HELL HOUND

By KEN GREENHALL (Zebra Books; 1977)

 

     One of my longtime “Holy Grails” has been found!  You probably know of this extremely obscure paperback original, if at all, as the source for the French cult movie BAXTER.  I’ve been searching for this book ever since my initial viewing of the film back in the early nineties, and had nearly concluded that HELL HOUND a). didn’t really exist, b). appeared only in a limited edition small press publication, or c). was only published in France, where it appears to be readily available under the title DES TUEURS PAS COMME LES AUTRES.  It didn’t help matters that I wasn’t able to find a single review of the book or listing for it in any reference guide.

 

     Now that I’ve finally managed to excavate a copy I can understand, at least partially, why HELL HOUND by Ken Greenhall (whose other books include the horror thrillers ELIZABETH, CHILDGRAVE, DEATH CHAIN and THE COMPANION, and the historical drama LENOIR) has been so widely ignored: the cover art is quite tacky, bringing to mind that aptly titled Alice Cooper flick MONSTER DOG.  The publisher was Zebra Books, a tawdry paperback outfit known in the trade as the last resort for manuscripts rejected by everyone else.  The majority of Zebra’s output is uninspiring, to say the least (they’re responsible for airing the work of bottom-of-the-barrel hacks like Ruby Jean Jensen and William Johnstone), but every once in a while something of interest makes its way onto their imprint.  The early novels of John Shirley (TRANSMANIACON, THREE-RING PSYCHUS and DRACULA IN LOVE) are examples of the latter, as is HELL HOUND.

 

     Quite simply put, Ken Greenhall’s HELL HOUND is an unsung classic of the bizarre and grotesque that ranks with CRASH and THE WASP FACTORY (high praise indeed!).  It is at once an Orwellian satire of pet ownership in the modern world--“Maybe that’s why we keep animals around us” one character muses, “to remind us of something we have lost, an innocence”, when in fact the eponymous canine is anything but innocent!--and a horror story about the wily nature of evil and the way it always seems to hide behind the most innocent of guises, as well as one of the most unflinchingly corrosive portraits of small-town America ever conceived.

 

     The “Hell Hound” is Baxter, a white Bull Terrier who thinks like a human--correction: like a deeply nasty, brutish human.  His thoughts are revealed via short first-person chapters in which Baxter invariably laments his present situation and ponders how best to free himself from it.  As the novel opens Baxter finds himself in the care of a lonely old woman who nauseates him.  He takes to spying on an attractive young couple next door, wishing he were in their care; in order to facilitate this Baxter gives the old bag a deadly spill down the stairs and ends up with the young couple.  Unfortunately the wife is pregnant and Baxter doesn’t take to the child once it’s born; he commits murder again, drowning the kid in a backyard pool, which facilitates a final ownership change.  Baxter winds up with Carl, a deranged Hitler obsessed twelve-year-old who likes to hang out in a junkyard where he’s set up a makeshift bunker in honor of his idol’s place of death.  It might seem like Baxter’s found his ideal mate, but the boy and dog are actually too much alike, leading to an inevitable showdown only one will survive.

 

     Orbiting this twisted drama is a rich and varied gallery of individuals: Carl’s clueless parents and his sympathetic teacher, a young girl and her callous father, a nubile female mutt and a decrepit old man.  Their presence gives this otherwise painfully insular narrative a complex, multi-faceted arc, yet Greenhall never loses focus.  Nor does he ever sell out his characters or plot strands, following each to its inevitable conclusion, regardless of how ugly or depressing it may be (a prime reason, I suspect, the book had trouble finding a reputable publisher back in the don’t-worry-be-happy late seventies).

 

     At the center of it all is Baxter, a true monster who seems intended to represent all that’s petty, selfish and vindictive in human nature.  No reason is given for his unique ability to think like a human and carry out his murderous impulses (other than the fact that he has blue eyes, apparently a “genetic shadow” that “just appears from somewhere out of the past”).  Perhaps his presence is intended as symbolic, as the specter of Vietnam unleashing itself on an unsuspecting small town.  That’s a bit of a stretch, I realize, but one tends to make wild conjectures when confronted with a novel this unique.  I guarantee you’ll have a difficult time finding another book remotely like it.  For that matter, you’ll have a damned hard time tracking down a copy at all--this isn’t the first time I’ve made this plea and nor will it be the last, but somebody reprint this novel, please!