Panther, £0.40, ISBN 0-586-04096-X
Horror, 1974 (Reissue)

Edward Frederic Benson, bless his buttoned-up soul, wasn’t exactly the guy you’d expect to find scribbling tales about cannibals in the Alps and slithering evil in the English countryside. This is a man best known for genteel satire, Tilling society dramas, and characters who might faint dead away at the sight of an improper tea service.

And yet, in a move akin to discovering your great-aunt’s collection of Victorian-era bondage poetry, here we are with a horror anthology, The Horror Horn and Other Stories.

Let’s dive in, shall we?

A Room in the Tower
Classic setup: unnamed protagonist has a recurring nightmare about a sinister room in a house he’s never been to, then gets invited to—you guessed it—that very house. Naturally, the room is waiting for him, complete with creeptastic vibes and a lurking corpse. It’s short, it’s sharp, and it’s got just enough fourth-wall-breaking sass to feel like Mr Benson’s tapping you on the shoulder and going,*“You see where this is headed, don’t you, old chap?”

Gavon’s Eve
Starts like your standard Downton Abbey scandal—oh no, is Millicent seeing someone else behind the rhododendrons?—then ends with a full-on supernatural séance summoning a vengeful ghost. It’s lean, mean, and gleefully unsubtle in the best way. You’ll never look at Midsummer Eve quite the same again.

Caterpillars
Ah, one of Mr Benson’s greatest hits. A guest dreams of giant, malevolent caterpillars (because of course) and then—shocker—discovers they might be real. Bonus points for the moment where a character claims you can catch cancer like a head cold. Medicine in 1912: a wild ride. It’s bonkers and surprisingly effective, and if you’ve ever wanted a reason to never stay overnight in a country house, here it is.

The Thing in the Hall
The literary equivalent of your mate at the pub telling you a story he heard from his cousin’s gardener’s dentist. It’s about men messing with seances and, as the kids say, FAFO. Not Benson’s best as it’s forgettable, like the side salad no one ordered, but his flair for spooky ambience makes it mildly edible.

The House with the Brick-Kiln
A ghost story disguised as one of those tedious countryside tales about the rector’s niece and her troublesome suitor, only for it to veer sharply into “What the hell was that?” territory. The ending packs a nice little chill, like a polite ghost tapping you on the shoulder with a gloved hand.

The Horror-Horn
Essentially The Swiss Alps Have Eyes. A man vacationing in the mountains stumbles upon a tribe of subhuman cannibals because why not. It’s survival horror, Edwardian style — meaning lots of fur coats, brandy, and stiff upper lips in the face of flesh-eating ape men. Completely ridiculous. Completely glorious.

Negotium Perambulans
Best title in the book, worst pace. Feels like Mr Benson got so caught up describing quaint villages and murmuring brooks he forgot to add horror until page twelve, at which point he flings in a ghost like a harassed stagehand. Should’ve been cut or renamed Nothing Happens Until the End.

Mrs. Amworth
Spoiler: She’s a vampire. And the story goes out of its way to wink so hard at you about it that it nearly sprains an eyeball. Predictable? Yes. Fun? Also, yes. It reads like Midsomer Murders: Vampire Edition, and frankly, we need that TV special.

The Fac
A female protagonist? In this economy? She’s plagued by recurring nightmares about a grotesque face, and naturally, her husband treats this like she’s being silly. Mr Benson finally decides to go all in on the horror here, and it’s properly disturbing. One of the best in the collection, and proof that yes, women can be terrified protagonists too, darling.

“And No Bird Sings”
Some poor sod inherits a cursed property with a snake-like horror lurking about. Feels like Mr Benson might be parodying his own work at this point. Conversations are sharper than the plot, but it’s so gloriously self-aware you can’t be mad about it.

The Bed by the Window
Yes, another haunted room. By now, you’ll feel like every third country estate in Edwardian England came with a complimentary poltergeist. This one’s fine, but the editor really missed a trick by not including The Bus-Conductor, which would’ve fit here like a satin glove.

Monkeys
The longest, most macabre, and possibly drunkest story of the bunch. It’s got mummies, unethical surgery on monkeys, and a strong Tales from the Crypt vibe. Mr Benson skips the countryside twaddle and jumps straight into the freak show, making this one of the anthology’s nastier and more memorable entries.

The Sanctuary
Man comes home to find his nearest and dearest have gone full Satanic Panic. Wholesome, really. It’s less horror and more Satanic Downton Abbey, but the characters are vibrant and it’s weirdly charming. As wholesome as Victorian Devil-worship can be.

The Horror Horn and Other Stories is a collection of genteel creeps and polite terrors, best enjoyed in small, finger-sandwich-sized doses. Read too many back-to-back and you’ll start noticing the formula: bucolic village → long digression about the weather → creepy room → ghastly face → séance-related disaster.

Yet, EF Benson’s gift for atmosphere and bone-dry wit makes these stories more than mere antique curiosities. He proves you don’t need guts and gore to unsettle—just a haunted bedroom, a hint of something slithering in the corner, and an upper-class accent saying, “I say, old man, did you hear that?”

Charming, indeed.