"They do get hungry this time of year..."
I first became aware of
Wilum H. Pugmire in the late 1960s/early 1970s,
when his name ("Bill Pugmire Jr." back then) and image (oftentimes in "Count
Pugsly" attire) occasionally popped up in the "Fang Mail" pages of
Famous Monsters of Filmland, which I collected for most of a decade with near-religious zeal. Soon, I
found his letters and editorials appearing in the pages of
Greg Shoemaker's legendary fanzine,
Japanese Fantasy Film Journal, and so, even before I made his acquaintance, he seemed to me an old friend.
When I was looking for work to fill the pages of
Deathrealm's earliest issues, Wilum was one of the first authors I contacted, and I was
delighted when he sent me his short-short tale,
"Cool Mist," which ran in
issue #2 (Summer, 1987). This was no Lovecraft pastiche — a thing I came to
dread receiving in the slush pile — but a piece of truly weird fiction, rooted
in the Lovecraft vein but unique in style and tone.
The story features Wilum's doppelganger as the narrator (evidenced by certain
anecdotes he shared with me in letters): a gay punk who's anything
but the stereotypical punk. He's a tad eccentric, as he enjoys dressing
in Victorian garb and wandering among the Seattle wharves carrying bits of
cheese to feed to the local rats. On one of his excursions to the waterfront, he
discerns another individual approaching, much to his dismay, for he prefers
solitude as he wanders amid the shadows. As it turns out, the other character —
another punk, or so it initially seems — also enjoys haunting the waterfront,
for reasons of his own. As the two engage in a somewhat awkward conversation
about their respective
raisons d'être, the narrator notices certain
anomalies in the mist that comes rolling in over the water, and that that his
unwelcome companion carries with him a bizarre burden. It is here that the true
horror of the tale takes you in its grip....
On my first reading of the story, its climax drew from me an uncharacteristic
pang of
sorrow, accompanied by a genuine shudder. The weirdness of the
characters and setting, the lush imagery in Wilum's prose, and the depth of
emotion within what is essentially a simple tale of a horrific encounter, all
come together to make "Cool Mist" one of the standout stories from
Deathrealm's 31-issue lifespan. Wilum revised the tale for later publication, but I find
its original incarnation the more powerful, its effect having lingered with me
over more than three decades.
"Be careful where you wander. We wouldn't want to lose you..."
The third issue of
Deathrealm (Fall 1987) included another of
Wilum's tales, this one set in the
Sesqua Valley, his now well-known
west-coast counterpart to Lovecraft's haunted New England.
"A Piece of Stone" is the story of author
Desmond Peters who has
discovered a book of weird fiction written by one
William Davis Manly,
who originally came from Sesqua Valley. Fascinated by the material within and
hoping to compile a greater volume of Manly's works, accompanied by photographs
of Sesqua Valley, Peters goes to the location to research and explore. Here he
meets kindly shopkeeper
Nathan Vreeland (a recurring character in Wilum's
Sesqua Valley tales) who listens with interest to his plan but then attempts to
dissuade him, stating that the people of Sesqua Valley prefer to live in
relative isolation and would not appreciate the extra attention that such a
volume would bring. Naturally, Peters resists the idea of giving up on his
project and decides to go exploring the valley on his own.
At first, Peters is struck by the beauty of the mountains and forests,
particularly the white stone–crested Mt. Selta that rises above the valley. Yet
the deeper he explores, the more edgy and apprehensive he becomes. Something he
first takes to be a snake rustles through the foliage around him, but when he
meets one of the locals — an elderly woman wandering on her own in the woods —
she informs him "there are no snakes here." As his anxiety mounts, he decides to
give up on his walk, but not before taking a piece of white stone from the
mountain to keep as a souvenir.
And that, as we learn, may not have been the world's best idea ever.
With this story and others, Wilum utilizes characters that reflect his own
interest in weird literature: author William Davis Manly, whose name can't help
but bring to mind certain noteworthy authors in the field; Peters, whose naivete
and devotion to a noble but misguided cause make him something of a "fanboy,"
his viewpoint one to which many of us can at least partially relate. He is
skeptical of the warnings about the location, yet sensitive to its subtly
menacing atmosphere. Wilum's use of imagery paints Sesqua Valley as an alluring
and aesthetically beautiful natural area, but with that dark undercurrent
typical of haunted places — deep shadows, sounds that don't seem quite right,
unseen but subliminally perceived presences in the woods, an indefinable but
tangible, unsettling air ("It is not wise to gaze at Selta for too long at a
time," Vreeland tells Peters when he begins to feel disoriented from looking at
the mountain in the distance). Wilum's prose reflects but does not ape the
florid language of his 19th and 20th century favorites, a trait that has become
a hallmark of Wilum's work over the years. The prose style and presence of such
tropes in this and other of Wilum's tales, rather than playing as derivative, as
they might in other hands, evoke an authentic air of age and dignity that
transcends pastiche. Wilum's body of work, steeped as it is in Lovecraftian and
other weird fiction, showcases a unique voice that is both for and about
aficionados of the weird but that does not relegate itself to any small, dark
niche.
In
Deathrealm #1, by way of preparing readers for the horrors to
come, author
Jessica Amanda Salmonson, a longtime friend of Wilum's,
provided a poem — simply titled "Wilum" — that served as something of an
introduction to both his work and to him as an individual. In it she paints a
vivid picture of his punk persona but also reveals an old soul with a genuine,
questing spirit, contrasting his soulfulness with the superficiality of his punk
contemporaries ("Wilum, in cape and high collar, is younger than the boy,
although Wilum was here at the beginning of the world and will be here at the
end"). True to its theme, Jessica's poem is no less relevant 30 years later than
it was in its day.
As one of
Deathrealm's "founding" contributors, Wilum left an indelible mark on the magazine, his
work crucial to the character of the issues in which it appeared as well as
shaping the editorial direction of issues to come.
You can find Wilum's stories in numerous anthologies and collections, including
many Sesqua Valley tales, at Amazon.com.
Click here to see more.
If you are interested in purchasing a copy of
Deathrealm #2, which
features "Cool Mist," I have limited copies available for
$10, postage
included, which can be ordered via
Paypal
(payee
mark@stephenmarkrainey; be sure to include recipient's shipping
information).
Deathrealm #3, featuring "A Piece of Stone," is
unfortunately unavailable.
