The Recluse + THOIA (a poem)

Some of you might remember last month I had a “Stupidest Killers Weekend” special... and by golly today’s post falls into that ridiculously entertaining category as well. See how much sympathy you can muster up for these two geniuses as they try to take advantage of – The Recluse!
From the May 1954 issue of Out of the Shadows #13

COMING NEXT IN SEPTEMBER:

Strange Mysteries #9 in it’s ENTIRETY!

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As we wrap up the last day of August here at THOIA, we thank everyone again for their continued daily devotion, and in some cases, their continued contributions to the cause. Brian Hirsch for example started out as merely my favorite ebay seller of pre code comics, but over the last few years he’s become a good friend and one of my most popular donators of gruesome Golden Age goodies. Check my archives, some of the best stories I’ve ever posted here have come from him. Who could ever forget I MUST KILL!??!

Below we see Brian in his dank, dark dungeon. It’s a typical Saturday night in his doommain, sacrificing virgins and drinking their blood... and it is here he relaxes, head bowed, in morbid meditation, while casually burning the midnight fires to his Dark Lord, in eternal, evil servitude:

But wait... something is wrong. One mispronounced word in the incantation has altered his nightly ritual, and thus called forth some-thing he had not bargained for! Something black and corrupt, brimming with endless, diabolical terror! It now crosses over into our realm, possessing his angelic son, enveloping the child’s flesh with something from not of this world! It’s… it’s… a THOIA shirt! AIEEEEEE!

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THE HORRORS OF IT ALL (a poem by Brian Hirsch)

The witching hour has finally arrived

What once was dead is now alive

Spirits near and far, heed your Master’s call

And join me at THE HORRORS OF IT ALL
Get yourself ready and take a step inside

It will be painless, just like a swallow of cyanide

We are legion and always looking for a new friend

There’s a cemetery gathering that you just have to attend

Where skeletons can dance without any skin

And sinners are free to revel in their guiltless sin

Lost souls forever trapped between here and there

Are caught in a realm found in your worst nightmare

Inhuman screams come from a mother in unnatural childbirth

As a rotting zombie is spat forth from cursed earth

You might even catch a glimpse of an angel’s fall

Down here at THE HORRORS OF IT ALL
Where wrong is always right and the truth is full of lies

And the insane try to escape from a Hell of their own devise

An unholy place that reeks of charred flesh and brimstone

That will make every demon feel right at home

Blind eyes see all movement from behind the dead wood

You can come alone but I don’t think that you should

Here awaits you all the things that go bump in the night

That suddenly disappear when you turn on a light

Witches, werewolves, vampires and ghouls are just a few

Of the inhabitants looking forward to meeting you

Out of the swamps many hideous creatures crawl

To greet you at THE HORRORS OF IT ALL

(Thanks again, Brian! ---Karswell)