horror Fiction Review

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Rio Snagg is felled by someone with a hammer outside of a pub called the Toilet. Detective Burroughs investigates but runs into trouble. I can’t go into more detail but this one was very strange

Sam Tomaino ~ sfrevu.com

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Hargadon is my cup of tea as a writer … Here the drink is stronger, Knicker Sniffer on the pump, in a basement pub that used to be a public convenience … Hargadon’s … labyrinth of The Toilet’s own lavatory has to be read to be believed. It is something else altogether. REALLY.

DF Lewis ~ The Dreamcatcher of Books

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Want to go to The Toilet?

The print edition of Black Static 49 (November-December 2015 issue) can be bought here. It contains new novelettes and short stories by Ralph Robert Moore, Thana Niveau, Simon Bestwick, Stephen Hargadon, Erinn L. Kemper, and Tim Lees. The cover art is by Martin Hanford, and interior illustrations are by Ben Baldwin, Martin Hanford, and Vincent Sammy. Features: Coffinmaker’s Blues by Stephen Volk (comment); Notes From the Borderland by Lynda E. Rucker (comment); Case Notes by Peter Tennant (book reviews and an interview with Nicole Cushing); Blood Spectrum by Tony Lee (DVD/Blu-ray reviews).

An electronic version is available from Amazon & Smashwords.

Black Static 49

What they said about The Visitors

Praise for The Visitors

Stephen Hargadon The Visitors

Illustration by Richard Wagner


Subtle, well observed, beautifully nuanced – Nicholas Royle @nicholasroyle


Stephen Hargadon continues his impressive run in the pages of Black Static with The Visitors – a first-person narrative that flows along with stream-of-consciousness ease as our narrator relates to us the details of his personal history, and his days spent perched at the local bar drinking pints of IPA as the conversations of others chip in around him. The really impressive thing about Hargadon’s writing is his ability to put you, as the reader, right in the place where he wants you – as though sitting at the table with his narrator as the general bustle of life continues around your conversation, and he occasionally interjects about getting another drink just as soon as there’s a space at the bar or he’s finished talking about the current topic.

The more obviously fantastical elements of Hargadon’s previously published work in Black Static are toned down, here – though things do come to a close on a weirder note that happily flirts with the ghostly versus the unreliable narrator, making for a strangely satisfying finish that presents its final reveal like a punch line … A damned good read? You bet.

Gareth Jones at Dread Central


I could quote every sentence in this story as a particular gem … this is a Hargadon ‘perfect storm’ of a Friday evening in a British city pub … life itself seen through the half-cynical, half-spiritual prism of pubtalk … A genuine irresistible last one for the road.

D.F. Lewis at Rameau’s Nephew 


… an enticing journey into the world of British pubs …

Mario Guslandi at Hellnotes.com

 


… a nice sting at the end.

Sam Tomaino at sfrevu.com


Illustration by Richard Wagner

Illustration by Richard Wagner