The Long Last Call

Do you enjoy children's tea parties, fairy godmothers, unicorns and rainbows? Yeah? Well, you want to get a cab, because John Skipp is serving buckets of blood, twisted sex, and peek-through-your-fingers gore, friends. If, on the other hand, you dig Splatterpunk like I do, come and see what the co-founder of that infamous subgenre of horror hath wrought; it ain't pretty. It is, however, tremendously entertaining and utterly horrifying! A young and immensely drunk young man named Hank finds himself staggering into a seedy, dead-end strip club called Sweet Thangs, where the dancers are hot and the beer is cold. The strip joint is a perfect place for Hank to medicate the growing suicidal madness and hallucinations with which he's been grappling. Worse, his girlfriend has recently kicked him to the curbstone. He finds the dancers enticing, but they want money for the pleasure watching them writhe and undulate. Like most of the other men, Hank is aroused by the girls, but somewhat resentful that he must enjoy their wanton, unattainable charms at a distance and for a price. The dancers despise the patrons, whom they feel are cheap and exploitative. It is a symbiotic parasitism of mutual antipathy that develops into rage-fueled carnage ignited by a well-dressed and moneyed stranger that arrives in a limousine and enters the club. The oddly out-of-place stranger is not altogether human, you see--he is the walking, talking embodiment of the antagonism and mutual distrust that exists between men and women. The Sweet Thangs club, a microcosm of simmering hatreds, is a prime location for the stranger to sow dark seeds of mayhem with the cash he carries in his briefcase, because the men are there for sex and the women are there for money, so just guess to whom the women are going to be drawn. And it is ON, no holds barred. This is classic Skipp, a master of terror whose supernatural horrors are always so smartly underpinned by sociological realties and human frailties. When you click on the cover graphic and purchase THE LONG LAST CALL, you will also receive an included bonus novella, "Conscience", another in-yer-face, balls-out Skipp masterpiece that begins with a boy and his dog but quickly veers into a Splatteresque nightmare of gambling, sex, carnage and, um, religion. Please note that this is unapologetically explicit adult fiction that is not suitable for children or grandma's bedside table.

In the back yards of America is the strip joint Sweet Thangs, a place where those who have no hope go to and see a stripper who has no dreams take off all her clothes. They have no ambition so they have no expectation f bettering themselves just like Hank who stops there to forget losing the only woman he ever loved. It is almost closing time and the only customers are the regulars who have no other place they would rather be because no one wants them. In walks a tall dark handsome man who is carrying a suitcase full of money. He tips the strippers excessively, demands they go to more extreme lengths to obtain money. Sex is not what he wants but he gets what he came for when he touches each person and the slime on his hands goes into their bodies turning them into the people they really are behind their masks. He feeds on their hatred, lusts, anger and sins as he done for eons. By the end OF THE LONG LAST CALL he expects that everyone will be dead. He is for the first time in millennia surprised at the outcome. Readers who have a week stomach will not want too read this graphic horror novel. It is a chilling work filled with plenty of violence, sex, gore and depravity and though the audience keeps wondering who the stranger is, they will make good guesses based on his actions. The people in Sweet Thangs are a microcosm of the malevolence that infects much of the human race and John Skips brilliantly uses one entity to symbolic that evil. Read THE LONG LAST CALL at your own risk. Harriet Klausner

Last year, we saw the triumphant return of John Skipp, editor extraordinaire, as he bagged a Stoker for MONDO ZOMBIE-- a project roughly thirteen years in the making. This year, John Skipp, the proud Splatterpunk Papa, returned to the fiction arena with THE LONG LAST CALL, a tale of demons and strip club dancers, of innocence and bloated lusts. Don't get me wrong. It's not as if Skipp wasn't busting his butt in the world of horror and beyond. Since the late 90s, he's been busy editing, writing collaborations with others, making music videos, short films, and even adult movies (for which he won an AVN), and writing screenplays. But to his fans, his return proper was a moment of truly bizarre dichotomy. A sense of expectation, for sure. Finally, the man who made some of us want to be rock n' roll horror writers was coming back to the fold. But many wondered if that old Skipp magic was still there? Could he pull off another ANIMALS or THE BRIDGE? This reviewer is here to allay any such fears. Despite the relative short length, THE LONG LAST CALL is vintage Skipp, but with a whole new wisdom. Written initially as a screenplay for a film that Skipp intended to produce, he cleverly keeps that cinematic vision throughout the story, moving from one character to another with an editor's eye for continuity and pace. After introducing the reader to Hank, an angst ridden young country boy, who might just be a little less than sane, we're escorted into SWEET THANGS, a strip club off the beaten trail. Using a technique rivaling the famous opening tracking shot in Orson Welles' TOUCH OF EVIL, we meet the assorted cast of dancers, a sleazy drugged out club owner, a muscle bound bouncer with plans of his own, a trio of local dollar tipping rowdies, and the wallflower stripper mom. Enter The Dark Stranger, loaded with cash and big plans for a night's not-so-innocent entertainment. If you've ever been lucky enough to attend a Skipp reading, you'll recognize the loose and easy style of writing as the same way in which he reads aloud for his eager fans. It's as if your favorite uncle is sitting across from you, relaying the damnedest story from his checkered past. The litmus test of a true craftsman is how easily Skipp is able to keep the breakneck pace, layer the violence and sex to a heady pitch, and still load the story with pathos and emotion. If THE LONG LAST CALL is any indication of what the future holds for Skipp fans, we all have thanks to give to whatever writing gods convinced him to come back again. All Hail the Splatterpunk King. --Nickolas Cook

John Skipp's latest novel, "The Long Last Call" is a battle of good vs. evil played out against the backdrop of a seedy, roadside strip club. Hank's girlfriend has just broken up with him and he is teetering on the edge of madness. Driving down a lonely stretch of road, haunted by persistent destructive hallucinations, Hank happens on a strip club called Wild Thangs and decides to stop in for last call. Skipp's last call for Hank is both literally and figuratively as the drunken man envisions blowing out his brains right in front of the stage. Skipp nails down to a perfect "T" all the usual denizens of lower tier strip clubs; There's Darnell the bouncer who fancies himself hero to the dancers for walking them to their cars after closing time; Daisy the young rookie, unskilled as a dancer but making up for it with looks and a body that haven't yet been eroded by years of abuse; Ambrosia, the self-appointed queen bee among the dancers and sexual toy for the club's owner, Eddie. And of course there's the usual group of drunken red necks, hooting and hollering and spending the last dollar of their meager paychecks. Eddie owns the club and it's his private little empire despite the fact that he is in debt up to his ears. Eddie's sister works form him handling the club's finances so he doesn't put it all up his nose. She's also the club's house mom, watching over the dancers as if they were her own daughters. Just as last call is announced, a mysterious stranger walks into the bar, dark and handsome...and completely terrifying to Hank who is able to see past the glistening veneer. This Dark Stranger stars tossing money around, lots of money, and soon the entire bar is at attention. The dancers all fight for his attention while Eddie plays the cordial host, making sure is guest has everything he wants. And what he wants is the bar to close so he can enjoy a private with the dancers and the other patrons. Only Mom, suspecting something isn't right about the stranger, decides to leave at closing time. As the door locks behind her, the terror is about to begin... As one would expect from one of the founders of the splatterpunk scene, the action turns gory and gruesome before long. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've sat down to read a book and finished it in one sitting and this was one of those times. It wasn't a long book at 182 pages, but what there was moved at breakneck speed as the entire story was played out over a couple of hours. Each of the character's personalities were right on the money without becoming caricatures. The feeding frenzy that takes place when the dark stranger starts throwing money around is evidence of the desperate lives that these women lead. The Long Last Call hits the road with the petal to the floor and never lets off the gas. If you are a stripper, you might want to think twice the next time that high-roller saunters into the club. You just never know what his true intentions

As a fan of horror fiction for many years, it was with great pleasure that I read the latest from John Skipp. The characters are real, fleshed out (no pun intended). The pace is a roller coaster, the ending not seen. If viseral gore can be beautiful....this is it.