Though they are not connected, two of the three horror stories in Jason Brannon’s WINDS OF CHANGE effectively use isolation as a theme, and all introduce some form of ancient mythology into the present day.
In the opening number – both the title story and longest of the group – Brannon strands a handful of characters in a hardware store as chaos erupts outside. A trio of employees, headed by our narrator, begins rounding up the remaining customers as trouble escalates. The power has already gone out, and now the phone lines are dead. The backup generator has not kicked in, and it’s thought that someone has intentionally sabotaged it, considering the store’s managers are the only ones with keys to the room where it’s kept.
Immediately, theories begin circulating regarding the weird things going on outside the hardware store – namely, that anyone exposed to the air is turned into a pillar of salt. One employee immediately suspects terrorism, but it’s clear that something much more elaborate, perhaps even supernatural, is at work here. The employees’ first instinct is to usher everyone out of the store, but when Jesse Weaver – an infamous local legend Jim Croce might have been inspired to write a song or two about – refuses to leave with his wife and two boys (who are every bit as notorious for trouble as their old man), the plan changes. A newly married couple is introduced, and an old man who knows a little too much emerges from the shadows to round out the resourceful cast of characters.
The centerpiece of the collection is also its masterpiece. In “Quartet,” four string musicians are trapped in the practice hall of a conservatory overlooking the Atlantic after an earthquake swallows almost everything around them and leaves their surroundings in dangerous shambles. Tremors from the quake free a bloodthirsty group of scaly denizens from their underwater caves along the coast, allowing them to finally confront the music that has haunted them for years. To live, the quartet must hold the angry creatures at bay by continuing to play their instruments. Every time they stop, the creatures inch closer, their tentacles reaching for the idle musicians through cracks in the walls, ceilings, floors and broken windows.
“Quartet,” while continuing the isolation theme well employed in the opener, is a poignant tale of hope and regret, and manages to make us care more deeply about the characters and their fate than we did in its predecessor.
Finally, in “Graffiti,” we have the story of a newly homeless man and his relationship with a young boy whose purpose in life is avenging the deaths of his family and everyone else lost to the ills of a rapidly decaying society. Donald, recently divorced and left with nothing in the settlement, notices posters all around the city offering rewards for the return of missing persons, all of whom he fears have been swallowed up for good by the underground tunnels the former banker is just getting used to. The boy, Charlie, is able to conjure voodoo gods with his impressive painting skills, essentially calling them out with his artwork, at once sacrificing those responsible for the ruined lives of people like himself and Donald.
But one night, Charlie believes one of his traps has failed, and that one of the “loa” – or “gods” – has escaped into their world. In order to return the giant snake god Damballah to its rightful place, Donald will have to summon him using his artwork, but he needs a final human sacrifice to complete the transaction.
While the subject matter of the title story is cause for some interesting religious debate among the group, it never really escalates into controversial territory, and therefore, just misses being great and current. Still, Brannon’s prose is immediately and consistently readable throughout this tight trilogy, and his impressive knowledge of all the myths and occupations presented helps the stories ring true. –Jason Light
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The first story reminds me of King’s “The Mist”.