Which Way Books #10: Invasion of the Black Slime

Last time out the original jewel quest ended in a French shake-down room. For those who keep asking, the shake-down room is where you get, well, shook down. I've decided to take a short break from Choose Your Own Adventure to try a Which Way Book. I actually have a pretty good recollection of this one from my childhood and have wanted to review it for awhile. Yes, I will try to be more industrious with finishing all the Choose Your Own Adventure books. Believe me, I really don't want to be writing a review of "Master of Kung Fu" or "Behind the Wheel" the day before I go before an Obamacare Elderly Death Panel, but I think this short digression is worth it.

Scheduled review date: May, 2071.

Which Way is actually not a cheap knock-off, but the direct lineal descendent from some of the first interactive books, along with Choose Your Own Adventure. It was published by Simon & Schuster (!), had a tie-in with Star Trek and produced numerous other spin-offs. This stuff was serious business back then. Interestingly, Edward Packard's Sugarcane Island, possibly the first book of this kind, was published in this series before being released as a Choose Your Own Adventure book. All right, I think that's enough history for now. You're here for the endless comedic references to Westworld and 1984, not for a detailed dissertation on a subject that no longer holds even the slightest relevance.

Enjoy your nightmares, kids.

This is another horror entry, which as I've noted many times, is the one genre that seems impossible to mess up, even for these books. Why the same generally serious tone, absence of odious "comic" relief, minimal far-left wing political ranting and adequate descriptive prose couldn't be applied to stories about the vast emptiness of space or the evils of rural America remains a mystery. For whatever reason "this must be scary": activates hidden reserves of non-sucking power in writers.

Well, unless that writer is Dean Koontz. 

I'm on a bicycle tour of what appears to be the Rocky Mountains, although a location is never specified. My ten day journey has taken me to the outskirts of a town called "Silverlode." Here I encounter another youth who serves as a plot device to launch the story, admirably fulfilling the expected "It's got a death curse!" warning while also offering up two alternative story lines. The summary is that weird things involving the titular slime are going down in the town. Two people were murdered and no one cared, we are told. Welcome to Detroit's sister city, I guess.

Mr. Plot Dump Jr. is instead going to his Uncle's house, which now serves as a modern version of the Deathtrap Dungeon, offering a Million dollars, which used to be a lot of money, to anyone that can survive its horrors. Yeah, that sounds a lot safer than the town. There's also a doctor who lost his son to a car accident and is probably trying to get all re-animator on that situation, so I could go check that out if people that casually kill each other and Crazy Uncle's House of Death aren't calling out to me.

I decide to go into town anyway, deciding that all this black slime talk is an exaggeration of what's probably a moderately serious incident, at worst. Yeah, there's probably some slime issues and maybe a few people have been body-snatched or whatever, but I came here to see small town America and it's going to happen. The insidious corruption of a small town is just going to have to wait until I take a bunch of selfies while standing in front of the giant rubber band ball and so on.

Everything seems normal enough. I hit a burger joint for some much needed fats and simple sugars and observe no strange behavior. Well, everyone is wearing sunglasses, but I chalk that up to some sort of fad. Yeah, remember that big tinted lenses trend that came and went? It certainly had no staying power. Everyone's into monocles now, or will be by the time you read this, areas of the U.S. that aren't on the coasts.

Keeping track of the visions in my eyes.

I hit the hotel and get some rest, reflecting on how much better this is than sleeping in a bag on the ground. Yes, I'm a child traveling alone, sleeping outdoors, staying in hotels...parenting was apparently a lot different back when "zero tolerance" wasn't a thing yet.

I decide to look around the town, slipping on some cool shades so I'll fit in better. Well, now I see why I'm allowed to travel alone at such a tender age. I'm a natural at fitting in and adapting to situations. Maybe next year South Sudan or the Ukraine. 

Visit beautiful Chernobyl! Also, everything you saw on the news is a lie. 

People watching ends when I literally become part of the mob, being told "it's time!" Good thing I've got that brilliant disguise. I'm hustled into the town hall just in time for the unveiling of something moving under a giant tarp. Yeah, this is not going to end well. What's in there is, of course, the Black Slime. It starts quivering and throwing out tentacles. "It's trying to tell us something!" declares the leader of the cult I managed to infiltrate via my careful attention to what's hot in the realm of eye covering.

Then I get splattered with a blast of dark muck, revealing me as an outsider and evil, evil non-believer. I'm given a choice to run or just sit there and let the crowd and sentient darkness have it's way with me. I run.

This reminds me of a quote Grandpa, for some reason. No, it's not "Son, if you're ever confronted by an alien horror that defies the generally accepted laws of biology and the insane human acolytes that worship it, hit the bricks." but is instead a pithy line about the need to "run like the dickens." Yup, that's an old person all right.

The regular cartoonist will be back next week, please stop sending in complaints.

This clever plan works, I wash the slime off, grab the bike and say goodbye to this town gone mad. Or do I? I'm given the option to try one of the other two plot lines. What is this, the Race Forever? How about "no."

You wouldn't know it from my run, but this book actually creates some pretty scary situations and has some disturbing illustrations that add to that mood. On the down side, it reads like three failed short stories shoe-horned into this format with mixed results. In the Uncle's house branch there's seventeen straight pages without a choice! Granted, these pages are packed with atmosphere and grotesque images, but it's not exactly interactive. This is this one's biggest failing, the limited agency. As far as bringing the bad dream petrol, it gets the job done easily.

  Sleep well, kids!

Check Out My Books!

Aaron Zehner is the author of "Posts from the Underground," now available in paperback and e-book. Read a free excerpt here.

His first novel The Foolchild Invention is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.

Choose Your Own Adventure #5: The Mystery of Chimney Rock

After an unfair, deprotagonizing and generally ungood voyage to a land of swords and sorcery it's back to the Choose Your Own Adventure series and some relatively modern horror. Make no mistake, this was definitely an area where this series excelled. While my parents were just glad the moron box was off, I was experiencing refined nightmarium. They probably would have been less happy about all that reading if they knew it was generally stories where you die a horrible and meaningless death at the hands of supernatural evil.

This one opens with a fair amount of back-story, well at least more than most early entries. I'm visiting my cousins in Connecticut and we're checking out this "large stone house." It looks abandoned, but instead of becoming the center of a thriving squatter-based heroin industry it's also uninhabited, on account of a curse. People go and in and don't come back out, basically. Like most problems, a cat lady is involved. Apparently this old woman, who may or may not have been a witch, placed the curse so that people wouldn't bother her cat. Yeah, really. Others theorize that she isn't actually dead, but the bottom line is we've got this creepy haunted house ruining the local real estate market.

Places curses, ruins property values, throws cats.

There's also a creepy caretaker who lives in a nearby shack and presumably spends his days writing anti-technology manifestos, when not fulfilling the classic horror movie "insane prophet who is totally vindicated by later events" role.

Like any true friends, my cousins immediately suggest that I enter the cursed, haunted, roach motel for humans. I'm all "let's do this stuff." We get some nice descriptions of the general unpleasant aura of the house and I'm having second thoughts already, but the desire to not to look weak in front of second tier relations is a powerful, powerful thing.

Inside I enter a kitchen that is not exactly of the "dream" variety. Mister "It's got a death curse!" never goes into the house itself, which explains both the many chipped tiles and why "caretaker of cursed property" is the best job in the world.

In classic horror movie style I head up the stairs to investigate, say "Who's there?" at unexplained noises and generally blunder around wasting time before the inevitable. There's dust and cobwebs everywhere and the railing is falling off, which I'm sure is in no way telegraphing a possible horrible fate. I enter a room filled with various mismatched items, like an old radio and some rope. There's a closet in back. Go in? Of course.

Before I can complete that process, a mouse runs at my feet and I'm all set for a death struggle against two pounds worth of vermin. However, before I can "kick it away" it dies on its own. Well, all right. This prompts a mild freak out and I run out of the room. You know, maybe this whole witch house thing wasn't the best idea. I did notice some keys next to a police officer uniform hanging on the wall prior to my embarrassing battle with a self-destructing rodent, so I decide to go back and get them. I must properly honor the memory of Officer Van Halen.

Please type in your home address and what hours you're not there.

I get the key ring without incident, but heading back to the stairs a big black cat is hissing and generally looking unfriendly. After that whole mouse thing I can imagine how poorly this is going to turn out. Recognizing that I'm totally outclassed by an animal that regularly chokes on its own fur I bolt for the kitchen. Here someone is calling for "Melissa" and sure enough, it's the witch! Suddenly all crazy brave I stare her down and she runs off down some stairs. I try to follow, but end up going back outside instead, wondering what all this nonsense means. 

Got scared by a mouse, ran from the cat, then I "ethered" a witch.

The next day I go back and encounter the caretaker. I fear the worst, but instead of being all "look on this omen and despair!" or whatever he claims I freed him from the witch's curse. Man, if sitting in a shack all day ranting about the United Nations and inhaling booze counts as a curse I must be under the direct wrath of God. Either way, good for you, dude. "She died yesterday," he explains. "For the last time!" Oh, shocker! Bum bum bum BUM!!!!! Please do not ruin this incredible surprise ending by telling your friends.

I liked this book. It's got some nice atmosphere and builds tension, even if nothing that happens made any sense in hindsight. What were those keys for? Who did that uniform belong to? Why do mice just tire of life and die? Why did the old woman running off somehow result in her final, real, no take-backs this time, death and the lifting of the curse? There aren't any good answers and there probably shouldn't be. It's just supposed to scare you and based on all those childhood nightmares, mission accomplished.

Aaron Zehner's first novel The Foolchild Invention is available in e-book format at Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble.