by John Everson

Failure is a longish short by John Everson, Stoker Award-winning author of Covenant. Though Covenant had its harder-edged moments, it was nevertheless a fairly quiet novel. Failure harkens happily back to true erotic horror: some of it will sicken and arouse (often simultaneously) and make you feel guilty for enjoying it, which most of us who appreciate it think it should do. This is an old-fashioned, supernatural, slippery orgy of violence and sex, where blood is a perfectly viable kinky bodily fluid.

Three suicidal, self-styled dead-end teenagers agree to give an old man a thrill by copulating inside his pentagram, but Aaron has more than that in mind, reciting an incantation and offering an unexpected blood sacrifice in order to exert control over death. Six months later, all their chickens come home to roost and the three find themselves racing to Aaron's house, different purposes in mind. He's waiting for them, and so is the fruit of their previous labors.

Though too short to offer many subplots, Failure manages to portray with accuracy the sort of nihilist teenagers one often reads about after-school shootings—teenagers who have no reason to be dead inside, but who nevertheless seek an exit from a world they think does not want them. They don't realize the cycle they're in, and couldn't break out of it if they did. Shocking behavior becomes their anti-establishment protest, acting up to prove they exist, only to crave release from their existence. Everson's portrayal hits that mindset dead-on, but adds the element of "failure" the three share: the suicidal hunk, Raymond (who pulls the trigger but forgets to load the gun), the born loser, Sal (who can't score with any girls unless he's able to offer a very nice deal, indeed), and the attractive Cind (who should be happy and popular, but who's lost interest in caring).

Perhaps the horror here is at least as much related to how these otherwise perfectly normal "perfect" teenagers can in actuality find themselves over the edge, tormented by their daily lives. Aaron may well be a metaphorical manifestation of how life can chew us up and spit us out . . . or, he might just be the sick pervert who preys on our innocent youth for his own purposes. We may enjoy the ride a little more as we discern that these three are helping to "thin the herd," as it were.

Failure succeeds with its blend of gritty modern realism and superimposed supernatural elements, while invoking some of the best erotic horror B-movies of the '60s–'70s (you know the ones, with all the sex and nudity). And the next time you see one of these "cute" little books, remember . . . it might have some bite.