The Dungeons of Doom!: The Pre-Code Horror Comics Volume 7

Harvey Comics

Part Seven

By Jose Cruz and 

Peter Enfantino

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Peter: Oil man Dirk Slade is used to getting what he wants and flexing his muscles in the jungles of Venezuela is all in a day's work. Convinced that crude is just a short dig away, Dirk terrorizes and enslave the natives, shooting down those he considers to be lazy. As Slade himself says, "I've got oil in my blood -- and I'm not going to stop until I'm satisfied!"Sure enough, the dig is successful and, despite the protestations from the natives that they are on sacred ground, Slade lets the gusher fly. His partner, Carp, pleads with the big man to treat the slaves with dignity but Slade has no time to deal with the superstitions of "savages." Just as the oil begins to flow, a virus hits the camp and Slade becomes bedridden. The only doctor in camp, one of the natives, is called to Dirk's bedside and gives the boss an injection. Though Dirk insists he must get back to the oil, the doctor tells him he can't move or be moved for 72 hours. As he's leaving, the medic lights his pipe and drops a match into the oil that surrounds Dirk Slade's tent.

We've seen the arrogant, greedy American come to a foreign land to rape and pillage before (and, in the 1970s, we'll see it just about every month in the DC horror line) and Dirk Slade, the meat-headed sadist of "Oil" (from Black Cat #44) is no different from those other arrogant protagonists (how much more arrogant and American could a character's name be?). In fact, the set-up and delivery of "Oil" is nothing groundbreaking; the nudge I needed to put this story in my Top Five was its cold-as-ice climax. Has the doctor just sedated Slade and then purposely dropped that match to ignite a killing inferno or was it just an act of random foolishness? I'm falling on the side of the former, as the doc does mention to Dirk's partner that his heart really isn't in healing this monster who's killing off his village for the almighty dollar. That final sequence of panels, showing the first flitter of fire and then moving to the raging inferno, are pretty powerful images for a funny book.

Jose: It’s one thing to be whipped by your wife but it’s another matter entirely to be whipped by her pet cat, too. Bevin Shawcross (whose parents clearly didn’t love him enough to just name him “Kevin”) is just such a poor soul, though in his defense the “pet cat” that his wife keeps constantly at her side is actually a fierce black panther who is always cowing Bevin with snarls and slashes when the missus isn’t doing the same. A fakir grabs Bevin’s attention one day when he offers to show the harried husband the way of astral projection. Sensing an expedient means of killing his wife and finally showing the strength she always told him he lacked, Bevin transfers his soul into the panther’s body and prepares to rend his wife to pieces. Just then from his own human body (taken for dead by his wife) comes the hazy projection of a man in his image. How can this be? The spirit cracks a good one over the Bevin-panther’s head, subduing the animal to its will. You see, transference works both ways, and now with timid Bevin in the body of the kept cat and the mighty feline spirit embodying Bevin’s old body, the order of the jungle has been rightfully restored.

A horrific comedy of manners, “My Husband, the Cat” (from #43) is one of Bob Powell’s high watermarks in his tenure at Harvey Comics. Oh, there’ve been plenty of other tales where the maestro has been able to exult his considerable artistic talents to greater and more visible heights, but this story has such a winning concept and execution that allows it to leave a lasting impression in the reader’s mind. Interestingly, Powell doesn’t provide Mrs. Shawcross with a first name. Is our hero so emotionally broken by his wife that he dare not even invoke her name, like a sacred goddess of old, for fear of facing her feminine wrath? Even when one considers the homicidal extent Bevin was prepared to go to, the final panel of him suffering in forced silence—just as he did when he was human—is a total downer, and one of the most damning punishments we’ve seen yet from the merciless folks at Harvey. For people like Bevin, death is much more preferable.

Peter: In the Black Hills of South Dakota, a lynch mob confronts the six suspects in the murder of Hank Gore, a local police chief. It's a varied group, comprised of a few hillbillies, a very attractive young lady, and a muscular oaf by the name of Jed Williams (our narrator). One by one, the bumpkins are eliminated from the suspect list until only two are still in the spotlight: the attractive Margie and our hapless narrator. Margie 'fesses up that she and the chief were pretty close but Jed knows better: he witnessed Margie blow Hank away in a fit of jealousy. He's keeping mum but Margie decides to toss Jed into the river by telling the mob Jed is the killer. We find out, in the final panel, as the innocent man is being strung up, that the reason Jed kept quiet is because he's mute.

"Lynch Mob" (from #45) is about as close to an EC Shock Suspenstory as Harvey ever got and would have held up just fine next to such "real life horror stories" as "Confession" (from Shock SuspenStories #4, Sept. 1952). The drama escalates so quickly and seamlessly that we never even question why this guy isn't defending himself until it's too late. Our last look at Jed is through the noose being fixed around his neck. The real culprit, the gorgeous Margie, is going to walk away scot- free and, ironically, with the sympathy of the crazed mob. Once again, Howard Nostrand perfectly apes Jack Davis with a bit of Wally Wood thrown in here and there.

Jose: Henri Fabret is being escorted to the guillotine by a prison guard, but the man has no fear for what is to come. In fact, he’s looking forward to it. For as long as Henri can remember, he has had a fixation with the spilling of blood. From his time as a child throwing knives with his friends and staring longingly at his cut flesh to his years as a soldier gleefully rushing the enemies on the damp battleground, Henri has longed to see the red liquid flow in any amount. His days as a regular civilian are no different. Meeting an attractive waitress at one of his favorite restaurants, Henri takes her out to a boxing match on their first date so he can see the blood-smeared ring. When Marie cuts herself trying to open a bottle of wine, Henri’s obsession pushes him to strangle his lover in a fit of madness. When we rejoin Henri at the guillotine we finally understand his morbid excitement. He’s not anticipating the sanguinary shower of his own death but that of the unfortunate prisoner awaiting execution. You see, Henri is the prison’s official executioner!

More disturbing than any coffin-dwelling vampire, Henri Fabret is in the same class of unnerving human characters as Renfield from DRACULA and the deranged subject of Theodore Sturgeon’s SOME OF YOUR BLOOD, a mortal whose dark infatuation with the rich life fluid leads to increasingly horrible transgressions. “River of Blood” (from #48), like those other stories, defines Henri’s fascination with blood with the coda of sexual derangement, his ravings at the sight of the vivid red subtletly likened to coital ecstasy, seen most especially in the moment when Henri kills Marie in an impotent rage when she refuses his demand to let her wound bleed out. That this is serviced with one of Bob Powell’s cleverest wraparound twists only sweetens the mixture.

Peter: A scientist watches as his ground-breaking research is continually "borrowed" by a series of assistants and he's never given the credit he's due. He swears to his wife that he'll become famous one day and begins solo work on his major achievement. The breakthrough comes and he makes an appointment with a large chemical corporation to sell them on the idea. Unfortunately, at exactly the same time, another scientist happens upon the same result and our protagonist is thrown into a delirium of depression. With moral support from his understanding wife, the scientist gets right back into the game, determined to "draw out the hidden secrets of the unknown," but in a fit of rage he ends up blowing up his lab and himself in the process.

"What Was the Discovery" (from #46) is, at the same time, fabulously mysterious and annoyingly ambiguous. Just what are all these discoveries our hapless scientist keeps stumbling upon and then fumbling the ball on? The only thing we can be sure is that each one of them has to do with explosions and, therefore, the military, but our uncredited writer is being deliberately vague as to the exact nature of the experiments (although, at one point, the scientist reveals that he has "an atomic theory that will revolutionize science!"). Right from that atmospheric splash, Manny Stallman and John Giunta draw us into this cutthroat world that chews up and spits out its big brains (the scientist starts his narrative by informing us "(m)y name doesn't really matter!"), leaving them, like our hero, buried in the rubble. You're only as good as your last bomb.

Jose: In 17th century France, the evil Richelieu is weaseling his way into the king’s favor, throwing the country into an upheaval of power where musketeers fight the royal forces to restore order. One of a group of four brave and strong musketeers, D’Artagnan, proposes telling Richelieu that they’ll stop beating up all his men if he fills their coffers with cash. Richelieu responds by dispatching his deadliest femme fatale, Lady Winters, literally branded as a thief years before, to take care of their little problem. Retrieving the queen’s diamonds from the Duke of Buckingham, the musketeers race back when D’Artagnan is mortally shot by one of Winters’ assassins, pleading his brothers in arms to get the treasure back at any cost. Another musketeer, Aramis, holds back Richelieu’s men while the other two go on. The mighty Porthos is the next to stall the evil forces, but though the hulk fights ably, a call from a familiar face leads to his death. Athos speeds the diamonds back to D’Artagnan’s betrothed Lady Constance only to find the mademoiselle fatally struck down. Before Athos can flee, the callous Lady Winters corners him. Athos’ attempt to run her through with his sword is stopped by a bullet to the arm, fired from a gun held by Winters’ lover… D’Artagnan! Love for riches isn’t the only thing that binds the couple, as we see that D’Artagnan bears the brand of a thief just as well.

Entirely free of any real horrific qualities, “The Three Musketeers” (from #49), part of Black Cat Mystery’s short-lived “Silver Scream” adaptations, is recommended based on its balanced sense of rollicking adventure and romantic intrigue alone. The story ably covers a modestly epic scope in  its five pages, and the economy means that its action is never dulled for a moment. The sensei of satire Howard Nostrand is on hand to ply his artistic craft but his drawings here retain more of the classic Hollywood look and feel than his more highly cartoonish “Come Back Bathsheba” from the final issue. Frankly I could’ve stood for a whole spinoff adventure starring D’Artagnan and Lady Winters, especially since Nostrand knows how to draw the latter with just the right amount of suggestiveness to get my bells ringing.

Hel-lo, nurse!

Peter: John Greb has been trapped in a dungeon for three months, enduring torture beyond belief. His captors want information from John but the near-broken man refuses to yield. Then, one day, John's cell door is accidentally left open (or is it an accident?) and he wills himself the strength to escape. A few close calls and then he is outside, in the sun at last... only to find himself in a courtyard faced by a firing squad. His torturer once again asks for information but John remains steadfast in his silence. Back against the wall, John is told that there are six expert marksmen aiming their rifles at him but only one is loaded. If the shot misses John, he is free to go. The men fire.

Like "What was the Discovery?", "Torture" (from #47) leaves just about everything to the imagination. Who are John's captors? We have a pretty good idea since this was the mid-1950s and there's red trim on the officer's uniform but his nationality is never spelled out. Nor is the exact nature of the information John Greb is withholding. But most maddening (or satisfying, depending on your disposition) is the fact that we never learn the fate of the broken and battered John Greb. The story ends as the officer orders his men to fire and our narrator informs us, "...whether he still lives, or whether he died that morning in the cold dawn of the prison yard is not known! And you, like John Greb, must now feel the torture he felt not knowing if he was to live or die!" In fact, the very word "fire" is left unfinished, as though we go to black along with John. Manny Stallman's stark pencil work perfectly captures the helplessness Greb feels (and, at some level, yes, what the reader feels) during the roller coaster of emotions he goes through during his escape. Again, I'm reminded what tough material these comic books could produce, all the while marketed as kids' stuff.

Jose: When Amos Banteen sees local eccentric Wilkie Watts hanging out in his parlor with three decaying zombies, the yokel beats a quick path to his friend Jedediah Lash’s place one dark and stormy night. Turns out Jed had suspected Wilkie of committing foul acts ever since the evening that he saw the kook digging up the bodies at the cemetery. They resolve to go to Jesse Walker’s place. Jesse tells them his own anecdote of when he spied on Wilkie who was not only bathed in an eerie, otherworldly light but had the three cadavers with him, each corpse bowing its head reverently to Wilkie like he was their master. With all this damning evidence stacked against Wilkie, the trio heads out into the night with shotguns in hand to settle the matter in the only permanent way possible. Wilkie pleads for his life in vain: he’s gunned down by all three men before much else can be said. Unfortunately for our vigilant heroes, the “zombies” they observed under Wilkie’s power are nothing more than unanimated cadavers that Wilkie has set up on a system of pulleys and levers to keep him company during his many lonely hours.

“The King is Dead” (from #50) is not going to knock you head over heels, but sometimes simple stories that are well-told have the ability to charm and endear themselves to me more than a complex puzzleworks of a plot. Like “Lynch Mob,” this story goes for the Shock SuspenStories-type gut punch. The three neighbors have been literally blinded by their suspicion and fear; while the reader might think it ridiculous that grown adults could mistake bodies on a clothesline for zombies, it’s this very superstitious and ignorant nature of the eye witnesses that made them conform what they were seeing to what they thought they already knew. The story also acts as a nice “sequel” of sorts to “The Lonely” (see Peter’s post below), a kind of “what-if” scenario that shows us what might have happened to the cracked protagonist from that story had he been able to return to civilization and failed to readapt himself to communicating with living companions.

Peter: While fishing far out to sea, Johnny decides it's a good time to divest himself of a problem: his pal Hilton, who's joined him on the jaunt, is the only one who could finger him for embezzling ten grand from their firm. So Johnny shoves his friend into the drink and watches him drown but, very soon afterwards, a storm forces Johnny himself into the turbulent waves. The murderer washes up on a tiny isle and is soon face-to-face again with the murdered. Hilton has washed ashore as well and is resting comfortably (well, as comfortably as a corpse can rest) against a tree, little bits missing courtesy of the fish. Johnny tries to rid himself of the body but it keeps washing back, almost as if it has a life of its own. Solitude isn't all that it's cracked up to be, Johnny learns and, over time, he begins to appreciate the company of the rotting Hilton.

Though it's certainly got competition, I think "The Lonely" (from #48) is the sickest and, therefore, my favorite Harvey story thus far (certainly, it's the best of the Black Cats). The details are vague (we know they work together at some kind of business but in what capacity and why would Hilton be the only one who'd know of Johnny's theft?) but that's a bonus. We don't need background in this case, just a bit of a set-up to get us to where we need to go: the island. Part of the genius of "The Lonely" is assigning narrative duties not to the living but to the dead, a corpse who almost welcomes the loving attention of the man who shoved him overboard. "He grabbed me by the arms and dragged me ashore, and sat down next to me, talking a mile a minute, yeh -- we're real buddies now. I never knew Johnny could be such good company" muses Hilton, almost regretting he hadn't gotten to know the man while he was still alive! Johnny's slow descent into madness is unnerving and understandable. The final panel, of a beaming Johnny excitedly telling his dead friend about all the fun they're going to have, is disturbing to say the least. At least Tom Hanks had a volleyball.

"Wilson!"

Jose: Steve Gaunt is a rugged drifter who happens upon an old mill one day during his travels and is offered a job as a hired hand by a ravishing vixen named Cambria. They go to consult with Cambria’s father, who owns the mill, but the old coot is stubborn in his insistence that he doesn’t need any help. Cambria turns on him like a tigress until her father finally concedes, though Steve can’t help but marvel at the strangely pink flour that’s ground out by the rotating stones. Over a revitalizing lunch Cambria makes her attraction to Steve immediately and forcefully known and soon the two are in each other’s hands like warm putty. The lovers plan on marrying, but Cambria’s old man won’t relinquish the mill to Steve even if he makes an honest woman out of his daughter. Cambria has other means of persuasion, namely killing pops herself. Steve warily goes along with the plan. He busies himself with the grave while Cambria does the deed and afterward they haul the coffin she’s stuffed her father in into the pit. From there they have a late night marriage, but in the days following Steve quickly grows sick of Cambria’s relentless sexual appetites and constant affection. (Must be rough! – Ed.) He confesses that he has no real feelings for her and plans on hightailing it with as much money and jewelry as he can steal, but finds instead the clothes and artifacts of a dozen other men in the closet. Steve puts the pieces together just in time to be led by Cambria and the actually-alive father by gunpoint into the mill. Steve finds out as he awaits his imminent death by the grindstones that the old man is actually Cambria’s first husband, forever enslaved to her power and desire to continue her man-eating ways. The pink Steve flour is just being rolled out as Cambria introduces another drifter to her “father.”

Though it has some plot convolutions that would make any episode of GENERAL HOSPITAL proud, “The Old Mill Scream” (from #51) is worth mentioning solely for Bob Powell’s sizzling art alone. Powell had some of the most distinct and recognizable characterizations in the whole Harvey lot; though they were clearly caricatures, his characters were probably the closest that ever came to feeling “real.” He shows particular craftsmanship in his designing of human anatomy, accentuating all the luscious curves and hard sinews of the body so that whenever he has them commingling on the panel it has the power to generate some real sparks. The reader can practically feel the heat coming off the page every time Cambria makes one of her advances, and though the general arc of the story may be old-hat, the twisted finale to this cruel yarn feels just as spicy as the romance.

You could fry an egg on that thing!

And the "Stinking Zombie Award" goes to...

Peter: Though it's loaded with "Notable Quotables" ("Those warm, cloying lips, even in the ice-cold water of the ocean, burned into his with a ferocity beyond compare! Frank Kenton knew a rapture of overpowering satisfaction -- but also a sense of impending horror!"), "The Kiss of Doom" is also overburdened with a maniacal silliness and plot turns that dead end. The story itself is so wildly complicated that I'm going to break with form this one time and present it fully for the "enjoyment" of our readers. Pay close attention to the half-transformed shape shifters and a rare "Arrrghhh...!" on page two (rather than our old fave, "Agggraaaa...!"). Abandon all sense, ye who travel down this alleyway:

Jose: Unlike Peter, I have no sadistic desire to subject our readers to the sludge that we occasionally have to tread through during our pulpy adventures. My nominee for the "Stinking Zombie Award" this time around has a misleadingly harmless appearance. It's like a chocolate eclair that looks appetizing on the outside until you bite into it and realize the cream filling has gone sour. It's true that "Paranoia" (from #49) starts out promisingly with a play on L. P. Hartley's short story "W. S." with our protagonist receiving threatening messages from a complete stranger who is travelling across the country and getting closer all the time.

The reader may suffer a slight case of cross-eye after making it through "Paranoia."

With his apprehension growing steadily toward boiling point, our hero begins to suspect first his business partner and then his wife of sending him the letters in order to drive him batty. So what's a fellow to do except pin it on them and throttle them to death? Bob Powell can hardly do any wrong with his art, but the script (which was likely his creation as well) is wordy and overstuffs the panels with blocks of monotonous writing. The ending is the real clincher: not only do we find out that the murderous "hero" was sending the letters to himself the whole time (really?), but this is revealed to the reader by an asylum doctor admonishing his staff for giving the patient a mirror wherein he saw the face of the "real" Azrael Mord, glass being a material that generally shouldn't be put in the hands of manic-depressants with persecution complexes. The twist starts making less sense the more one thinks of it; it'd be one thing if the guy was sending himself letters, but why would he do it in such a gradual way to scare himself out of his mind? If he had just written down a return address this whole thing could've been avoided.


NOTABLE QUOTABLES

“The rain was now coming down hard enough to drive nails through the ground.”
- “Doomsday”

“The witch doctor raises his arms to utter fierce and terrible words that fall upon the air like flies upon a bloated corpse!!...”
- “Demons of the Sun”

“We wish to sup on the nervous energy of your terrified brain…”
- “The Room of Mystery”

OMG

“Sweat poured off him in stinking rivulets of desperate greed…”
- “Beast of Doom”

“Oh, my God! Your [sic] a vampire! Stay away!!!”
- “Beast of Doom”

"Native legends speak about the monster who waits out there in these very waters for the right to exchange bodies with it!"
- "Kiss of Doom!"

"Deeper and deeper the slimy tentacles pulled and dragged him... ever downward until he almost gagged with oncoming death!"
- "Kiss of Doom!"

"I had been working on my new theory of molecular interaction when I got temporarily stumped on a problem..."
- "The Room of Mystery"

"As Carlisle leaves, he finds the door opens on a strange flight of stairs... stairs that sweat slime, that ooze decayed bilge..."
- "Path to Death!"

Big Bird's brain-eating cousin

"Starting from the tortured entrails of black, ugly penitence, it coils through the vacuous depths of man's soul..."
- "Path to Death!"

"Walter Bolso was a good man, a respected man! He was happy as the town blacksmith -- and he loved his work! His huge muscles would bulge and ripple in the red flames of his molten furnace..."
- "Next Attraction: Death!"

"Come on! We needn't gape at such puny weaklings! I can make your mouths open in my smithy!"
- "Next Attraction: Death!"

"You are as stupid as those fools who practised witchcraft a thousand years ago! It is not her soul I ate... but her mind! A pleasant delicacy indeed... but you could never understand with your feeble three-dimensional brain!"
- "The Visitor"

“Then suddenly, a cold rancid wisp of death appears…”
- “Black Knight”

“Then she saw you, Jed! Saw you staring at her as if she were a prehistoric animal!”
- “Lynch Mob”

“This ain’t sport—it’s moider!”

“But the man had a quick tongue, and he knew how to weave dreams out of words…”
 - “Knockout!”

“You may be able to help a guy pay a bill! The fact is—you’re probably perfect!”
- “I. O. U. One Body”

“Oh, Alma—Alma—don’t let the curse of his blonde hair destroy our love!”
- “The Blonde Man”

Best first line of dialogue ever? We think so!

Arthur: "Get out of bed, you bloated, useless slug!"
Hortense: "What for, you dilapidated sore-spot! Can't you see I'm busy?"
Arthur: "Yeh... busy! Busy lolling in bed all day... and eating candy... and reading those filthy novels and making yakata yakata yakata with your empty-headed friends over the phone!"
- "Regent 3-"

"I had a swell day, Annabelle! Old man Williams had trouble with silverfish..."
- "Pest Control"

“Wha—t?”
- “Paranoia”

“Wilkie was draggin’ a body, gnawed ta filth by time…”
- “The King is Dead”

“He’s got a heart of gold and a left hook that would ram an elephant’s tusks into its hindquarters!”
- “Punch and Rudy”

Story of the Month

Peter: Though I've never been able to see the allure of "Colorama," (from #45) it's the most respected Harvey horror story of all time, having been reprinted several times and discussed at length in print and online, and so I bow to the experts on this one. It's certainly gorgeous to look at and I can appreciate that it's more outré than the usual Harvey fare. There seems to be some question as to who actually authored the story; GCD and several other sources (mostly online) credit penciler Bob Powell with authoring, while John Benson (in Sadowski's Four Color Fear) notes that newly appointed Harvey editor Sid Jacobson claims it's all his. To me, it matters not who wrote the script, as this is a feast for the eyes.

Jose: My selections for "Story of the Month" have tended to run on the silly and wacky side (barring the downer of "Monumental Feat") and this post is no different. Towards the end of Black Cat Mystery's run, there were at least three or four uproarious stories that took the "disgruntled spouse" conceit done to death in so many other horror/mystery comic books and just turned the vitriol up to eleven. In tales like the hysterical "Regent 3" (quoted above), the husband and wife are so close to strangling each other right from the start that the reader is uncertain whether their union will even make it to the next page. "Pest Control" (from #48) has this same highly amusing shtick and some wonderful character drawings done by Jack Sparling, including one great panel that represents our henpecked hero's plight in a wonderfully symbolic manner. The ending makes for a nice, droll punchline.

The Comics
Black Cat Mystery #40-52

#40 (October 1952)
Cover by Rudy Palais

“Curse Castle”
Art by Bob Powell

“Doomsday”
Art by Abe Simon

“Don’t Share My Coffin”
Art by Moe Marcus and Rocco Mastroserio

“Demons of the Sun”
Art by Rudy Palais

#41 (December 1952)
Cover Uncredited

“The Room of Mystery”
Art by Bob Powell

“Beast of Doom”
Art by Don Perlin and Abe Simon

“Path to Death”
Art by Moe Marcus and Rocco Mastroserio

“Live Man’s Funeral”
Art by Al Eadeh

#42 (February 1953)
Cover Uncredited

“Kiss of Doom”
Art by Joe Certa

“Next Attraction: Death”
Art by Moe Marcus and Rocco Mastroserio

“The Visitor”
Art by Don Perlin and Abe Simon

“Mask of the Murderer”
Art by Al Eadeh

#43 (April 1953)
Cover by Lee Elias

“My Husband, the Cat”
Art by Bob Powell and Howard Nostrand

“Devil Drums”
Art by Warren Kremer

“Black Knight”
Art by Moe Marcus and Rocco Mastroserio

“Eternity”
Art Uncredited

#44 (June 1953)
Cover by Lee Elias

“Excursion”
Art by Bob Powell and Howard Nostrand

“Oil”
Art by Jack Sparling

“Destiny”
Art by Joe Certa

“Search for Evil”
Art by Howard Nostrand

#45 (August 1953)
Cover by Howard Nostrand

“Colorama!”
Art by Bob Powell and Howard Nostrand

“Lynch Mob”
Art by Howard Nostrand

“Knockout”
Art by Joe Certa

“I. O. U. One Body”
Art Uncredited

#46 (October 1953)
Cover by Lee Elias

“What Was the Discovery?”
Art by Manny Stallman and John Giunta

“The Blonde Man”
Art by Howard Nostrand

“Disc Jockey”
Art by Bob Powell

“Insomnia”
Art Uncredited

#47 (December 1953)
Cover by Lee Elias

“Supreme Penalty”
Art by Bob Powell

“Low Noon”
Art by Howard Nostrand

“Torture”
Art by Manny Stallman

“Regent 3-”
Art  by Joe Certa

#48 (February 1954)
Cover by Lee Elias

“The Lonely”
Art by Howard Nostrand

“Les Miserables”
Art by Manny Stallman

“Pest Control”
Art by Jack Sparling

“River of Blood”
Art by Bob Powell and Howard Nostrand

#49 (April 1954)
Cover by Lee Elias

“Clean as a Whistle”
Art by John Giunta

“The Three Musketeers”
Art by Howard Nostrand

“Paranoia”
Art by Bob Powell

“A Promise Kept”
Art by Joe Certa

#50 (June 1954)
Cover by Lee Elias

“The King is Dead”
Art by Manny Stallman and John Giunta

“Moe Gambo”
Art by Bob Powell and Howard Nostrand

“White Heat”
Art by Joe Certa and John Belfi

“Here Today…”
Art by Sid Check

#51 (August 1954)
Cover by Lee Elias

“The Old Mill Scream”
Art by Bob Powell

“Come Back Bathsheba”
Art by Howard Nostrand

“Punch and Rudy”
Art by Mort Meskin

“Switcheroo”
Art by Joe Certa

#52 (October 1954)
Cover Uncredited 

A complete reprinting of Black Cat Mystery #34

#53 (December 1954)
Cover by Al Avison

A complete reprinting of Black Cat Mystery #35

In four weeks, we continue our examination of 

Harvey Horror with Tomb of Terror!