Based on a True Story

[Guttersnipe]

No, that's just the title of this old horror story of mine that I unearthed. I would appreciate some feedback--whether you liked it and whether it should be re-written or elongated. Also let me know if there are words that don't quite flow, or if there are errors in grammar. This was written over two uears ago, when I'd just started to write. I didn't alter much of it.

@Wayne Mack @JS Wiig @TheEndIsNigh @msstice

Clay Thurgood had a bad ticker. His doctor had told him to avoid eating greasy foods, or it would, eventually, be his funeral. However, he was
as obtuse as he was obese, and so the doctor's advice went horribly unheeded.

One day, he had an attack of nostalgia of an unknown origin. Going downstairs, he found a box at the back of his closet. In it were a bunch of
horror comics that he'd read as a kid. He spent the better part of an hour leafing through them. At last, he picked out one he didn't remember
having, and went up to his rocking chair to read the first story inside.

"Horror of the Muck Men" was its title. He read it as he stuffed his face with potato chips and washed it down with soda. He got a first look at
the titular monsters. They fit the bill, all right, he thought.

The story started predictably: THE NIGHT WAS DARK AND STORMY. THE SMALL TOWN WAS AWASH WITH RAIN.

All of a sudden, a lightning bolt streaked through the dark night outside, followed by a crack of menacing thunder. It began to rain. He
shrugged it off and continued to read.

The muck men rose up from the swamp; their hides, if they could be called such, hung and dripped, brown and slimy. They approached
a suburb, their motions possessing an eerie purposefulness.

He saw a few pretty houses, yellow with white trimmings. He gasped. It looked like--no, it was--his neighborhood!

Clay hurled the comic book across the room. Quietly, dreadfully, he went to the window and peeked out from between the blinds. His
gaze lingered towards the end of the street, near the woods, but he found nothing sinister beyond the inclement weather.

Sitting back in his chair, he touched some tissues to his sweaty brow. He had the feeling that he must be having some vivid nightmare.
Well, he decided silently, if it's a nightmare, it won't last; I might as well finish the story.

The monsters were making incomprehensible noises in their little paper world. They became silhouettes against the background. A
HAPLESS WOMAN BECOMES THEIR FIRST VICTIM, the caption read. A woman who looked rather familiar let out a bloodcurdling scream
as a pair descended on her. Familiar...Annie? Annie Berg? No, it could be any woman--there were plenty of petite blondes in the
neighborhood. This was all just a case of an unchecked imagination, or, as Thurgood might say, his "creative brilliance." On he read

THE MONSTERS DIGEST THEIR VICTIMS WITH THEIR HIGHLY ACIDIC SALIVA. The poor woman (who couldn't be Annie, couldn't) was
shown suffering grotesque wounds that filled with dark mud.

Clay couldn't stop reading. The idea behind the tale wasn't exactly thoughtful or original, but the macabre art and descriptive text
kept him riveted. He felt as helpless as his pre-teen self. There was no stopping now.

Then he saw it. It was house, of that he was sure; there was a big red Ford in the open garage, some Japanese cherry blossoms
and hydrangeas out front.

THEY APPROACH A MAN'S HOUSE...THE HOUSE OF A COWARD NAMED CLAY THURGOOD.

Clay screamed. He threw the book against the wall again, bolted up, and locked the door. He peeked through the window again.
The night was nearly black as jet, but the intermittent flashes of lightning exposed him to a terrible sight. There were men in the
distance...No, some things broader, less complete than men.

He flew into a frenzy, grabbing an end table and some odds and ends and stacking them up against the door. He crouched down
on the floor and stuttered through the Paternoster repeatedly, half-heartedly trying to invoke a divine protector that, in all reality,
would not rescue him.

There was a banging at the door. The windows burst inwards. He screamed. It was more than his already problematic heart could
take. He fell into cardiac arrest, and no one was present to save him.

In the final panels of the comic book was a caption that Thurgood would have done well to read: BUT IT WAS ALL IN THURGOOD'S
IMAGINATION...THE MONSTERS WERE MERE FIGMENTS, AND HIS DOOM WAS INDEED EVITABLE...THE END.

 

[msstice]

My stream of consciousness in bold, as always.

Clay Thurgood had a bad ticker. His doctor had told him to avoid eating greasy foods, or it would, eventually, be his funeral. However, he was
as obtuse as he was obese, and so the doctor's advice went horribly unheeded.

One day, he had an attack of nostalgia of an unknown origin. Going downstairs, he found a box at the back of his closet. In it were a bunch of
horror comics that he'd read as a kid. He spent the better part of an hour leafing through them. At last, he picked out one he didn't remember
having, and went up to his rocking chair to read the first story inside.

"Horror of the Muck Men" was its title. He read it as he stuffed his face with potato chips and washed it down with soda. He got a first look at
the titular monsters. They fit the bill, all right, he thought.

The story started predictably: THE NIGHT WAS DARK AND STORMY. THE SMALL TOWN WAS AWASH WITH RAIN.

All of a sudden, a lightning bolt streaked through the dark night outside, followed by a crack of menacing thunder. It began to rain. He
shrugged it off and continued to read.

The muck men rose up from the swamp; their hides, if they could be called such, hung and dripped, brown and slimy. They approached
a suburb, their motions possessing an eerie purposefulness. (Would be good to tell the reader here if he is reading literally from the comic (like before) or this is the narrator now.)

He saw a few pretty houses, yellow with white trimmings. He gasped. It looked like--no, it was--his neighborhood!

Clay hurled the comic book across the room. Quietly, dreadfully ("full of dread" is a better fit here.), he went to the window and peeked out from between the blinds. His
gaze lingered towards the end of the street (this phrase reads awkwardly for me), near the woods, but he found nothing sinister beyond the inclement weather.

Sitting back in his chair, he touched some tissues to his sweaty brow. He had the feeling that he must be having some vivid nightmare.
Well, he decided silently, if it's a nightmare, it won't last; I might as well finish the story.

The monsters were making incomprehensible noises in their little paper world. They became silhouettes against the background. A
HAPLESS WOMAN BECOMES THEIR FIRST VICTIM, the caption read. A woman who looked rather familiar let out a bloodcurdling scream
as a pair descended on her. Familiar...Annie? Annie Berg? No, it could be any woman--there were plenty of petite blondes in the
neighborhood. This was all just a case of an unchecked imagination, or, as Thurgood might say, his "creative brilliance." (The narrator intrudes a bit much here. Also we should pick either Clay or Thurgood and stick to one.) On he read

THE MONSTERS DIGEST THEIR VICTIMS WITH THEIR HIGHLY ACIDIC SALIVA. The poor woman (who couldn't be Annie, couldn't) was
shown suffering grotesque wounds that filled with dark mud.

Clay couldn't stop reading. The idea behind the tale wasn't exactly thoughtful or original, but the macabre art and descriptive text
kept him riveted. He felt as helpless as his pre-teen self. There was no stopping now.

Then he saw it. It was house, of that he was sure; there was a big red Ford in the open garage, some Japanese cherry blossoms
and hydrangeas out front.

THEY APPROACH A MAN'S HOUSE...THE HOUSE OF A COWARD NAMED CLAY THURGOOD.

Clay screamed. He threw the book against the wall again, bolted up, and locked the door. He peeked through the window again.
The night was nearly black as jet, but the intermittent flashes of lightning exposed him to a terrible sight. There were men in the
distance...No, some things broader (as in wide in size, presumably), less complete than men.

He flew into a frenzy, grabbing an end table and some odds and ends and stacking them up against the door. He crouched down
on the floor and stuttered through the Paternoster repeatedly, half-heartedly trying to invoke a divine protector that, in all reality,
would not rescue him (ok, I wasn't ready for this bit. Is there known magic in this world that Clay knows to invoke. Would appreciate an earlier introduction to this then).

There was a banging at the door. The windows burst inwards. He screamed. It was more than his already problematic heart could
take. He fell into cardiac arrest, and no one was present to save him.

In the final panels of the comic book was a caption that Thurgood would have done well to read: BUT IT WAS ALL IN THURGOOD'S
IMAGINATION...THE MONSTERS WERE MERE FIGMENTS, AND HIS DOOM WAS INDEED EVITABLE...THE END.

Overall notes

1. The premise is familiar so it will depend on execution to carry it.
2. We need some connection to Clay, so more work needed on that end.
3. If magic is already present in the world (i.e. Clay knows magic) we should know about this early on.
4. Presumably this is an early draft because most of the language can be still be tightened.

Looking forward to reading the next version!

 

[Guttersnipe]

@msstice There is no magic in this story outside the comic book. Clay simply says the Lord's Prayer. He is trying to invoke Yahweh. Also, could you help me understand how I should connect readers to Clay? Could you give me an example?

 

[msstice]

@msstice There is no magic in this story outside the comic book. Clay simply says the Lord's Prayer. He is trying to invoke Yahweh. Also, could you help me understand how I should connect readers to Clay? Could you give me an example?

1. Perhaps an explicit word that this is a prayer would help.
2. There are some hints as to Clay (he's obese, has cardiac problems etc.) but some more detail in his backstory would be good to make us have a stronger opinion of him, either sympathetic or antagonistic. With the information given, my bond to Clay was not that strong. For example, why does he live alone? Does he have an ambition? A crush on Annie? Some more details that humanizes him.

 

[Wayne Mack]

I think the plot line has potential, however, this is a challenging format and I find the conclusion a little lacking.

The format is really two parallel stories unfolding: the comic book story and Clay's story. I think you recognized that and tried to separate the two using upper case. I think it might be easier on the eyes to use italics instead. I would even make the parallelism stronger by using alternating paragraphs. One paragraph would cover a comic book panel and the next would cover Clay's reaction. Almost two alternating POVs.

The conclusion brings in a narrator to talk directly to the reader. This also forces a very definite conclusion to the tale. Horror seems to work best if the conclusion is ambiguous. Instead, you could have Annie or perhaps a brown-suited utility worker covered in mud find him the next morning. This allows for a wide range of possible conclusions. If you foreshadow the visit at the end by also having that character visit at the start it also helps address one potential logic sequence issue.

In the story, the comic book tells Clay things that he already should know: the housing paint and trim, Annie has blond hair, the red pick up truck. These could all be described in the opening when Clay opens a door to his visitor. This sets up a progression where Clay finds the comic book reflecting reality and then fears that reality is beginning to reflect the comic book.

I hope this helps. I have a lot of other things going on today, so I just blurted out some quick thoughts.

 

[Wayne Mack]

Got some time for a more detailed set of comments. As always, I'll throw everything at you and leave you to sort out what few thigs you find useful.

Clay Thurgood had a bad ticker. His doctor had told him to avoid eating greasy foods, or it would, eventually, be his funeral. However, he was
as obtuse as he was obese, and so the doctor's advice went horribly unheeded.

[I like this paragraph a lot. It quickly gives the reader a picture of the main character.]

One day, he had an attack of nostalgia of an unknown origin. [I felt the addition of "of an unknown origin' called my attention to the fact that the story did not say why he had the attack of nostalgia. I would have just read through it, if it had not called it to my attention.] Going downstairs, he found a box at the back of his closet. In it were a bunch of
horror comics that he'd read as a kid. He spent the better part of an hour leafing through them. At last, he picked out one he didn't remember
having, and went up to his rocking chair to read the first story inside.

"Horror of the Muck Men" was its title. He read it as he stuffed his face with potato chips and washed it down with soda. He got a first look at
the titular monsters. They fit the bill, all right, he thought.

[The "He read it" and "first look at the titular monsters" implies he is well into the comic. The next line, though, puts him at the first page.]

The story started predictably: THE NIGHT WAS DARK AND STORMY. THE SMALL TOWN WAS AWASH WITH RAIN.

All of a sudden, a lightning bolt streaked through the dark night outside, followed by a crack of menacing thunder. It began to rain. He
shrugged it off and continued to read.

[POV shift to outside the house to see the storm. "He shrugged it off" implies Clay already is starting to believe the comic and reality are correlated. Probably need to establish this first.]

The muck men rose up from the swamp; their hides, if they could be called such, hung and dripped, brown and slimy. They approached
a suburb, their motions possessing an eerie purposefulness.

[This is from the comic book and should probably be in all caps (or other alternate format).]

He saw a few pretty houses, yellow with white trimmings. He gasped. It looked like--no, it was--his neighborhood!

[Again, first sentence is from the comic book. This seems like he is first noticing the similarity between comic book and reality. Gasp seems like a strong reaction to an apparently minor coincidence.]

Clay hurled the comic book across the room. Quietly, dreadfully, he went to the window and peeked out from between the blinds. His
gaze lingered towards the end of the street, near the woods, but he found nothing sinister beyond the inclement weather.

[Hurling the comic book seems like a strange over-reaction. It also implies anger rather than fear or dread.]

Sitting back in his chair, he touched some tissues to his sweaty brow. He had the feeling that he must be having some vivid nightmare.
Well, he decided silently, if it's a nightmare, it won't last; I might as well finish the story.

[The emotional state doesn't seem consistent. Clay just saw nothing outside, yet he now feels that it is a vivid nightmare.]

The monsters were making incomprehensible noises in their little paper world. They became silhouettes against the background. A
HAPLESS WOMAN BECOMES THEIR FIRST VICTIM, the caption read. A woman who looked rather familiar let out a bloodcurdling scream
as a pair descended on her. Familiar...Annie? Annie Berg? No, it could be any woman--there were plenty of petite blondes in the
neighborhood. This was all just a case of an unchecked imagination, or, as Thurgood might say, his "creative brilliance." On he read

[The introduction of Annie seems late and arbitrary. The phrasing sounds like Clay believes the the blonde in the comic could be any one from the neighborhood -- he is no longer questioning whether the comic book reflects his reality. The next to last sentence is a POV jump from Clay's thoughts to an external narrator.]

THE MONSTERS DIGEST THEIR VICTIMS WITH THEIR HIGHLY ACIDIC SALIVA. The poor woman (who couldn't be Annie, couldn't) was
shown suffering grotesque wounds that filled with dark mud.

Clay couldn't stop reading. The idea behind the tale wasn't exactly thoughtful or original, but the macabre art and descriptive text
kept him riveted. He felt as helpless as his pre-teen self. There was no stopping now.

Then he saw it. It was house, of that he was sure; there was a big red Ford in the open garage, some Japanese cherry blossoms
and hydrangeas out front.

[This seems like a very late point to give the reader a description of the house.]

THEY APPROACH A MAN'S HOUSE...THE HOUSE OF A COWARD NAMED CLAY THURGOOD.

[It is unclear to me how the comic book identifies this house as Clay's. I also do not see how coward is applicable.]

Clay screamed. He threw the book against the wall again, bolted up, and locked the door. He peeked through the window again.
The night was nearly black as jet, but the intermittent flashes of lightning exposed him to a terrible sight. There were men in the
distance...No, some things broader, less complete than men.

He flew into a frenzy, grabbing an end table and some odds and ends and stacking them up against the door. He crouched down
on the floor and stuttered through the Paternoster repeatedly, half-heartedly trying to invoke a divine protector that, in all reality,
would not rescue him.

There was a banging at the door. The windows burst inwards. He screamed. It was more than his already problematic heart could
take. He fell into cardiac arrest, and no one was present to save him.

[This seems to be creeping back into narrator point of view, which lessens my connection with what Clay is feeling.]

In the final panels of the comic book was a caption that Thurgood would have done well to read: BUT IT WAS ALL IN THURGOOD'S
IMAGINATION...THE MONSTERS WERE MERE FIGMENTS, AND HIS DOOM WAS INDEED EVITABLE...THE END.

[The "it was all just a dream" ending disappointed me. With this type of story, I would like to be left with the question, 'Was it a dream or not?' I also felt like Rod Serling walked out and told me the conclusion. Perhaps it would help to have one of the existing characters discover Clay. It could be Annie or perhaps the Muck Men / the men in the distance.]

I hope this doesn't sound overly critical. I think there is a good plot line lurking in there. I just didn't feel this particular exploration of the plot worked for me. The biggest issue is that the final reveal left me disappointed -- the other items are more minor.

 

[JS Wiig]

Disclaimer: Opinions follow, take them for what you paid. I hope you find some value in the feedback I’ve provided. Above all, keep writing!

Overall

A man with a bad heart scares himself to death.

Overall I felt the piece was well done. I feel that I have seen the story where real life mirrors what is happening in some fictional media, so nothing ground breaking there.

Plot centric with no real focus on character or development. Mostly a description of the “real life in the comic book” concept.


Character

Clay Thurgood - main character, obese and bad heart, seems to get awfully worked up over stuff he reads in a comic book, coward? that seems a bit harsh

Muck Men - up to no good, terrorizing the neighborhood in the pages of a comic book, or are they just in the pages of a comic book?

Plot

One day, he had an attack of nostalgia of an unknown origin.

I would like to see a reason for this, otherwise it feels like it happened solely to move the plot forward.

Stakes

Clay Thurgood had a bad ticker.

Right away we get a sense that he’ll have a heart attack or something.

Prose

All of a sudden, a lightning bolt streaked through the dark night...

Lightning bolts don’t usually happen gradually, so all of a sudden is probably unnecessary.

The monsters were making incomprehensible noises in their little paper world.

Not sure how comic book characters make noises?

On he read

Missing period?

The idea behind the tale wasn't exactly thoughtful or original...

Umm, self parody?

...but the macabre art and descriptive text
kept him riveted.

Are you telling me what I should think about this story?

The last paragraph is jolting since Clay is dead and it was previously in his POV. It feels like a footnote or postscript.

 

[Toby Frost]

The thing I like most about this story is how much it feels like a pulp story in itself, like something out of the EC Comics, where unlikely poetic justice is dealt out. It's slightly cheesy, but that seems right to me. I could imagine a Rod Serling-type narration. "Clay Thurgood: an ordinary man with an ordinary life - but an extra-ordinary death..."

Like the others, I don't think "coward" feels right: it doesn't feel quite accurate, and singles Clay out somewhat as a bad person rather than a victim we should sympathise with. That said, the comic itself calling him a coward has a certain mocking quality that I quite like.

I agree with Wayne Mack that it's sometimes hard to tell what comment is the story itself, and what is the text in the comic. You probably ought to make this clearer, but if you're feeling especially clever, you could probably try to make them blur into each other as the story goes on. I'm not sure how well this would work, or how easy it would be to carry off, though.

I agree that the ending is the weakest part. Seen through a horror-comic lens, maybe:

- Clay is found dead from a suspected heart attack - but the door is open and there is mud on the floor nearby
- Clay disappears, but the last panel of the comic shows the muck men dragging a terrified Clay out of his house (I find this genuinely sinister)
- Clay is found mad with terror, like the hero of a Lovecraft story, but the comic is just the first part of a series. In the sanatorium, he starts to draw Part 2...

 

[Guttersnipe]

Criticism over the "coward" bit: Clay is no coward; this is more the sentient book taking shots at him

The monsters making sounds in the book: captions are suggesting they do this

Paternoster: I thought most know that this means the Lord's Prayer

Overall, I'm a bit surprised. I have to stop asking friends and family for feedback, or at least stop taking them at face value; I forget that they don't write and that they are bound to want to say nice things mostly because they like me. I suppose I ask them because they seem like average Joes.

About the triteness of the main idea: I genuinely did not know this was common until I read about "A Continuity of Parks." I agree there's nothing groundbreaking here.

@Toby Frost: The second ending idea sounds fantastic, but I can't use it because it's not mine.

 

[msstice]

there's nothing groundbreaking here.

Or anywhere else of course. It's all in the execution! We're sitting around the campfire and taking turns entertaining each other. It's the spinning of the yarn where the charm is. The characters, the exact events, the choice of words, the exact pacing, these are all unique if you write from the heart.

Speaking for myself, I hope my suggestions do not stop you from working on your idea! The story needs more polish, but that is normal. Keep going!

 

[Toby Frost]

I'm not entirely sure that second idea is mine either! I'm sure I've heard it somewhere else, but I can't recall the location. I think it might have been a story about a haunted picture, so maybe M.R. James did it first. At any rate, as much as I can give permission to use it, feel free to do so, but I'm sure it's fairly generic. As for the idea having been used before, there isn't that much that's new under the sun: J.G. Ballard wrote a very similar story to "A Continuity of Parks" at much the same time.

 

[Guttersnipe]

I'm not entirely sure that second idea is mine either! I'm sure I've heard it somewhere else, but I can't recall the location. I think it might have been a story about a haunted picture, so maybe M.R. James did it first. At any rate, as much as I can give permission to use it, feel free to do so, but I'm sure it's fairly generic. As for the idea having been used before, there isn't that much that's new under the sun: J.G. Ballard wrote a very similar story to "A Continuity of Parks" at much the same time.

Maybe I'll use that ending if I can't think of one. Didn't know that about J.G. Ballard.

 

[Guttersnipe]

@Toby Frost The only thing I can think of is that episode from Night Gallery, where a ghost seemingly gets revenge on his nephew via a portrait.

 

[thisreidwrites]

Hey, that's fun! I enjoyed the pacing; this worked really well for me.

The one suggestion I might make is to draw out Clay's realization a little bit more. The shock at seeing his truck and his name, followed by disbelief; his growing unease as he hears weird sounds outside; bring the reader along with his horror that this comic has somehow become real.

If a word count limit is at issue, you could trim a few of the in-between descriptions.

Definitely creative, and with that kind of dark humor I loved so much in old shows from the 80s like MONSTERS. Thanks for revisiting that with me!