From Zombos Closet

November 2025

Ghosts of Coronado Bay
A Maya Blair Mystery

Ghosts Zombos Says: Good

In the dark depths of the ocean, the Black Lady settled to the bottom in a cloud of silt and muck. The fish and lobsters, the only living witnesses, hurried out of its way. In the eternal blackness, the spirits of the dead howled with grief and anger. All except two.

“You snore enough to wake the dead.”

I turned over in my sleep. At least I think I was sleeping. It’s always hard to tell when you’re sleeping when you’re half-asleep.

“C’mon with you, I don’t have all night.”

Something small and wispy, like a feather, brushed against my forehead. I turned the other way.

“Juju beans! I don’t have time for this.”

Something large and hard whacked my forehead. I opened my eyes.

“Finally,” said the butterfly-winged elderly woman standing over me. Her long gossamer cloak fluted across my bed. I rubbed my eyes. Thinking of the word fluted hurt my head.

I looked at the Clocky alarm clock on my nightstand. It glared back with a god awfully early hour.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” I said, “you’re either an undigested potato, too much plum sherry, or Tinkerbell’s mom.

“Great, another comedian. Take a whiff.” She leaned in close to me and pulled my head against her bosom.

“Toothpaste?” I sniffed. “And is that a hint of soggy mint floss caught between braces?”

She nodded and waited. I removed a bit of gossamer fuzz from my cheek, looked back at Clocky, looked back at her bosom, and waited to wake up. …

Crossing the Streams:
The Covid Blues

AI image of bookcase filled with books and movies, with an old television set in front.Getting sick while you age seems more challenging — the survival to wellness part, I mean. The last covid vaccine I took was about three years ago. Last year I got the flu, and yup, that was the year I didn’t get the flu vaccine either. My track record is not looking good. That feeling of normal life interrupted, unable to do anything beyond not moving, not eating, and not doing much of anything that you really needed to do, is very annoying and depressing. The only thing left is to make the best of it with what you can.

So in the past week, between chills, sweats, sleep, lack of sleep, and (a definite benefit here) weight loss, I managed to get caught up with the CBS show Tracker — loved seeing Jensen Ackles as Colten Shaw’s brother — and its blend of cases to solve. At first I didn’t like the show, thinking it was yet another addition to the pablum-bloated, scripted fantasy-reality shows that CBS indulges in like NCIS, FBI Blue Bloods, Sheriff Country, Boston Blue, the list goes on. Given the current reality of what’s happening today, the scripting is more a wishful throwback to the good old days, so how anyone can watch that stuff is beyond me. But Elsbeth is a lot of fun and brilliant in many ways — if you haven’t seen the Doll Day Afternoon episode you must, it’s an instant classic.

And then there’s The Late Show with Stephen Colbert and the outrageously awesome South Park. Dissent is what made America. Ironically, it’s also chipping away at our unity and shared sense of purpose when some insist their dissent is the only one that holds value. But Colbert and South Park are hilarious in how they voice dissent in very damning ways with a maliciousness that so easily merges into comedy (satire? parody? the Court Jester making fun of the obtuse King?), that each episode for either of them is a wonder to behold.

I also managed to finally watch Doctor Sleep. What works so well for it is the merging of both the novel and Kubrick’s The Shining to a better degree than Kubrick’s vision alone. I know Stephen King did not like that vision much (I was disappointed too: that Dick Hallorann chest meets axe thing, huh?), enough to write up a multi-part tv series to get the taste out of his mouth, but I’m glad he liked Mike Flanagan’s vision of finally putting a resolution and salvation into Doctor Sleep that was missing in The Shining. It was also a great pleasure to watch a straight-forward horror movie again, riffing on the vampire theme. I love Jordan Peele’s horrors, don’t get me wrong (Nope is my favorite so far), but sometimes, a cigar can just be a cigar, to steal a bit from Freud. Movies like The Substance (2024), The Strays (2023), The First Omen (2024), and the underwhelming The Conjuring: Last Rites (2025) can gain a lot of traction from social, religious, and political commentary wrapped into the core of the horror, but that commentary can also dilute the terror by neon-signing over it.

For a book recommendation I heartily command you to read Splatter Flicks: How to Make Low Budget Horror Flicks by Sarah Caldwell. Even if you aren’t a budding horror maestro, itching to lens your first indie testament to terror, you will learn a lot about how movies get made, not just horrors. The reading is smooth as pâté spiced with essential experiences and guidance from pros in the field who worked themselves through and upward in their filmmaking craft. After watching horrible horrors like The Brain (1988), you kind of wish the book was available back then, too.

I’ll have a full review for Splatter Flicks up soon. That is, assuming I don’t get the flu too. Gotta work on that track record.

Neon Maniacs (1986)
Collectable Trading Card Monsters

neon maniacs movie posterZombos Says: This cult classic is survivable with pizza and alcohol.

We were sitting in Zombos’s study. Outside, the November winds blew the balding tree limbs to and fro. Paul Hollstenwall was visiting and brought along Neon Maniacs. The Hollstenwalls live at 0004 Gravestart Lane, a few minutes’ walk from the mansion. Not far enough, if you ask me. We usually get the League of Reluctant Reviewers to handle his kind of movies, but sometimes he wiggles himself into the mansion, and like an infestation, is hard to eradicate. We usually have to placate him to wiggle him out. But it does take effort and is often exhausting. So, to understate things, it’s always a lively and interesting time when Paul visits us.

And it’s always a dreadful time too. His taste in under and overdone, and quirky, movie-making is boundless, and he always manages to find yet another headscratcher movie that’s worse than the previous one he’s cursed us to watch. I don’t know; maybe it is just me, or maybe there was a Donnie Darko kind of time crimp in the mid-1980s because some pretty weird horror movies came out then. Once you’ve seen Video Dead 1987, Spookies 1986, and this dive bomber, you should be awarded the official Cult Horror Classic (But We Are Not Sure Why) Survivor Award. To be fair, the director had to deal with a four-month shutdown due to financing issues. When the production jolted to life again, changes had to be made with the lesser money allocated, and good, well planned, intentions were shown the door as necessary changes were dealt with.

I poured the coffee and white sambuca, and popped the DVD into the player. Chef Machiavelli had crafted his wonderful pizza diavolo to take the sting out of our ordeal to come. We settled into the cushions as the movie came to life.

When the world is ruled by violence, and the souls of mankind fades, the children’s path shall be darkened by the souls of the neon maniacs,” intones the narrator as the movie starts.

“What does that mean?” asked Zombos.

Paul and I shrugged. Perhaps that art-house blend of words was just too deep for us. “Let’s wait and see if the movie explains it,” I recommended.

“What are those, trading cards?” asked Zombos, leaning closer to the largest smart television commercially available to get a better look. He was weird like that.

“Yeah, cool-looking, aren’t they?” said Paul. “Wouldn’t it be great if they had statistics on the back for each of the neon maniacs, like baseball cards?”

“How do monsters from hell that no one knows about get printed trading cards?” asked Zombos. He stared at Paul and took a big gulp of sambuca. …