Book Chat: The Abominable

Once a week I’ll be discussing a Book or Movie/TV Series I love.  Or posting a submission from a reader/author about a movie or book in the horror or zombie genre. Sharing the love of a book or movie as if you were talking with a friend.

We continue with Book Chat and a review of a horror novel. 



The offering this week is an interesting book submitted by the talented horror author, Kelly M. Hudson. This review was previously published in Kelly’s column, The Scrying Eye, in the October 2013 issue of BTS Book Reviews. After reading the blurb & review, I am adding this to my read list.:)


It’s 1924 and the race to summit the world’s highest mountain has been brought to a terrified pause by the shocking disappearance of George Mallory and Sandy Irvine high on the shoulder of Mt. Everest. By the following year, three climbers — a British poet and veteran of the Great War, a young French Chamonix guide, and an idealistic young American — find a way to take their shot at the top. They arrange funding from the grieving Lady Bromley, whose son also disappeared on Mt. Everest in 1924. Young Bromley must be dead, but his mother refuses to believe it and pays the trio to bring him home.

Deep in Tibet and high on Everest, the three climbers — joined by the missing boy’s female cousin — find themselves being pursued through the night by someone . . . or something. This nightmare becomes a matter of life and death at 28,000 feet – but what is pursuing them? And what is the truth behind the 1924 disappearances on Everest? As they fight their way to the top of the world, the friends uncover a secret far more abominable than any mythical creature could ever be. A pulse-pounding story of adventure and suspense, The Abominable is Dan Simmons at his spine-chilling best.

Kelly’s Review:

The Abominable by Dan Simmons (Little, Brown and Company—available October 22, 2013) is the story of three climbers of Everest who are paid to search for a missing man from an earlier expedition. What they find during their trek up the mighty mountain is something altogether unexpected. They are being pursued by something in the night that may turn out to be the legendary hairy beast known as the Yeti, or it may be something even worse.

As they climb higher and higher,the mystery of the missing climber becomes more important, and solving this mystery will be their only hope of survival. Filled with plenty of chills and suspense, this new one will deliver—as any reader of tales by Dan Simmons knows.


kellyKelly M Hudson is the author of two horror novels and dozens of short stories, including a piece in the recent D.O.A. II collection by Blood Bound Books. You can find links to all of his works by visiting if you dare!

To add a bit more to this post, here is an interesting excerpt from Kelly’s new book, Blood & Thunder. Wow, another added to my read list!!

The Apocalypse has happened! The Dead Walk! The world has succumbed to the scourge of the living dead. In the desert, a desperate group of disparate, bickering survivors struggle to stay alive, sure that they will soon die, until a stranger joins their ranks…A gunslinger with deadly aim and a dark past. Will the group endure their trek across the desert and find their sanctuary in California? Will wave after wave of the walking dead finally consume them? Or will the monstrous past of the gunslinger finally catch up to him and his new companions?

When the man named Tom Wales came walking across the sand-blasted horizon, his long duster flapping in the swirling wind, neither of us were sure if he was going to be our doom or our salvation. In the end, I guess, he turned out to be a little of both.

He was a tall man, with angular features, born of rough-hewn stock from the mountains of Kentucky, and every bit of him was as tough as dried-out jerky. He had a hard way about him in every particular aspect. He had hard eyes, a hard stance, hard hands, hell, even his teeth seemed hard. He wasn’t prone to humor, but he could surprise you now and then with a joke. At least, I always thought they were jokes. I could have been wrong.

The main thing about him I remember most, though, was his eyes. They were gray like flint and betrayed nothing. When he looked at you with those eyes, he could be thinking about giving you money or killing you. There was never any way to tell.

My name is Randolph Carter, but most call me Randy. I come from Texas, on the western side, near New Mexico, and like everybody else left alive in this world, I got a story. But like most, my story is boring as hell, up until the dead rose and started chomping on the living. After that, everything changed quite dramatically. I’m twenty years old and short. I used to be called Randy the Runt, but that was before, when the world was pretty normal, back when the dead stayed in the grave and didn’t have the impertinence to rise again and chew on the flesh of the living.

My height was never a problem with the ladies, though. I’m very handsome, with my blonde hair and blue eyes and cut physique. I had a friend in high school used to call me Hitler’s Wet Dream. I suppose I was. But again, that was before. Now I’m just like everyone else, lucky to be alive and unlucky to be living. These are terrible times, the kind that do more than try a man’s soul. They’re apt to tear them apart.

I was with another guy, a boy named Paul. He was taller than me and strong as a mule, but he was maybe sixteen at the oldest. Paul was slow, and not just in how he moved. Sometimes I wondered if maybe he wasn’t one of those zombies, just more clever than the rest. He was good in a fight, though. He could hammer the shit out of just about anybody or anything. Which was good, but it wasn’t good enough for the predicament we were in. Me and Paul, we were surrounded by about fifteen of those dead things. Some call them zombies, others have more and varied colorful names for them.

I go back and forth. Zombie is the best fit, but sometimes I can be creative, too. I was having one of those creative moments right then, as a matter of fact, just as Tom Wales crested the hill and laid those cold gray eyes on us. “Goddamn pus pickles,” I shouted, more out of desperation than any kind of heroism.

We didn’t stand a fart’s chance in a tornado. Despite my good looks and Paul’s superior strength, they were too many for us. We would have died there if not for Tom and his intervention.