Crucifax by Ray Garton

By Ray Garton

Initially released in 1988, Ray Garton's moment novel, after his lovely debut with stay ladies, is considered a vintage of the "splatterpunk" move in horror fiction. Garton has a fashion with teenage boredom, atmospheric small-town isolation, incest, drug abuse and over-the-top violence and he has controlled to create a latest re-make of the tale of the Pied Piper with a sinister personality, Crucifax, showing at the scene, seducing mixed-up youngsters together with his siren tune of delight, energy and indulgence, all resulting in a horrifically unsettling climax of dying and destruction. And let's now not omit the rat-like issues that do the piper's bidding...

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Apart from the fact that going outside the so-called secure zone allowed him to escape the confines of the shitty, cramped hotel room where he, his girlfriend, and several other family members had been billeted, willing militia volunteers like him were paid with extra rations—a slender additional cut of whatever they brought back. More importantly, going out into the open and watching those evil bastards being hunted down and executed was as close to revenge as he was ever going to get. And Christ, he needed some kind of revenge or retribution.

Another few hits with the axe and another shoulder shove and it gave way. He flew into the dark, foul-smelling room and tripped over a child’s corpse that had been wrapped in what looked like an old, rolled-up projector screen. An Unchanged woman—the dead child’s mother, he presumed—ran at him from the shadows. Instead of attacking, she dropped to her knees in front of him and begged for mercy. He showed her none, grabbing a fistful of hair, then chopping his axe down into the side of her neck, killing her instantly.

How could it have come to this? He’d played here during school vacations as a kid; now look at it. The village of tents and trailers made it look more like a third-world slum than anything else. —although nothing like that ever happened here. He forced himself to look up from the never-ending crowd of refugees that seemed to cover every visible square yard of land, forced himself to shut out their constant cries and moans that were audible even over the rumble of the truck, and forced himself to ignore the foul, rancid smell that filled the air.

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