Alan Moore's Lost Treasures - #4 in a 6 Part Limited Blog Series

“Come On Down”

“Alan describes this story as ‘an inversion of regular horror stories: What’s horrible isn’t that grotesque things happen to people, but that people want grotesque things to happen to them.’”

- Stephen Bissette from the Introduction to “Come On Down” in Taboo #1.

Most people probably remember From Hell and Lost Girls as Alan Moore’s two major contributions to Stephen Bissette’s under-appreciated late '80s anthology, Taboo. Chapters in progress from both stories were serialized in the square-bound series, which spotlighted a number of highly talented creators (many British) working on black and white, EC-style short horror stories.

But what may have flown under the radar was another short story by Moore, with artist Bill Wray, which appeared in the first issue. “Come On Down” is a nine-page story which was originally intended to appear in Harris Publication’s short-lived revival of Creepy magazine, but ended up in Taboo #1 instead. The story was written in 1985, just a year shy of the first issue of Watchmen.

“Come On Down,” as the title implies, is a parody of The Price Is Right, a long-running TV game show in the United States. Five times a week, the popular show’s announcer selects a few lucky audience members to “come on down” and play “pricing games” for cash and other prizes. The contestants are not alerted beforehand, adding an element of surprise and excitement to the show’s proceedings.

In Alan Moore’s story, however, audience members compete not for cash and prizes, but something far more macabre--their own death. This unique game show, whose name, “Brief Candle,” underscores perfectly the fading emotional state of its depressive audience, invites contestants “to spin the big wheel,” in order to choose their method of suicide. Then, in front of “a live studio audience,” the lucky contestant is put to death in whatever manner the fickle wheel of fate has chosen for them.

Moore introduces us to this deeply disturbing world through the eyes of Carol Steiner, a young woman afflicted with a hobbled leg (a lingering effect of childhood polio) as she acclimates and is quickly overwhelmed by the chaotic life of New York City. Nearly killed by a suicide jumper just days after her arrival, Steiner immediately slips into a depression she never really recovers from, and after spending days at home in front of her TV recuperating, she unexpectedly discovers “Brief Candle.” Of course, the networks know nothing of this show (“we only broadcast to folks we think will enjoy it,” a cameramen later quips), so at first Steiner wonders if she imagined it, but when she finds it again, almost without trying, her horror and revulsion are not enough to overcome her morbid curiosity.

Inevitably, Steiner’s sick fascination gets the better of her and she finds herself drawn to the show. Even the shock of her first live studio experience is not enough to deter her, and like a masochist discovering a new, exotic fetish, she becomes obsessed with the show, reorganizing her life around its schedule, even as she grows numb to the shocking horror of the deaths she witnesses. Eventually, Steiner’s detachment devours her, and she watches with an almost inhuman indifference as, week after week, a new suicide is perpetrated with the glitz and glamour of a Broadway musical. The story’s nightmare ends with a final image of Steiner, much older, the lines of horror etched into her squalid face, sitting in the same studio seat, patiently awaiting her own turn at the big wheel.

Bill Wray’s stark black and white art is well-suited for the satirical tone of Moore's story. His panels do a nice job heightening the feelings of paranoia by exaggerating perspectives and distorting the relational size of objects within the frame. His character designs are menacing with exaggerated Cheshire grins for the hosts, and angular, Chaykin-esque faces for the contestants. Wray’s varying panel sizes and grid layouts also add a sense of visual dynamism, and his technique of allowing panels to bleed into each other at the most shocking moments conveys the surreality of the terror being depicted.

Like everything else he’s written, Moore seems to have an innate sense of human psychology, and in this short piece, he demonstrates a keen understanding of the emotional insecurities that underlie real fear. In the end, “Come On Down” may lack some of the sparkling prose evident in Moore’s later works, but its underlying concept is much more intelligent and terrifying than the usual slasher, blood-and-guts fare.