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Ghostly By Gaslight
FEARFUL TALES OF A LOST ERA
Disinterred from the velvet draped coffins of another age - 11 masterpieces of the macabre, the eerie, the supernatural.
Contents
The Friend Of Death by Pedro Antonio de Alarcon
Who Knows? by Guy de Maupassant
The Story Of A Ghost by Violet Hunt
The Spider Of Guyana by Erckmann-Chatrian
The Moon-Slave by Barry Pain
The Spell Of The Sword by Frank Aubrey
The Man Who Lived Backwards by Allen Upward
The God Pan by Huan Mee
The Mystery Of The Bronze Statue by W.B. Sutton
Doctor Armstrong by D.L.B.S.
The Enchanted City by Hubert Murray
Disinterred from the velvet draped coffins of another age - 11 masterpieces of the macabre, the eerie, the supernatural.
Contents
The Friend Of Death by Pedro Antonio de Alarcon
Who Knows? by Guy de Maupassant
The Story Of A Ghost by Violet Hunt
The Spider Of Guyana by Erckmann-Chatrian
The Moon-Slave by Barry Pain
The Spell Of The Sword by Frank Aubrey
The Man Who Lived Backwards by Allen Upward
The God Pan by Huan Mee
The Mystery Of The Bronze Statue by W.B. Sutton
Doctor Armstrong by D.L.B.S.
The Enchanted City by Hubert Murray
- GenresHorror
223 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 1971
1 person is currently reading
36 people want to read
About the author
Sam Moskowitz
128 books14 followersSam Moskowitz (June 30, 1920-April 15, 1997) was an early fan and organizer of interest in science fiction and, later, a writer, critic, and historian of the field. As a child, Moskowitz greatly enjoyed reading science fiction pulp magazines. As a teenager, he organized a branch of the Science Fiction League. Meanwhile, Donald A. Wollheim helped organize the Futurians, a rival club with Marxist sympathies. While still in his teens, Moskowitz became chairman of the first World Science Fiction Convention held in New York City in 1939. He barred several Futurians from the convention because they threatened to disrupt it. This event is referred to by historians of fandom as the "Great Exclusion Act."
Moskowitz later worked professionally in the science fiction field. He edited Science-Fiction Plus, a short-lived genre magazine owned by Hugo Gernsback, in 1953. He compiled about two dozen anthologies, and a few single-author collections, most published in the 1960s and early 1970s. Moskowitz also wrote a handful of short stories (three published in 1941, one in 1953, three in 1956). His most enduring work is likely to be his writing on the history of science fiction, in particular two collections of short author biographies, Explorers of the Infinite and Seekers of Tomorrow, as well as the highly regarded Under the Moons of Mars: A History and Anthology of “The Scientific Romance” in the Munsey Magazines, 1912-1920. Moskowitz has been criticized for eccentrically assigning priorities and tracing influences regarding particular themes and ideas based principally on publication dates, as well as for some supposed inaccuracies. His exhaustive cataloguing of early sf magazine stories by important genre authors remains the best resource for nonspecialists.
Moskowitz's most popular work may be The Immortal Storm, a historical review of internecine strife within fandom. Moskowitz wrote it in a bombastic style that made the events he described seem so important that, as fan historian Harry Warner, Jr. quipped, "If read directly after a history of World War II, it does not seem like an anticlimax."
Moskowitz was also renowned as a science fiction book collector, with a tremendous number of important early works and rarities. His book collection was auctioned off after his death.
As "Sam Martin", he was also editor of the trade publications Quick Frozen Foods and Quick Frozen Foods International for many years.
First Fandom, an organization of science fiction fans active before 1940, gives an award in Moskowitz' memory each year at the World Science Fiction Convention.
Moskowitz smoked cigarettes frequently throughout his adult life. A few years before his death, throat cancer required the surgical removal of his larynx. He continued to speak at science fiction conventions, using an electronic voice-box held against his throat. Throughout his later years, although his controversial opinions were often disputed by others, he was indisputably recognized as the leading authority on the history of science fiction.
Moskowitz later worked professionally in the science fiction field. He edited Science-Fiction Plus, a short-lived genre magazine owned by Hugo Gernsback, in 1953. He compiled about two dozen anthologies, and a few single-author collections, most published in the 1960s and early 1970s. Moskowitz also wrote a handful of short stories (three published in 1941, one in 1953, three in 1956). His most enduring work is likely to be his writing on the history of science fiction, in particular two collections of short author biographies, Explorers of the Infinite and Seekers of Tomorrow, as well as the highly regarded Under the Moons of Mars: A History and Anthology of “The Scientific Romance” in the Munsey Magazines, 1912-1920. Moskowitz has been criticized for eccentrically assigning priorities and tracing influences regarding particular themes and ideas based principally on publication dates, as well as for some supposed inaccuracies. His exhaustive cataloguing of early sf magazine stories by important genre authors remains the best resource for nonspecialists.
Moskowitz's most popular work may be The Immortal Storm, a historical review of internecine strife within fandom. Moskowitz wrote it in a bombastic style that made the events he described seem so important that, as fan historian Harry Warner, Jr. quipped, "If read directly after a history of World War II, it does not seem like an anticlimax."
Moskowitz was also renowned as a science fiction book collector, with a tremendous number of important early works and rarities. His book collection was auctioned off after his death.
As "Sam Martin", he was also editor of the trade publications Quick Frozen Foods and Quick Frozen Foods International for many years.
First Fandom, an organization of science fiction fans active before 1940, gives an award in Moskowitz' memory each year at the World Science Fiction Convention.
Moskowitz smoked cigarettes frequently throughout his adult life. A few years before his death, throat cancer required the surgical removal of his larynx. He continued to speak at science fiction conventions, using an electronic voice-box held against his throat. Throughout his later years, although his controversial opinions were often disputed by others, he was indisputably recognized as the leading authority on the history of science fiction.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
August 21, 2017
The 1960s and 1970s birthed a ton of paperbacks like this. New publishers trying to fatten up their line (*catalog free upon request!*) would raid public domain holdings for free reprints. Books of ghost stories (or supernatural tales - while I'm not knowledgeable enough to say for sure that "horror" was *not* used as a marketing term back in, say, the 20's or something, my feeling is that Horror, as a marketing niche, probably didn't become widely used until the 70's and the rise of the blockbuster paperbacks) sold well, so, hey, let's dig through the magazine files...
Books like this have an inbuilt charm to the horror reader with wide ranging tastes - a chance to read some obscure stuff and maybe, just maybe, stumble across a real gem (I mean, TARTARUS PRESS, ASH TREE PRESS etc. have made a nice chunk of change doing beautiful reproductions and collections by forgotten authors, or forgotten works by famous authors, etc - this, in part, feeds off the drive of bibliophiles but also that secret, smaller drive to read some dusty gem).
Well, there are no dusty gems here. I won't go so far as to say that all the great stories are known and have been published, as (some) modern horror readers tastes have expanded more into an appreciation of older styles and approaches, so there's probably still some wonderful little treat waiting out there for you and you and you... but the likelihood gets slimmer for the widely read (although translations of foreign authors, ahhh, there's another thing entirely) - by that I certainly don't mean to imply *I've* exhausted my reading (if I was wealthy enough to afford those wonderful, aforementioned Tartarus & Ash Tree books, and had a whole other lifetime of time, perhaps - hell, I haven't even caught up with much H. Russell Wakefield yet!), just that for the dedicated reader the likelihood of that hope actually bearing fruit (to mix a metaphor) is elusive at best. Put another way, a lot of stories are forgotten now (even if able to be appreciated by a charitable eye) because they are forgettable.
Which brings us to this little volume. I'd previously read about half the stories but gave them all re-reads (for review purposes - see how I care about you, dear Goodreads friends?) unless my notes told me they were totally dire. So, what do you get for your .75 cents?
Well, a bunch of weak tea, mostly. This book may be called "Ghostly" but there's a healthy dose of fantasy/dark fantasy (not a recognized genre at the time of either the writing or the compiling), a smattering of "weird" tales, a monster story, and a few things we'd call ghost or horror stories. A few. Now, that's not not a knock on those genres, just a warning that anyone thinking they're getting a bunch of Victorian and Edwardian era ghost stories better think again.
"The Enchanted City" by Hubert Murray is a short fable about a fabulous, unreachable city... and the cost of getting there, relayed by a dying Indian. Eh. Frank Aubrey's "The Spell of the Sword" is a pedestrian story of a cursed sword that drives its wielder to kill. Eh - redux. A medical man puts the finishing touches on his long-struggled-over philosophical treatise on the nature of suffering, when he's suddenly flung back into a past life of misery in a torture chamber and upon his return finds a karmic test awaiting him in "Doctor Armstrong" by the anonymous - "lost to the ages" - D.L.B.S.. Eh.
There's also a straight-ahead mystery story hiding in here, "The God Pan" by the mysteriously forgotten Huan Mee, in which a priceless necklace is stolen by a sneak thief who then seems to vanish without a trace. I don't like mystery stories mucking up my supernatural/weird genre fare, generally, but this was okay - a quick read and the chipper banter traded between the three thieves (a mastermind and his two toughs) was cute. Still, not my bag.
And then, there's also a straight-ahead monster story here by literary conglomerate Erckmann-Chatrian. I had read it before and wasn't a fan, but I re-read it (rare for me) after having collected (somewhat) my thoughts on the sub-genre of the "monster story" when reviewing The Mammoth Book of Monsters. Well, my opinion didn't change much. Here's the thing. The story has a great setting (the German Alps) and set-up (a village's profitable business as a health spa/hot springs destination is jinxed when various bones begin showing up in the hot waters that plunge down the mountain from the thermal fountain in the mountainside). There's even an African nanny who has a vision that solves the mystery - this part is both kind of neat and problematic. Neat because it was unexpected in such a simple story. Problematic because not only is it racist (in the passive sense, in which anyone "other/foreign/exotic" is possessed of innate magical powers or heightened abilities. I actually have very little problem with that, myself, but it is racist - and sexist in this case - just one of those examples of small, innocuous bricks that build to a heavy load of cultural control. On the other hand, defined too far as virulent racism to be expunged and we arrive at situations that plague wonderful characters like poor Charlie Chan, a talented, well-respected hero deemed "too racist" simply through loss of scale - but then, I'm not Asian, so what the hell do I know?) but it's also a story writing cheat that solves a POV problem while it paradoxically succeeds in robbing the climax of any suspense. But even all of that could have been forgiven if the story didn't possess an even bigger flaw - what monster could lurk in that cave, causing these hideous depredations? Well, the story is called "The Spider Of Guyana" (alternate title "The Spider Crab") - so you figure it out. I mean, would Shirley Jackson's classic be so well-remembered if it was called "The Town Where They Beat Someone To Death With Rocks" (another example - that classic Japanese retitling of PSYCHO as "The Man Who Dressed As His Mother")? Another reviewer mentioned M.R. James's "The Ash Tree" - and I'll admit that tale came to mind as I read this one as well - but unlike that reviewer, I don't feel comfortable assuming James had read this Erckmann-Chatrian story - and imagine a hordes of well-versed James scholars descending on my head if I made such a claim...
There's also a story in the classic weird tale mold, "The Man Who Lived Backwards" by Allen Upward which illustrates quite nicely another flaw of many a forgotten tale from the magazine short fiction booms. Stories that exist only to illustrate an interesting idea or concept, almost completely lacking in "story". And so a British, college type chappy chats with a Hindu student (cue off-handed racism - "I can't remember his name - its one of those interminable strings of Hindu gibberish") who introduces him to, and then gives a practical illustration of, retrogressive time. End of story. Oh, there's some hook about the main character having broken up with his girl but really it's all an excuse for backwards talk and wine pouring backwards into bottles (duuuude!), etc. etc. Eh.
Guy de Maupassant, a personal fave, is represented here by one of his weaker works, "Who Knows?". I'd read it before and I still think the opening - in which a fellow who generally likes solitude (not exactly a misanthrope, he just tires easily of people) and tends to treat objects as friends, returns home one night to his country villa and discovers all of his furniture walking out the front door and escaping into the countryside - is very well-done. The second half, in which he later stumbles across his possessions for sale in an antique store in a small town, presided over by a sinister little fat man, well, less so. It's an oddly unsatisfying story (supposedly taken as indicative of Maupassant's declining sanity at the time of publication) and reads like a remembered nightmare wedded to an ineffective wrap-up ("conclusion" isn't quite the right word).
"The Mystery Of The Bronze Statue" by W.B. Sutton in which the titular object is presented by a rival to our narrator, only for the latter to continually discover people (friends, his wife) dead at its foot when left alone with the metallic centurion. Not really right to call it a "mystery" as its a pretty straight-up revenge/horror story with the obvious (from my synopsis) supernatural event occurring, although the author never bothers to explain it in any way, letting the story end on one of those "moments of horror's peak" that were popular once upon a day. Not a great or even, honestly, a good story, but kind of interesting for those reasons.
"The Story of A Ghost" by Violet Hunt is a somewhat enjoyable, inverted ghost story. Hunt's story may be the first manifestation (1895) which has reappeared in varied forms throughout the intervening decades - a man is brought back from the brink of death, but lacks a soul/spirit (dig up the MFTV movie CHILLER if you;d like to see a cryogenic variation of this concept). In this case, despondent wife will/prays/wishes hubby back from death's door and is stuck with a bland, innocuous shell of his former self (he's not evil or anything, just vacuous and dull... there's no "there", there). Hints of the idea that he might be some kind of "spirit sinkhole", inadvertently draining the energy from those around him, remain undeveloped. Pity.
Special notice slot goes to "The Friend of Death" by Pedro Antonio de Alarcón, one of these figures of the European "fantastique" movement who hasn't had a lot of his work translated (last time I checked, which admittedly was over a decade ago). This story is essentially a novella (first quarter of the book) and would nowadays be called either fantasy or dark fantasy. It was an interesting read, although not really my bag, with some surprising things in the second half. The basic story follows the classic romantic model, a rags to riches to rags story (the beggar, swept from the streets by nobility, then discharged on the death of his patron, only later to find he's actually the guy's son and thus due title, lands, etc.) with a "lost love" prominent in the mix. But in this case, our hero decides to kill himself, only to have the Angel of Death befriend him (Neil Gaiman, are you listening?) and help him fix his fortunes (The Grim Reaper feels sorry for how deaths have caused all this guy's misery). After much puttering about over dying kings, betrayals, inheritances and whatnot - and with the main plot resolved by the 3/4 mark - the extended coda features an odd phantasmagoria in which Death whisks Gil Gil (our Hero) around the world in his chariot of bone, showing him the many faces of how man lives and dies (cemeteries are much more populated than cities), questioning why men fight and kill when Death's existence means that they should all enjoy each other's company in the short time they have. Then, it's off to Death's spartan, empty home at the North Pole (yet another Fortress of Solitude, Doc Savage and Superman take note!), made out of an iceberg, where Death reveals even more mind-blowing revelations! Want to know? Okay! Pretty amazing, huh? I mean, for the 1880s, right? Sure, a bit long in the tooth during the typical Romance parts, but crazy, interesting fun by the end.
Best story in the book - and it's just a good solid slice of English paganism I'd read previous, is Barry Pain's cautionary tale "The Moon Slave" - in which a fiery, wanton woman is drawn to dance for spectral figures under the full moon in an overgrown hedgemaze. Once leads to more and eventually, well, that would be telling. It's quite nice - not exactly Decadence, not exactly Algernon Blackwood - perhaps Blackwood by way of Saki is the ticket.
So, not so much undiscovered gems but only one real stinker. "Justly forgotten" sums up most of these pieces. Cool cover, I'll say that!
Books like this have an inbuilt charm to the horror reader with wide ranging tastes - a chance to read some obscure stuff and maybe, just maybe, stumble across a real gem (I mean, TARTARUS PRESS, ASH TREE PRESS etc. have made a nice chunk of change doing beautiful reproductions and collections by forgotten authors, or forgotten works by famous authors, etc - this, in part, feeds off the drive of bibliophiles but also that secret, smaller drive to read some dusty gem).
Well, there are no dusty gems here. I won't go so far as to say that all the great stories are known and have been published, as (some) modern horror readers tastes have expanded more into an appreciation of older styles and approaches, so there's probably still some wonderful little treat waiting out there for you and you and you... but the likelihood gets slimmer for the widely read (although translations of foreign authors, ahhh, there's another thing entirely) - by that I certainly don't mean to imply *I've* exhausted my reading (if I was wealthy enough to afford those wonderful, aforementioned Tartarus & Ash Tree books, and had a whole other lifetime of time, perhaps - hell, I haven't even caught up with much H. Russell Wakefield yet!), just that for the dedicated reader the likelihood of that hope actually bearing fruit (to mix a metaphor) is elusive at best. Put another way, a lot of stories are forgotten now (even if able to be appreciated by a charitable eye) because they are forgettable.
Which brings us to this little volume. I'd previously read about half the stories but gave them all re-reads (for review purposes - see how I care about you, dear Goodreads friends?) unless my notes told me they were totally dire. So, what do you get for your .75 cents?
Well, a bunch of weak tea, mostly. This book may be called "Ghostly" but there's a healthy dose of fantasy/dark fantasy (not a recognized genre at the time of either the writing or the compiling), a smattering of "weird" tales, a monster story, and a few things we'd call ghost or horror stories. A few. Now, that's not not a knock on those genres, just a warning that anyone thinking they're getting a bunch of Victorian and Edwardian era ghost stories better think again.
"The Enchanted City" by Hubert Murray is a short fable about a fabulous, unreachable city... and the cost of getting there, relayed by a dying Indian. Eh. Frank Aubrey's "The Spell of the Sword" is a pedestrian story of a cursed sword that drives its wielder to kill. Eh - redux. A medical man puts the finishing touches on his long-struggled-over philosophical treatise on the nature of suffering, when he's suddenly flung back into a past life of misery in a torture chamber and upon his return finds a karmic test awaiting him in "Doctor Armstrong" by the anonymous - "lost to the ages" - D.L.B.S.. Eh.
There's also a straight-ahead mystery story hiding in here, "The God Pan" by the mysteriously forgotten Huan Mee, in which a priceless necklace is stolen by a sneak thief who then seems to vanish without a trace. I don't like mystery stories mucking up my supernatural/weird genre fare, generally, but this was okay - a quick read and the chipper banter traded between the three thieves (a mastermind and his two toughs) was cute. Still, not my bag.
And then, there's also a straight-ahead monster story here by literary conglomerate Erckmann-Chatrian. I had read it before and wasn't a fan, but I re-read it (rare for me) after having collected (somewhat) my thoughts on the sub-genre of the "monster story" when reviewing The Mammoth Book of Monsters. Well, my opinion didn't change much. Here's the thing. The story has a great setting (the German Alps) and set-up (a village's profitable business as a health spa/hot springs destination is jinxed when various bones begin showing up in the hot waters that plunge down the mountain from the thermal fountain in the mountainside). There's even an African nanny who has a vision that solves the mystery - this part is both kind of neat and problematic. Neat because it was unexpected in such a simple story. Problematic because not only is it racist (in the passive sense, in which anyone "other/foreign/exotic" is possessed of innate magical powers or heightened abilities. I actually have very little problem with that, myself, but it is racist - and sexist in this case - just one of those examples of small, innocuous bricks that build to a heavy load of cultural control. On the other hand, defined too far as virulent racism to be expunged and we arrive at situations that plague wonderful characters like poor Charlie Chan, a talented, well-respected hero deemed "too racist" simply through loss of scale - but then, I'm not Asian, so what the hell do I know?) but it's also a story writing cheat that solves a POV problem while it paradoxically succeeds in robbing the climax of any suspense. But even all of that could have been forgiven if the story didn't possess an even bigger flaw - what monster could lurk in that cave, causing these hideous depredations? Well, the story is called "The Spider Of Guyana" (alternate title "The Spider Crab") - so you figure it out. I mean, would Shirley Jackson's classic be so well-remembered if it was called "The Town Where They Beat Someone To Death With Rocks" (another example - that classic Japanese retitling of PSYCHO as "The Man Who Dressed As His Mother")? Another reviewer mentioned M.R. James's "The Ash Tree" - and I'll admit that tale came to mind as I read this one as well - but unlike that reviewer, I don't feel comfortable assuming James had read this Erckmann-Chatrian story - and imagine a hordes of well-versed James scholars descending on my head if I made such a claim...
There's also a story in the classic weird tale mold, "The Man Who Lived Backwards" by Allen Upward which illustrates quite nicely another flaw of many a forgotten tale from the magazine short fiction booms. Stories that exist only to illustrate an interesting idea or concept, almost completely lacking in "story". And so a British, college type chappy chats with a Hindu student (cue off-handed racism - "I can't remember his name - its one of those interminable strings of Hindu gibberish") who introduces him to, and then gives a practical illustration of, retrogressive time. End of story. Oh, there's some hook about the main character having broken up with his girl but really it's all an excuse for backwards talk and wine pouring backwards into bottles (duuuude!), etc. etc. Eh.
Guy de Maupassant, a personal fave, is represented here by one of his weaker works, "Who Knows?". I'd read it before and I still think the opening - in which a fellow who generally likes solitude (not exactly a misanthrope, he just tires easily of people) and tends to treat objects as friends, returns home one night to his country villa and discovers all of his furniture walking out the front door and escaping into the countryside - is very well-done. The second half, in which he later stumbles across his possessions for sale in an antique store in a small town, presided over by a sinister little fat man, well, less so. It's an oddly unsatisfying story (supposedly taken as indicative of Maupassant's declining sanity at the time of publication) and reads like a remembered nightmare wedded to an ineffective wrap-up ("conclusion" isn't quite the right word).
"The Mystery Of The Bronze Statue" by W.B. Sutton in which the titular object is presented by a rival to our narrator, only for the latter to continually discover people (friends, his wife) dead at its foot when left alone with the metallic centurion. Not really right to call it a "mystery" as its a pretty straight-up revenge/horror story with the obvious (from my synopsis) supernatural event occurring, although the author never bothers to explain it in any way, letting the story end on one of those "moments of horror's peak" that were popular once upon a day. Not a great or even, honestly, a good story, but kind of interesting for those reasons.
"The Story of A Ghost" by Violet Hunt is a somewhat enjoyable, inverted ghost story. Hunt's story may be the first manifestation (1895) which has reappeared in varied forms throughout the intervening decades - a man is brought back from the brink of death, but lacks a soul/spirit (dig up the MFTV movie CHILLER if you;d like to see a cryogenic variation of this concept). In this case, despondent wife will/prays/wishes hubby back from death's door and is stuck with a bland, innocuous shell of his former self (he's not evil or anything, just vacuous and dull... there's no "there", there). Hints of the idea that he might be some kind of "spirit sinkhole", inadvertently draining the energy from those around him, remain undeveloped. Pity.
Special notice slot goes to "The Friend of Death" by Pedro Antonio de Alarcón, one of these figures of the European "fantastique" movement who hasn't had a lot of his work translated (last time I checked, which admittedly was over a decade ago). This story is essentially a novella (first quarter of the book) and would nowadays be called either fantasy or dark fantasy. It was an interesting read, although not really my bag, with some surprising things in the second half. The basic story follows the classic romantic model, a rags to riches to rags story (the beggar, swept from the streets by nobility, then discharged on the death of his patron, only later to find he's actually the guy's son and thus due title, lands, etc.) with a "lost love" prominent in the mix. But in this case, our hero decides to kill himself, only to have the Angel of Death befriend him (Neil Gaiman, are you listening?) and help him fix his fortunes (The Grim Reaper feels sorry for how deaths have caused all this guy's misery). After much puttering about over dying kings, betrayals, inheritances and whatnot - and with the main plot resolved by the 3/4 mark - the extended coda features an odd phantasmagoria in which Death whisks Gil Gil (our Hero) around the world in his chariot of bone, showing him the many faces of how man lives and dies (cemeteries are much more populated than cities), questioning why men fight and kill when Death's existence means that they should all enjoy each other's company in the short time they have. Then, it's off to Death's spartan, empty home at the North Pole (yet another Fortress of Solitude, Doc Savage and Superman take note!), made out of an iceberg, where Death reveals even more mind-blowing revelations! Want to know? Okay! Pretty amazing, huh? I mean, for the 1880s, right? Sure, a bit long in the tooth during the typical Romance parts, but crazy, interesting fun by the end.
Best story in the book - and it's just a good solid slice of English paganism I'd read previous, is Barry Pain's cautionary tale "The Moon Slave" - in which a fiery, wanton woman is drawn to dance for spectral figures under the full moon in an overgrown hedgemaze. Once leads to more and eventually, well, that would be telling. It's quite nice - not exactly Decadence, not exactly Algernon Blackwood - perhaps Blackwood by way of Saki is the ticket.
So, not so much undiscovered gems but only one real stinker. "Justly forgotten" sums up most of these pieces. Cool cover, I'll say that!
August 20, 2019
it was ok, not really scarey
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews