Steve Niles's name seems to popping up more and more often in the world of comics these days. His name seems to grace as many titles as those of Brian Michael Bendis or Geoff Johns. But while those writers are busy in the world of super-heroes, Niles doesn't seem to venture too far outside of the horror genre. Fortunately, he still manages to offer a good deal of diversity in his storytelling despite that focus, and this story of youth yearning to be free certainly backs up that notion. Niles seems to be well aware that the most effective horror stories are those that have their feet firmly planted on the ground, giving the reader something to which s/he can relate in the middle of all the supernatural or fantastic elements.
Trevor Owen is a typical boy. Growing up in the rural fields of Gristlewood Valley, he dreams of life beyond the confines of his little world, free from the persecution from his overbearing and overly strict father, from his mother's futile, plaintive cries. Yes, Trevor's a typical boy, but the Owens are not a typical family. Among Trevor's regular chores around the farmhouse is feeding. He's not responsible for slopping the pigs, or haying the cows. Instead, he must tend to the family's dirty little secret, hidden away in a barn.
Greg Ruth's art puts me in mind of the dark, gritty but realistic styles of such artists as the legendary Gene (Tomb of Dracula) Colan and Paul (The Devil's Footprints) Lee. Ruth achieves a powerful and remarkable level of realism here while maintaining a tense, dark and even eerie atmosphere. I love how the visuals lose definition as Trevor descends into what seems to be a dungeon. The uncomfortable normalcy that his family clings to fades into surrealism as their secret is revealed.
One of the more interesting aspects of the script is that we don't get to really know Trevor as a character until he is immersed in that dark place, in that bizarre secret. He is transformed into a regular kid, a confident soul who casts aside the cloak of isolation that seems to drag him down earlier in the issue. The irony is that the weirdness in Trevor's life is what offers him the greatest chance to feel normal, to be himself. I'm curious, though, why the character initially seems reluctant to go to that place at first.
The other irony in this story is that it is the father -- not the misshapen figure locked away in a dark hiding place -- who stands out as the real monster in the story. It's easy to glimpse a part of our own lives in the Owens patriarch. We've all come face to face with an overbearing and even abusive authority figure. That element gets the reader invested in Trevor's story.
