Letters From the Labyrinth 359

We Chose Laughter and Violence

Not too long ago, Daniel Kraus, Clay McLeod Chapman, and I were browsing the Horror section at the Barnes & Noble Libbie Place location in Virginia. As any group of horror writers does when browsing a Horror section together, we were recommending books to each other. Dan put The Militia House — a first novel by John Milas — into our hands, and I’m glad he did.

The Militia House is a haunted house novel set on a military base in Afghanistan. It is the scariest thing I’ve read in a very long time — just absolutely, gloriously chill-inducing. But it also has some fantastic and realistic characterization in regards to its military characters — ranking up there with Stephen Kozeniewski’s Broken-Down Heroes Of The Western Night (the paperback of which in on sale for a ridiculous $4 on Amazon right now) and any of Weston Ochse’s military fiction.

I doubt I will do a Top 10 of the Year list for 2023. Between deadlines and the forthcoming bookstore, I just don’t have time. Plus, I get tired of people yelling at me about it each year. But if I were to do a best Books of 2023 list this year, The Militia House by John Milas would be a very easy number one. Highly recommended and available right now in hardcover, Kindle, and audiobook.

Good morning. I’m Brian Keene and this is the 359th issue of Letters From the Labyrinth — a long-running weekly newsletter for fans, friends, and family. Thanks for being here.

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Just in time for the holidays, SPLINTERED: THE LABYRINTH, Book 3 is now available in paperback and for Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and Apple. (Audiobook forthcoming).

You can also order autographed paperbacks directly from Manhattan On Mars. Please note: While paperbacks ordered from Amazon will ship immediately, there will be a delay for copies ordered from Manhattan On Mars. We expect them to arrive in out warehouse on December 11th.

And don’t forget — you can get Books 1 and 2 in the series for just 99 cents for a limited time!

All is lost in the aftermath of The Seven's confrontation with Behemoth, Leviathan, and Nodens. Frankie, Bloom, and Lucifer are missing and feared dead. Tony is in ancient Rome. The Exit is imprisoned outside of space and time. Teddy, LeHorn, and Sarah are on a quick mission to Teddy's hometown, where both old friends and enemies await. The remaining Thirteen are on the offensive. Heaven and Hell are mustering for war. The Labyrinth is damaged. The splintering of reality has begun. And the universe's last remaining hope may be... Ob, Lord of the Siqqusim?

Brian Keene's SPLINTERED: THE LABYRINTH Book 3

The End continues, and this is the last dance...

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Folks have been asking how long THE LABYRINTH series will be. Consider this book the halfway point. I am aiming for six books in its entirety. If I have to go to seven books, I will, but I am pretty confident the entire saga can be wrapped up in six books. I do have the titles for the rest of the series, if you’d like to know them (and divine whatever you can from them):

We have, of course THE SEVEN, SUBMERGED, and now SPLINTERED. The remaining books are titled FALLING ANGELS, HEAVEN AND HELL, and THE END.

Now, as I said, I am confident there will be six books total. However, if I get to book five and realize I’m gonna need an extra volume, then there will be a title between HEAVEN AND HELL and THE END. (That title would probably be OB RULES, which as of right now, is the title for one of the sections of Book 5).

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Saw a nice sales bump for the Bastards series over the past month. Not sure what accounts for it. Maybe that cover cameo in the new season of Creepshow? Regardless, all three books in the series are available in paperback and for Kindle (and the first two are in audiobook, with the third on the way).

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Splatterpunk’s Basement of Horror is a new charity anthology benefitting Herriot Hospice Homecare (who assist terminal cancer patients). The book features very rare reprints by both J. F. Gonzalez and myself, and brand-new stories by some of today’s best and brightest stars. Available in paperback and for Kindle.

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Currently Playing: Clash of Clans and Civilization III: Conquests

Currently Listening: Skull & Bones by Cypress Hill

Currently Watching: Wu-Tang: An American Saga season 1 (Hulu), Lawmen: Bass Reeves (Paramount Plus), Survivor season 45 (Paramount Plus), and Family Guy season 22 (Hulu).

Currently Reading: The Militia House by John Milias (see above), The Thing Under Your Bed by Stephen Kozeniewski, and Maniac by Robert Swartwood (which serves as a prequel to his novel The Killing Room).

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Work this past week was overwhelming and busy, busy, busy. I finished the first draft of BENEATH THE LOST LEVEL. I worked on the adaptation of GWENDY’S BUTTON BOX. I did a bunch of behind the scenes work on Christopher Golden’s House of Last Resort Weekend and Scares That Care’s AuthorCons III and IV. And worked on behind the scenes stuff for Vortex Books & Comics.

This coming week will be all about short stories — one for Apex’s Map of Lost Places, a few Lost Level stories for those folks who commissioned them, and — if I have time leftover — one for something I’m not allowed to talk about yet that involves multiple Lansdales.

Mary and I had hoped to make it to Weston’s viewing next weekend, but the cost of airfare is just too prohibitive, particularly as it is the holiday season. So, I’ll raise a glass here in his honor instead. We’ll definitely be attending the funeral a few months from now, though, as that will be within driving distance.

It’s been a while since I told a story in the newsletter, so here is a story about Weston Ochse.

It was March 2001, and we were in Los Angeles for Richard Laymon’s memorial service. Weston had the biggest vehicle so he was driving myself, Geoff Cooper, Michael T. Huyck Jr, Mike Oliveri, Kelly Laymon, and her father’s ashes to the memorial service, which was being held at Dark Delicacies.

Even back then, L.A. traffic was a horrible nightmare that could only be fixed with fire, so we were crawling along at an excruciatingly slow pace. To occupy ourselves, we played vigorous games of punch buggy and held “fire drills” at each traffic light.

(For the uninitiated, a “fire drill” is when everyone gets out of the car, runs around it all higgly-piggly, and then gets back inside).

For whatever reason, Los Angeles had a ridiculously high proportion of Volkswagens. Seemingly every two minutes, somebody would shot out “Punch buggy red!” or “Punch buggy blue!” followed by the sound of fists hitting flesh. And because I was sitting in the middle of the back seat, i got it the worst. I think I still have bruises from Mike Oliveri (who, along with Weston, absolutely punched the hardest). I can’t remember who it was, but somebody who was driving behind us for most of the way got to Dark Delicacies and said, “What did Brian shoot his mouth off about? it seemed like every five minutes somebody was punching him!”

If you think playing fire drill and Punch Buggy while transporting Richard Laymon’s ashes to his memorial is disrespectful then a) you didn’t know Dick Laymon, because he would have had a good laugh about it, and b) we were young and Dick was our mentor, and we loved him, and for many of us it was our first tastes of death in this industry, and to cope with that…?

We chose laughter and violence.

Anyway, we’d grown tired of fire drill, and hit a stretch of Sepulveda Boulevard where there were no punch buggies, and came to a stop at another red light. A group of men in the car next to us motioned for Weston to roll the window down. He complied. They asked him for directions to the airport, explaining that they were lost and worried about missing their flight. Weston very helpfully said, “Go that way for about a mile, then turn left at the light, then go straight for about ten miles.” He said it with such confidence and authority, that we all assumed he knew what he was talking about.

They thanked him, the light changed, and we all continued on our way.

Kelly Laymon, then still a teenager, says, “Um, Weston? I don’t think that’s the way to the airport. Where did you send them?”

He shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I don’t live here.”

And we all giggled nonstop the rest of the way to the memorial.

For the next two decades, right up until his death, I teased Weston about the car full of dudes who were still driving around Los Angeles, stuck on the freeway and unable to get off, all because we were grieving and he decided, as our friend, to give us another laugh.

Later, after the memorial, we got to meet Bentley Little in a back alley behind the store, but that’s a story for another time…

Weston, we’re gonna miss you, brother.

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And that does it for this week. Thanks, as always, for spending a little bit of your Sunday with me. I appreciate you all. See you back here next weekend.

— Brian Keene