If anyone could turn the macabre into something benevolent, it was Gahan Wilson.

It seems like he was always there. An omnipresent, gleefully diabolical uncle who brought fun into the lives of horror fans. His cartoons were everywhere, from horror mags to Playboy. His prose fiction was delightful. I loved Gahan Wilson's movie reviews in The Twilight Zone Magazine. His essays and commentaries never failed to bring me joy. Any book that had a cover graced by the art of Gahan Wilson was improved.

I never met the man, but I feel as though I knew him. Well. As a lifelong horror devotee, Gahan Wilson was a towering presence, a totem that represented laughs along with chills. His work showed us all that life was hard and painful, and we all had to die, so why not laugh and have fun while we are here.

We knew that Gahan Wilson was having problems. His son-in-law reported that Wilson was suffering from dementia. He had recently lost his beloved wife. A Go Fund Me campaign was launched and fans poured in loving donations. News alternated between bad and good, but it was reported that Gahan maintained his warmly mischievous spirit to the end.

We've lost a lot of legends in the past decade. I don't need to go over the list. There simply aren't a lot more our there in our genre like Gahan Wilson.

There are books out there. Volumes of his cartoons, his novels and short stories, books that bear his unmistakable art. Find them. Treasure them.

Goodbye, Gahan Wilson.

Written by Mark Sieber



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