Tales From The Tomb #1, part 3: Padded Therapist, Tragic-Mystic Cat, Grouchy Scion of Wealth All Involved in Horrific Events

We're on the home stretch of Tales From The Tomb...

Today's posting offers two of its freakiest stories, plus one of its most oddly moving and, dare I say, poetic.

Freak flags fly first with the slice of psycho-horror that is "Crazy Quilt." This is THE story from TFTT that most who read it as kids remember with a shudder. Well, just see for yourself...







"Crazy Quilt" is, at once, John Stanley's kookiest piece, and one of his most revealing as a writer.

The concept is sheer nightmare lunacy. It is a perfect sort of childish bad dream. Being quilted, in the cold light of day, may not strike a mature adult as terrifying. It might actually be a virtue in colder climates.

But from the viewpoint of a child, to whom the world is a sweltering mass of unknown and untested things, this concept is most potent. The idea that a comforting, warming object like a quilt could become something frightening and dangerous is appropriate for a child's imagination.

For a man who said "I don't believe in therapists and pills," Stanley turns in a stellar performance-in-words via poor Miss Birkley, the protagonist. She twists and turns on the psychiatric couch as she tells her story, rich in details and punctuated... with... synapses. I feel that Stanley sympathizes with her.

Therein, we find an interesting variant on the "you are doomed... doomed... DOOMED!" bit that appears in some of Stanley's later Little Lulu stories, and in the harrowing encounters, in Nancy and Sluggo, between Sluggo and the push-button psychotic McOnion.

The rich attention to detail, in Miss Birkley's theraputic monologue, anticipates the nervous, similarly vulnerable dialog of Stanley's Thirteen Going On Eighteen. Stanley's dialogue grew longer and more intense in the 1960s. This talky trend reached an apotheosis in his last work for comix, the first issue of O. G. Whiz (which you'll find in an earlier installment on this blog).

The villain of the piece, of course, is the psycho-therapist-slash-quilter.

Next is a curiously poignant story with subtle scare elements--"The Cat That Was Part of The Night."












"The Cat That Was Part of The Night" suggests a lost Val Lewton horror movie of the 1940s. It is more about domestic tension and dysfunctional adults than horror, per se.

The most charged moments in the story concern the trauma of separation between the little girl, Sue, and her black cat Sammy.

We've seen a dress rehearsal for this scene in the "Li'l Eight Ball" story from New Funnies #101, which was posted HERE not so long ago.

In both stories, Stanley invests the moment of separation with much drama. He is better able to voice this pain in "The Cat..."
Here, he paints a strong portrait of an effed-up family dynamic. Dinah is a commonly-seen 1960s Stanley character--the shrill harridan whose job in life is to bitch and moan and make the world around her tense.

Dinah and Jerry do not get along very well. Jerry is a passive schlump, while dominating Dinah rides him with gusto. Both adults use the child, Sue, for emotional target practice, scoring indirect but vicious hits on one another in her name.

Sue has retreated into a pacifying bond with her cat, Sammy. She describes him poetically on the story's third page:

"Sammy is black--like the night! Sammy is a little part of the night! If he's put out he'll go back into the night!"

All the supernatural elements in this story occur off-stage. We see them through Sue's eyes. She becomes chillingly cruel as she watches Dinah being shredded to bits by the resurrected cat:



In the cold light of day, police surmise that it was your run of the mill raspberry bush scratch/broken neck combo. But Sue knows better.

"The Cat That Was Part of The Night" is the most powerful and convincing story in Tales From The Tomb. I wish the artwork were stronger. The artist does a sort of pastiche of Jack Kamen, George Evans and that Madison Avenue drawing style of the Space Age. The results are, like much of this book, oddly primitive. Yet they somehow--if just barely--succeed.

Back to Wonkyland for "The Long Wait"-- no relation to the Mickey Spillane novel of the same name.








The Tales From The Tomb formula--novel concepts made zany and dream-incoherent--reach their peak in "The Long Wait."

In this story, Stanley calls one of his pet themes--that rich people are no damned good--and gives it a new twist.

Here, we see a very rare instance of a wealthy person (and an admitted scoundrel) willing to atone for his misdeeds. Despite the physical improbability of the story's last panel, "The Long Wait" impresses with its blend of grim ritual and of a miscreant baring his soul and confessing his crimes.

Rich, detailed dialogue fills this story. Mr. Drone's ironic recitation of the "classic" version of his life story, followed by what really happened, is among Stanley's most impressive writing. As well, the interactions of Drone and his man servant, Robert, in a situation usually played for black comedy in Stanley's world, are handled here with impressive gravity.

The concept for the story's shock ending is worthy of the best of the E.C. horror comix. Its shoddy treatment by the artist really robs this piece of its potential impact. As it stands, its blend of grave, affecting dialogues and a kooky finale are par for the TFTT course.

And now, to clear the palate, here's another one-pager, "Goblin's Ball"-- a goldmine of runaway ellipses...

Until... next... time...

The HaLLoween Spirit III: Girl's Love of Sea Causes Moon-Witch Collision; Tompkins Kid Outwits Sociopathic Neighbor, Wins 3,000,000 Kisses

I thought I'd do some moving today, but it's been postponed 'til next Saturday. I need a break from packing boxes, throwing crap out and walking around my dishevelled apartment with a mixture of bewilderment, depression and disbelief.

As well, it occured to me that readers of this blog who share these comix stories with their children might think twice about reading those freaky horror stories I posted yesterday.

I fear they may have a traumatizing effect on young minds. So here are two more stories from that Little Lulu Halloween special. These ought to make far more suitable bedtime-story material. For our older readers, these may leaven the psycho-weirdness of the horror material.

Here, today, are Lulu and Tubby. Lulu's up first, with another fine fractured fairy-tale, "The Witch In The Moon."









This story can't help but pale in comparison with the brilliant "The Twelve Long-Lost Little Sisters," but it still bristles with charm and sharp humor.

Lulu's interactions with the ocean have a poetic quality that is beautifully underplayed. As well, this story offers the most casual look into the everyday (or, should I say, everynight?) life of Witch Hazel. The sight of her in a bikini is... well... different.

Tubby is the protagonist of "Trick or Treat," which pits him against a common later Stanley nemesis--the borderline-psycho disgruntled male neighbor. Here was a real-life bogeyman suburban kid readers could truly understand. Nestled away in all communities is at least one socially alienated loner-type who's chosen to isolate himself from humanity in general.







Tubby is a passive hero in "Trick or Treat." He literally does nothing, yet he provokes Mr. Crank into action. As with "The Bragging Mirror," it's pleasing to see the dueling a-holes Wilbur and Gloria get hoisted on their own petards. That said, the final image of them being chased down a dark street by Mr. Crank is a bit disturbing. It's played for comedy, but a genuine sense of menace creeps up to the surface.

Poor Tub will never collect those "three million kisses" from Gloria--a conclusion we're invited to draw ourselves, and which graces the story's closure with a pinch of sadness.

WARNING: Our next few posts will contain selections from the notorious 1962 Dell Giant Tales From The Tomb. Youhave been warned! Heh, heh, heh, heh...

The HaLLoween Spirit 2: Magician's Aide Suspected in Cruel Hoax; Large Cardboard Tube Baffles Community; Evil Scion of Wealth Duped By Clever Commoner

Howdy, one and all. These are stressful times for me. I'm moving--to a much better and more affordable place, but moving is always stressful. And, as usual, I'm flat broke. Jobs of any kind are nigh-impossible to find. I'm hanging by a slender thread of faith in the universe that I'll make it through this winter.

Thus, my plans to do a lot of posts in October are somewhat hindered. I'll do my best to do a post a week. Thanks for your patience.

Here are the next three stories from the 1958 Little Lulu and Tubby Halloween Fun giant. Today's selections are very Tubby-centric. That is always good news in the Luluverse.

I've been asked to write an essay about characters in popular media with heavy cognitive biases. Tubby is, of course, one of the great examples. I think Larry David's character in Curb Your Enthusiasm and Ricky Gervais and Steve Carell's roles in both versions of The Office have much in common with good ol' Tub.

We are drawn to characters who create disaster via their tenacious hold on warped world-views and askew justifications. I think there is something cathartic about seeing such characters make huge gaffes and disrupt the order of the world around them.

This is especially true when said characters sincerely believe that what they're doing is right--perhaps the only way to achieve their goals. It is a huge societal fear that we will be exposed as someone who has made flagrantly wrong choices, and upset the applecart of routine life via our misinformed decisions.

Tubby's wrong choices don't make my sphincter turn inside out, as do Larry David's or Michael Scott's. Horror movies don't scare me; The Office and Curb Your Enthusiasm both do.

Tub's is a kindler, gentler set of cognitive biases. Speaking of which, let's enjoy the Tubster in action...

"The Frog In The Hat" sidesteps the Hallo-theme, although a stage magician's mystique does border on the supernatural for the kids in this story. Tubby's logic system is a runaway train here, with Lulu its bewildered passenger.








As usual, it's just Tub's overactive, unmedicated imagination, and nothing more. But Tub's belief system rescues Mysto the magician from a horde of menopausal female fans, on whom he apparently has a Tom Jones-like effect.

By simply believing in his misinformed thesis, and following it to an illogical conclusion, Tubby (and Lulu) are rewarded by their most grateful idol. It's fascinating to see Lulu--always the voice of reason and logic--so taken in by Tub's flights of fantasy.

That Stanley's characters are malleable and inconsistent makes them all the more real, appealing and compelling. We want to see what will happen to them. Like us, they are uncertain vessels on the sea of life. They do not react robotically to circumstances.

Tubby edges Lulu completely out of the picture for the next two stories. "Missle Fizzle" offers a fascinating and rare glimpse inside the home of Lulu's best friend, Annie. In many stories, Annie is depicted as a poor child. Her home seems no better or worse than the Moppets' or the Tompkins'. Perhaps Annie's family came into some money in the mid-1950s.






"Missle Fizzle" is built around topical references to Space Age weaponry--an unusual move for John Stanley in Little Lulu. The series, as a whole, occurs in a comfortable vacuum. Their timeframe is a vague "now" that could be any year from 1945to 1960.

The stories seem, im particular, to take place in the prosperous, relaxed later 1940s. It's genuinely surprising to see the intrustions of the present-day in "Little Lulu."

Stanley would aggressively embrace pop culture references in his post-Lulu work. "Missle Fizzle" is a fascinating preview of his 1960s writing.

It is also a brilliantly dense dose of character-driven comedy. Annie's brother, Iggy, instigates the mishaps. For once, Tubby (plus the other "fellers") completely buys another person'a sincere-but-misguided concept.

The rich visual-verbal comedy that ensues is top-drawer stuff. Stanley had a great deal invested in these characters. All that thinking and planning had given him a foolproof foundation to write hilarious and delightfully absurd stories such as this.


Tubby emerges triumphant, in "The Bragging Mirror," against his greatest foe, the amoral, wealthy Wilbur van Snobbe. Wilbur is unusually nasty here. Again, this anticipates Stanley's coming tenure on the Nancy comics. Stanley's treatment of the equivalent Rollo Haveall character, in that series, is among his harshest depiction of the heartless, manipulative rich.









The main situation of this story is gimmicky sitcomix. Stanley just barely gets away with its artifice. You know something's up when Tub keeps his scheme to himself. An egomaniac of his caliber would typically obsess over his scheme, savoring each detail in detail.

Of course, if Tub did that, the story would fall apart. It works because we have seen Tubby try to get along with Wilbur so many times in the past--and has had his sincere efforts trampled and his kindness mocked. As well, Wilbur, who needs no extra money, has duped Tub out of "at least twenty dollars" over the years.

We want to see this comeuppance--especially impressive since it is a no-budget affair. All Tubby needs is his vivid imagination and a "ventriloquist gadget." The latter, seen in many 1940s animated cartoons, comic books and '50s TV shows, apparently was a miraculous device.

The tacit moral of the story is that Tubby, lower middle class kid of no great means, can outfox lazy, self-indulgent, wealthy Wilbur with nothing more than a colorful, clever story. Wilbur is not the sharpest knife in the drawer, despite his social and financial pedigree.

Were "The Bragging Mirror" not so rich in detail, and seated in such a high-stakes unsettled score, it would be just like another 100 dumb funny-book stories. It's to Stanley's credit that he transcends the gimmick with convincing characterization and geniune, well-depicted human emotion.

We'll take a temporary break from this Halloween giant, as I've had requests for some of Stanley's whacked-out serious horror stories of the early 1960s. I'll offer up some of those subconscious wonders next time around.