Infamous Monsters

By Don Solosan

Have you ever...? Attempted to revive your dead son using a giant turtle? Attended a self-help group meeting for maniacs? Gone disco dancing with a bloodthirsty vampire? Accidentally mixed your DNA with an insect? Played poker with an amphibian? If your answer is "yes," then you need serious help that you won't find in this book. If "no," then read on!

Infamous Monsters contains 13 humorous tales about the classic monsters of horror and science fiction cinema, including the Wolfman, Frankenstein's creation, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, Dracula, The Thing from Another World, the Fly, the Mummy, and more!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Solosan
• Release date: Aug 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463526576

Don Solosan

Don Solosan's first professional publication was in L. Ron Hubbard's Writers of the Future, volume 15. He is also an avid photographer, videographer, and sculptor. He currently resides in Los Angeles, CA.

Book preview

Foreword

If you are a lover of classic monster films, as I am, you are in for a fun, fright-filleted feast with this lucky thirteen collection of clever and captivating short homages to Monsterdom by Mr. Solosan. Why do we love our monsters so? I believe it is because, in some way, we can relate to them. All of us have felt like outsiders at one time or another. Maybe not shunned, banished or hunted by angry mobs, but also not feeling fully accepted by our peers, organizations, or even families. Monsters are just misfits that don’t fully fit in, but desperately wish to. I think we can all relate to that.

Most of us were introduced to monsters, and monster films, when we were young and impressionable. I was one of the lucky baby boomer kids who grew up at just the right time, when local T.V. stations had their Creature Feature shows which played all of the cool old horror films. There was also Forest Ackerman’s must-have monster mag, Famous Monsters of Filmland, that I excitedly scoured the newsstands for every month to learn about films I hadn’t seen yet, but hoped to. Movies weren’t readily available to view like they are today. There was no Netflix, Amazon Prime or even VHS machines. No, you had to wait for movies to come on one of your four channels, and hoped that they weren’t being shown so late that your parents wouldn’t let you stay up to see them, or, heaven forbid, they were on when your dad wanted to watch something else. It was always a crap shoot, but that didn’t stop you from carefully going through your TV guide to hopefully find that film you’ve been waiting all of your young life to see.

As a boy growing up in Fresno, California, I never would have believed that one day I would actually be a guest at Forry’s 90th birthday party, receive a personal phone call from Fay Wray, or have the honor of watching Jason and the Argonauts sitting next to my monster maker hero, Ray Harryhausen, but sometimes dreams do come true, and I must say that I have my love of monsters to thank for all of it. Ahh, the poor monster. Always blamed for everything. As Claude Rains (The Invisible Man) said in Casablanca, Round up the usual suspects. Well, Mr. Solosan has definitely done that, and you’ll be so glad he did. Enjoy your feast!

Jeff G Rack – Storyteller, Sci-Fi Boy & Monster Kid

Kaiju Boy

"When Monsters Fight,

It Is The Grass That Suffers."

—ancient Japanese saying

The old man loved his son, even though he wasn’t strong enough to be of much use around the farm, or smart enough to become a respected leader of the community, or handsome enough to read the news on JOTX, Tokyo’s news leader in all time slots. But he was still heartbroken when the boy died.

His wife was more practical.

Get your wheelbarrow, Father, she said.

What for?

To take our son up the mountain.

To bury him? I’m sure that’s against the law.

She fixed him with one of her looks, and he knew she was in one of her moods.

And bring your great-great-great-grandfather’s samurai sword.

What for?

We’ll need something sharp.

It’s not very sharp, he admitted, and it wasn’t really my great-great-great-grandfather’s.

You told me it was a family heirloom.

It very well might be, he said strongly, but his follow-up was a tad sheepish: "Just not my family... I bought it in a souvenir shop in San Francisco."

She hit him with another one of her looks. You told me it was priceless.

I was drunk at the time, he said, as if that helped.

Drunk when you bought it, or drunk when you told me? she asked.

He saw the trap and just shrugged.

Your scythe, then. That’s plenty sharp... isn’t it?

I suppose so, Mother.

Father went and got his wheelbarrow and scythe, and together they loaded their son’s lifeless body into it. Then he mustered his strength—for his muscles were accustomed to hard work—lifted the handles, and they started the journey up Mount Fuji. Mother trailed behind him carrying the scythe over her shoulder like a miniature version of the Grim Reaper.

He glanced back at her; he could see that her mind was still racing.

What are you thinking about?

I’m just wondering how many other lies you’ve told me.

That shut him up for a while. They continued climbing, the front wheel of the wheelbarrow occasionally getting stuck in a rut, or hitting a rock and threatening to spill their son’s body onto the ground.

Finally, he blurted, Oh, this is nonsense.

You’ve forgotten something important about Gamera, she said. Gamera was the kaiju—which translated roughly as strange beast which translated literally as giant monsters that inexplicably but regularly pounded the island nation of Japan—that fought Guiron that very afternoon on the lower slopes of Mount Fuji, and had been defeated. Their foolhardy son had died trying to help Gamera.

And what’s that? Father inquired. What am I forgetting?

His full name.

And what’s that? He knew that some people followed kaiju like other people followed sports teams. He did not. He followed Kyoko Oshiro, that pretty girl that JOTX had hired to read the evening news.

Gamera the Regenerator.

Oh, that explains everything, he said in a tone of voice conveying that nothing was explained.

Finally, they reached the corpse of Gamera, the 100-foot tall turtle, and stopped. Its blood was everywhere.

Is that radioactive? he asked nervously.

Oh, mighty Gamera, Mother intoned, defender of Japan and friend to children, you are so wise to play possum. Guiron is gone to lay ruin to Nagoya power station, and it is safe for you to return to us.

The old man kicked it.

I don’t think it’s playing. It’s dead-dead.

No, it’s not, the old woman insisted.

Yes, it’s dead-dead, and this is a waste of time.

If it’s dead-dead, then how can it regenerate?

Good point, Father conceded, but how do we know that’s true? I mean, how do we know that it can really regenerate?

Why would it be named Gamera the Regenerator if it wasn’t?

He had to admit that his wife’s logic was pretty sound on that point. Under her direction, he used his scythe to make a long cut in Gamera’s forearm beneath a row of scales. Then, together, they shoved the boy’s body inside and pulled the scaly skin closed over him.

Oh mighty Gamera, Mother intoned, mightiest of sea turtles, please regenerate our son, so that we can be a family again.

They found a log and sat down. Crickets chirped. Owls hooted. Otherwise, the mountainside was fairly quiet. Hopefully, that distant rumble was just army trucks on the Fujisan Skyline and not an earthquake. Father sat still for a few moments, but did not detect any rolling motion beneath him. It was trucks, he decided.

Now what? he asked.

Now we wait.

How long?

As long as it takes, Father.

He was afraid of that. It was late by then, the sun well down. Mother’s eyes were not tired; they were still as sharp as ever.

I have not made a habit of lying to you, Mother, he said.

She smiled, but said nothing. The moon was up by then, and nearly full. It was a beautiful sight. Under other circumstances, it might even have been romantic. They were, after all, not that old.

He checked his watch. He was going to miss the 11 o’clock news, it seemed.

Don’t worry, Father, she said as if she had read his mind, I set the recorder for the late broadcast.

The problem with Japan, it was plain for everyone to see, was all those damn monsters that seemed bent on destroying everything human-made on the island. And so many of those damn monsters seemed to make a bee-line toward Mount Fuji, the highest mountain in Japan, one of its three holy mountains, and a World Heritage cultural site to boot. Oh, sure, sometimes they made detours through Tokyo, or toward some easy-to-destroy power generation plant located out in the countryside, but it seemed Mount Fuji took the brunt of kaiju activity. That’s how the situation appeared to the old man, and unfortunately for him, that’s where the family farm was located—in Shizuoka Prefecture, on the south side of the mountain. It was also the most common departure point for climbers ascending Mount Fuji, and during the official climbing season running from the beginning of July through the beginning of September, the busiest days saw upwards of 7,500 hikers on the four main trails that led to the summit.

Father was sweeping the path near the property’s front gate when a gaggle of children passed.

Good morning! said one of the chipper teachers herding them.

Morning, the old man grunted; he could not commit to a good without more information. He had not won the Tokyo lottery that day. As far he could see, he was engaged in a task his son should be doing. No, there was no good about it. You had to take the bad with the good, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

She paused, and some of the children gathered around her. We’re on our way up the mountain, and I’m showing them interesting things along the way.

That sounds wonderful, he said, even though it did not.

Is this your farm?

Yes, my family has had it for six generations.

What do you grow here? one of the children asked.

I grow ocha. Green tea.

Another child lowered his handheld game. Are you kidding us? he asked.

Of course not. Where do you think your parents get their tea?

The child looked like the old man was being deceitful. They get it from the store, of course.

Let’s keep moving, the teacher said.

Have fun on the dangerous mountain! Father called out as they walked away. Hours later, when he heard the news that Guiron, the four-legged kaiju with a long, knife-like structure on its forehead, had crawled out of Suruga Bay, he thought of the children. But not for very long.

Which way is it headed? the boy asked his mother.

The old man just shook his head.

"Which way do you think?"

Guiron emerged from the sea, and the military was waiting for it. The news was there, Father noticed. JOTX’s Ms. Oshiro was broadcasting from a high rooftop overlooking the scene. He wondered what the point of it all was. The navy fired their missiles. The army fired their missiles. The air force fired their missiles. None of it had any effect on the giant monster. Many people got stepped on. Many buildings were flattened. Then it headed straight for Mount Fuji.

The old man shook his head again. With any luck, it would step on their house on its way, putting him out of his misery.

As dawn approached, Gamera stirred. They could see that the various cuts on the creature’s exposed limbs, head, and neck were quickly healing.

Hurry! Mother said, and they ran to the wound they had made. It was starting to knit closed, the skin fibers as large as ropes. Soon, the boy would be trapped.

Help me!

Heaving and tugging, they managed to pry the scales up and pulled their son’s body out, along with a few gallons of faintly glowing liquid.

"I’ll bet that’s radioactive!" Father exclaimed, and they all fell backwards.

Gamera stood, towering over them, and without acknowledging their presence, shambled off toward the ocean to finish healing.

Thank you! Goodbye! Mother said after the departing turtle. Maybe you want to work on your strategy, huh? I know turtles aren’t the most nimble of creatures, but maybe next time you can try dodging.

At a distance, Gamera lay down, pulled in its limbs and head, and immediately fire shot out of the holes in its shell. Spinning, it lifted into the air and soared away. The resulting backwash blew dirt and leaves all over the three humans.

See? Father said, watching it go. It doesn’t care about us at all.

Mother ignored him. She was rubbing her son’s head, shoulders, and back. He was covered with a fine, slimy film.

I wonder how it knows where it’s going, with its head pulled in like that? he mused. Doesn’t it get dizzy?

Success! He’s breathing! she announced.

Father turned. Really? He kneeled beside them and examined the boy. He was breathing, he determined, but didn’t seem any stronger, smarter, or more handsome than before. He wondered how this could be ranked as a success.

In the growing daylight, they could see that the boy had lost all his hair, but acquired a few new bony structures that ran over the crown of his head and down his back. His skin had taken on a light green hue.

The old couple shared a surprised look.

Like a turtle.

Mother shrugged. It could have been worse.

How?

He could have grown a shell.

Oh, aren’t we lucky? he said, and fetched the wheelbarrow. He had no doubt about how the boy would be getting back down the hill. He would feel it in his shoulders later in the day.

The boy regained consciousness on the trip down.

What happened? he said.

You went off to defend Gamera against Guiron, remember?

Ahh, he said, understanding. Did I win?

You fought most valiantly, Mother said.

You died within five seconds, Father said.

But, was I very brave?

You showed great courage, Mother said.

You screamed like a girl when the monster looked at you and roared, Father said. You may have even wet yourself.

Father!

The truth hurts sometimes.

But you’re not sure if it’s true!

He nodded. Yes, but one moment his pants were dry, and the next they were wet. You add that one up and let me know what you get.

That stumped Mother.

The boy was thinking about what they had said.

But I fought a kaiju one hundred feet tall! I fought the horrible Guiron!

Yes, my darling, Mother said.

Actually, it ignored you. You fought with one of the winged parasites that cling to its rancid skin.

Mother shot him a warning look.

I thought you were worried about me telling the truth? he complained to her.

I battled a giant parasite!

It was most impressive, Mother said.

I’ve seen more impressive attempts to suppress farts, Father said. To his son, he continued: It was only about four feet long. It punched its beak through your chest and drank your blood. End of story. End of you.

He didn’t mention that Guiron’s parasites, as if to add insult to injury, had picked him up, flown him down near the farm, and let him plummet to the ground. When they returned home, they found his body in the road.

The boy thought on it for a while. And who am I?

You are our son, Mother said gently. You are Hideaki; we call you Hide.

Hee-day, he repeated. You are Mother and Father. I am Hee-day.

Bakemono Tea Farm was a small operation, located on a fairly steep piece of land high in the foothills. Because of this, modern machines could not be brought in and almost all of the labor was done by hand. The house was located at the bottom near the road, with hills lined with rows of beautifully manicured tea plants, a curtain of dazzling green, rising up behind it.

The land was almost continually shrouded in fog, which was good for the