Today I have another library colleague who I have been working with as part of Summer Scares. Jessikah Chautin. Here is her bio:
Jessikah Chautin began her career in 2002 as a Children's Trainee at Syosset Public Library. Since this time, Jessikah is proud to have been a part of big changes in her own building as well as the field of librarianship. Now as the Syosset Library's Community Engagement Specialist, Jessikah has expanded the reach of the library beyond its four walls with virtual programing, offsite story times, and numerous large-scale events such as Sy-Con, the library's premier Pop-Culture Convention. Aside from this Jessikah produces Turn the Page podcast for Syosset Library and has been a frequent speaker at New York Comic Con.
Jessikah has had me on her podcast and as part of some of her fun virtual events she coordinates for her patrons. She is a huge horror fan and has been one of the biggest supporters of Summer Scares and the work I spearhead for #HorrorForLibraries.
Click here to access her Turn the Page podcast.
Jessikah also sent 2 graphics for upcoming Horror events that ANYONE can join for free. Please click on the images below for details and to register.
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| Click on the image for details and to register |
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| Click on the image for details and to register |
Here is Jessikah's entry in my Why I Love Horror Series where she talks about falling in love, with Horror. It's one of the best advertisements for letting kids read Horror that you will see. Pass this on to any reluctant parents if you need to.
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Horror, A Love Story.
by Jessikah Chautin
I hadn’t realized that I was in love until I’d already been hooked. That’s what they say about “love." It sneaks up on you. You don’t realize that it has been there all along. Sort of the literal “hook” that’s been left on the handle of your boyfriend’s car door in that urban legend, but I digress.
When I was five my parents took me to Lake George, New York for a week towards the end of the summer. We would travel with my cousins who ranged from two to five years older than me. I should also mention that we stayed in a cabin in the woods. No electricity. No running water. Just a cabin in the woods. Another thing I failed to mention was that this was in the 1980’s, and I am sure that if you are reading this, you are aware was the height of popularity for horror fiction. It is not until just this moment that I realize how appropriate all of this is.
Lake George in the 80’s had been what I would now call a “salt water taffy town.” It very well might still be just that. A place full of stores that sold sweets and other niche souvenirs. Notably there was a “haunted house” attraction in the center of town where a person in a “Frankenstein” costume would walk around enticing visitors to go inside. I ran and cried every time I saw him.
In the evenings we would grill on the charcoal fire pits outside the cabin and my uncle would read from “Scary Stories to tell in the Dark” By Alvin Schwartz. This is where my love story really began. As my uncle read each story I would shrink further behind my parents. I never left the campfire. I needed to hear the stories. I needed to sneak looks at Stephen Gammell’s terrifying water color illustrations. Tears crept up in my eyes as my chest filled with some strange feeling I couldn’t define. Maybe it was just the smoke.
Horror and I had a few more “meet cutes” over the years before I finally admitted that I was head over heels. In first grade our school librarian read The Green Ribbon from In a Dark, Dark Room, Alvin Schwartz’ scary book for emerging readers. Not to give any spoilers, but let’s just say that after that I spent a long time terrified that my head was going to fall off. There were commercials on T.V. for A Nightmare on Elm Street. I didn’t like knives, so Freddy’s glove was enough to leave me breathless. Trailers that depicted Chucky stalking his prey ready to stab – yes, the knife thing for sure, but I loved my dolls and an evil doll hit a nerve with me. The mysterious covers of a V.C. Andrews’ book that a bunk mate in camp hid under the covers left me with something that remains unsettled to this day.
As a child I thought what I was experiencing was dread. Now I understand that something I had felt was a pure intense emotion. Something like love.
Love is scary. You commit completely. You submit. There is no guarantee that it will last. Love is not a singular feeling. It is as much the possibility of joy as it is the possibility of pain and loss. Both will change you forever. And horror, much like love, is a whole-body experience.
It exists in broad daylight when Dani, the protagonist of Ari Aster’s Midsommar accepts her role as the May Queen, leaving grief behind and embracing madness. She grins as her ex-boyfriend burns. It exists in darkness. A well which holds a vengeful spirit. A thick forest. It can be awkward, or funny – much like Shaun’s journey in Shaun of the Dead, or my favorite, Ash in the Evil Dead Trilogy. It opens us up to how the mundane for the privileged can be dangerous for marginalized populations – a boyfriend attends a garden party at his girlfriend’s home – but he is one of the sole black attendees.
Get Out was a game changer in terms of addressing current social issues through a horror lens. As a child, whispers of acid rain, and global warming existed as a phantom. Eco-horror addresses the anxieties of living on a planet which is literally burning, and has existed in the genre since long before the climate conversation became mainstream.
And while the previous examples speak to broader issues addressing the horrors of the world, horror can also address very specific fears. V.C. Andrews’ gothic tomes and movies such as Parents distorted familial love. Perhaps this is why The Drum which ends with a mother replaced by an inhuman beast, remains my favorite of Schwartz’s Scary Stories – and the one that scared me most.
Horror exists to pull you inside yourself and flip you around in sort of emotional fun house. The distorted imagery sticks with you well after the end. Unlike the lack of control when it comes through living through uncertain times (a pandemic, for instance) part of the appeal of horror lies within that last page, or the 90-minute mark where the end exists in a denouement you know will be equal parts terrifying and cathartic. And like love, you are left breathless.
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