No, I had a whole entourage of action figures. I hung a soapstone pendant inside the crescent, burned sigils into the shaft with a magnifying glass, and called it my wizard staff. One of them was a three-foot stick as straight as a pool cue with a top end that hooked like a dragon’s talon. I still live where I grew up, a stone’s throw from the real river featured in Deliverance, but I wasn’t that quintessential uphill-both-ways kid that had to play with sticks and bugs, although I did own an impressive armory of gnarled branches. Some of you will drop a paycheck on a superdeluxe polyresin Batman from Korea with a cloth cape and thirty-six articulation points and four interchangeable faces so realistic you’d swear the figure contained an actual miniaturized human soul. Some of you might throw down a dollar for that janky old Optimus Prime or loose-hipped Skeletor that you used to have twenty-five years ago, lurking in a thrift shop’s toy aisle. Some of you will probably think it’s childish, or a waste of money, or both of those. I don’t know how you feel about that first point. Hunt has a storyteller’s ear, as you’ll see below. Reminds me of some of the most classic horror writers.
His newest is Malus Domestica - I just opened this book up the other day thinking I’d just take a peek, and next thing I knew, I was like, 30 pages in. Hunt, who is a cracking author you probably aren’t reading. And now, a guest post by a fella named S.A.
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