My dear readers, while I am quite confident that I shall never abandon my post as one who views creative endeavors from a critical distance, I must admit there are times when I do hear the muse whisper a phrase or two and I feel compelled to commit these conveyances to a more concrete format. As some of you may remember, my efforts at long-form prose ended with a bit of disappointment and a fair bit of damage to the north wing of the house. But my attempts to dabble in the very medium which I examine so frequently was moderately more successful. This was all long before Mostmortem had become a production house itself and my experience with professional filmmaking was still rather slim. Nevertheless, I fancied that I had happend upon a rather goodish idea for an original script and soon I found myself sitting down to begin the task in earnest. With some general idea of the course of events, I decided upon the title The Boy Who Was Frightened of Wolves But Then Was Beset Upon By A Whole Blasted Pack of Them, Whereupon He Learned That Wolves Are Just Animals Like The Rest of Us and There’s No Reason To Be Afraid Except Then He Made a Noise That Startled The Pack Leader and So They Tore His Jacket and Shoes to Shreds: A Semi-Autobiographical Photoplay. Once this commanding title had been conceived, I sat down to compose the thing, positively exhilarated to have arrived at such a fully formed idea with such ease. However, after many an hour spent attempting to best the blank page before me, I realized that I had perhaps exhausted all my creative reserves on the title page. And so I sent off this single sheet to every reputable Hollywood studio I could imagine. Obviously, I did not hear word of their response right away, as these processes are notoriously slow to progress but the optimist in me cannot help but a favorable result once the material finally reaches the desks of those with authority. I have already begun work on a sequel.

Bobby’s mother (Shirley L. Jones) also has a keen sense of how to tell a good story. She has had a fair amount of practice, as her son Bobby very much enjoys hearing a narrative read aloud. And she will have no shortage of opportunities to hone her skills in the future, as Bobby’s recent demise will ensure that he remain at this age indefinitely. Though he is not quite as corporeal as he used to be, Bobby still lingers about the house, engaging in the lightest of poltergeist activity and pressing his mother for a bit of fiction. He seems particularly taken with Tales from the QuadeaD Zone, a hearty volume that he manifests out of thin air.

From this tome, Bobby is treated to a pair of plots. The first details the lives of a family whose members sadly exceed their financial means. Each evening, there is a sort of lottery conducted by their patriarch to determine who will receive their supper. That is, until one brainy member of the bunch decides on a more economical approach, one that permanently reduces the number of mouths to feed. And of course, there is the story of Ted Johnson (Keefe L. Turner), a man who traces all the misery in his life to his recently departed brother. In a rather tardy attempt at retribution, he abducts his brother’s body from the local morgue so that it may be redressed in an unseemly costume before burial. But Ted’s late sibling is insistent on being entombed with dignity and returns to make his position clear before forcing Ted to accompany him into the afterlife. And finally, story time comes to a swift conclusion when Daryl (John W. Jones) returns home. The man is not quite as taken with the notion of Bobby’s mother spending so much time with her deceased son and his impatience leads to a most violent domestic clash.

As I am sure all who have witnessed its glory can agree, director Chester Novell Turner’s first foray into the cinematic arts was an absolute triumph of the abstract. But while the challenging style he employed in Black Devil Doll from Hell contributed to its success, it also obscured some of his other narrative talents. Tales from the QuadeaD Zone takes a much more conventional approach, allowing Mr. Turner’s gifts to flourish. For example, while his flair for dialogue was undeniable from the start, there was not a monologue to be found, and certainly nothing like the extensive verbiage given to his brother Keefe L. Turner. At nearly seven minutes in length, Keefe's little soliloquy comprises almost a tenth of the film's entire runtime and I have no doubt at its conclusion, audience members will be astounded by his sibling's command of the written word.

But fret not, oh, Devil Doll devotees! Simply because Tales from the QuadeaD Zone is a touch more orthodox does not mean that Mr. Turner has relinquished any control of the project. As the beginning credits clearly indicate, he is as deeply involved as ever, and is listed as a writer, producer, director, cinematographer, composer, editor, special effects artist and theme song vocalist. If this is not enough evidence that the man had significant influence on the outcome of this “anthology” horror film, the strangely sensual relationship between a mother and her son’s ghost certainly suggests that his appetite for unconventional eroticism has not faded in the passing years. I imagine that any cynical horror fans who scoffed at the notion of Chester Novell Turner producing a work as singular as his initial outing will find themselves recanting with great haste, as Tales from the QuadeaD Zone clearly bears the fingerprints of this distinctive artist.

Tales from the QuadeaD Zone runs 61 minutes and does not possess a certified rating in the United States.