31 Days of Horror: Day 14-- Horror Makes Us Happy Podcast Spotlight Featuring Me and The Hosts (2 of 2)

I met Steve, one of the two hosts of Horror Makes Us Happy, at StokerCon in Pittsburgh this past June. After learning about Steve and Chris' podcast I agreed to be a guest. That appearance dropped yesterday. 

But before we get to that, I want to talk about how interesting the podcast Steve and Chris put out is. In their own words, "We (lightly) psychologically profile creators in the horror biz to uncover the REAL reasons people love horror."

But it's is more than how unique their podcast is, Steve and Chris are also super professional. After meeting Steve, I got an official invite with a power point explaining who they are and what their goals are. Here is some sample language from the ppt:

The format: We dig into the horror you love – from childhood, through teen years, into adulthood – building a light/amateur psychological profile as we go. We look for reoccurring themes that point to any core values/beliefs/interests you hold as a human being – sometimes ones you haven't even noticed yourselves!

The hosts: Steve and Chris both work in IT for their day jobs, and are also musicians. Chris is a massive horror fan, the author/artist of horror webcomic Pieces, and is studying filmmaking with the plan to turn his webcomic into a feature film. Steve is the author of A Guide to the Recovery Toolbox. He’s had a lifelong fascination with psychology, multiple years of therapy, and 20+ years working a 12-step program. Those experiences and his IT background have taught him how to ascertain root causes with surprising insight.

Their podcast is like the deepest "Why I Love Horror" dive ever, so of course, after I allowed them to probe my entire life to figure out Why I Love Horror, I had to invite Steve and Chris to participate along with my podcast appearance.

Click here to listen to why Horror makes me happy. And use the same link to see all of their guess. The list is impressive and I know they have episodes through next spring already recorded. 

Now it is the hosts' turn. Today, welcome Chris to Why I Love Horror. And in case you missed it, here is Steve's entry from yesterday.

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So what is it about horror that makes me happy, eh? Well, we did a session on our podcast! You can listen to it by becoming a patron! K thx bye!

Yeah, no, kidding of course. If you are so inclined though, my friend Steve Becker and I run a podcast where we ask a very similar question called Horror Makes Us Happy. Our first 2 interviews were of each other so a lot of the below is actually included in my interview which is accessible to patrons. We’re also on all major podcast platforms. Now, with the shameless self-promotion out of the way…

What is it about horror that appeals to any of us really? You can say it's the allure of the forbidden or the taboo, the safe, contained outlet for interest in the macabre, or sometimes it's just the simple matter that horror looks cool! It's visually and aurally appealing. But it is a valid question. Why the interest in things that are basically violent and harmful, and that ideally and altruistically we wouldn't wish to see beset upon others?

I think at its core, it is the forbidden fruit. A bit of nature and nurture. As we grow up, we progress and learn certain things. You learn that pain is bad, and things are scary. This is usually reinforced by a parent or guardian that heals your wounds and shouts at you, scaring you when you're about to do something dangerous so it's in that, "You can't do that!" category. So naturally, being curious, we're drawn to it. But look at me, wasting a paragraph waxing philosophical about horror.

My interest in horror began young, as it often does. Being a boy in the 80's, I was into all the cartoons and toys that are almost inherently violent. And then there's the movies. The 80's were the slasher heydays! Every trip to the movie store eventually found its way to the horror and sci-fi section, and with such cover art as Critters 2 (with the giant boulder of fuzzy piranha demons), The Howling (with claws slashing through flesh), and of course, Hellraiser (with the man with nails in his face), I was just drawn to them because well... they looked cool!

Earlier than that though, around 5 years old, I recall I had recurring nightmares as a kid - a large wolf chasing me around my grandmother's kitchen. I suspect because I gleaned a scene in classic sneaking-a-peak-from-the-edge-of-the-room trope of An American Werewolf in London. Specifically, the mauling scene in the beginning. I was by no means brave at that age and I'll admit it scared the ever-living shit out of me (as did, hilariously enough, Michael Jackson's Thriller later on). But it still planted that seed: that allure and intrigue in the grotesque. Maybe it was the design, and the lighting, and the setting. Maybe it was the score or the cinematography that just subconsciously fed my brain adrenaline.

I think for me - and for many - what made it a positive experience, and not one of sheer horror, was the company and the type of experience. Were I to walk around a corner alone in real life and see a man being mauled by a giant beast, it would be terrifying! However when in the company of friends or family and viewing it on a screen - even if you do end up getting wrapped up in it because it's such a good story - you still know in the back of your mind that it's distanced from you by a wall of, "This isn't real." Being able to look over and see a friend or loved one smiling, it reminds you that it's okay. (Unless they're a dick, and have hidden behind the couch while you were distracted with the horror, and when you look over and they're not there they lunge from behind the couch and grab you by the shoulders, making you scream like a girl and pee a little... That um... That never happened.)

But speaking of company, there was also the influence of peers and peers of my older sister. One in particular would draw sick pen & ink pieces of things like bifurcated zombies eating their own intestines, and winged demons. The art style was that stark, black & white, heavily shadowed style like Frank Miller. From there I was hooked, so it was slasher movies and horror comics. Being a graphic artist myself, I started drawing things like my older sister's friend, and things I had seen in films. We also had a locally broadcast Saturday afternoon horror marathon which was a big inspiration in my love of horror.

Around my mid 20's, I started to get really into horror, going down the extreme horror and gore rabbit hole. More gore, more shock, more violence. Ever chasing that high off, "Oh my god, did you see that?!" I also started to get into the idea of producing my own horror, so, in turn, I took an interest in the technical aspects of horror. A great blood splatter, a good head explosion, how realistic the intestines looked (the secret is water and flour), or whether or not they used silicone or latex for burned flesh. Also cannibalism. I don't know when it started, but the idea of cannibalism - whether it be 2 daughters eating their father alive raw on the dining table (friggin’ LOVE that reboot!), or a psychotic genius feeding a man's own brains to him after cooking them - I have always loved cannibalism! It's just a perfect mixture of personal invasiveness and body horror.

I love horror because it's dark. Because it's the underdog and alternative. It goes back to my defiant nature to side with the out-of-the-ordinary. Or back to that safe and contained taboo. The interest in what it would look like if someone got sawed in half vertically with a hacksaw while hanging upside down - without personally doing it, because you hear about these things ... because ... well, chatter about horrific things is just part of our social network interconnected lives these days, and it puts that worm in your ear of, "God that is awful, but what would it look like?"

I'd say it's also rooted in the age-old battle of good guys vs bad guys. The good guys were always simple, and well, basic. Sure they had the better intentions altruistically, but they were always so stoic and serious, whereas the bad guys were always having fun doing what they were doing: torturing people while laughing maniacally. Well, except in the end when their plans were foiled. Curses! But they had more fun doing their day jobs!

Now in my later adult years, I'm more interested in the dark and bleak horror. The malice with no reason or explanation other than, as they said in The Strangers, "You were home." And that's likely rooted back to that defiance again. The challenge of the norm where, even in the horror genre, there is pushing the envelope with those stories that don't have an explanation as to why the bad things happen. That don't have a happy ending, and just leave you dumbfounded and speechless as the credits roll. It's dark, but in a way cathartic because afterwards, whatever hell you're going through in life, it lessens it by comparison.

In summation, I guess you could say I love horror because I like bad shit! It is that simple, but it also isn't. Like a Bad Shit casserole with ingredients of safe, contained taboo, shock and adrenaline, cool characters, atmosphere, and story, and just a pinch of cannibalism. I like cannibalism. Did I mention that?

Thank you for coming to my mostly-organized and free-of-tangents TED rant!

Chris Whitman is the creator of PIECES and cohost of the Horror Makes UsHappy podcast.  

31 Days of Horror: Day 13-- Horror Makes Us Happy Podcast Spotlight Featuring Me and The Hosts (1 of 2)

I met Steve, one of the two hosts of Horror Makes Us Happy, at StokerCon in Pittsburgh this past June. After learning about Steve and Chris' podcast I agreed to be a guest. That appearance drops today. 

But before we get to that, I want to talk about how interesting the podcast Steve and Chris put out is. In their own words, "We (lightly) psychologically profile creators in the horror biz to uncover the REAL reasons people love horror."

But it's is more than how unique their podcast is, Steve and Chris are also super professional. After meeting Steve, I got an official invite with a power point explaining who they are and what their goals are. Here is some sample language from the ppt:

The format: We dig into the horror you love – from childhood, through teen years, into adulthood – building a light/amateur psychological profile as we go. We look for reoccurring themes that point to any core values/beliefs/interests you hold as a human being – sometimes ones you haven't even noticed yourselves!

The hosts: Steve and Chris both work in IT for their day jobs, and are also musicians. Chris is a massive horror fan, the author/artist of horror webcomic Pieces, and is studying filmmaking with the plan to turn his webcomic into a feature film. Steve is the author of A Guide to the Recovery Toolbox. He’s had a lifelong fascination with psychology, multiple years of therapy, and 20+ years working a 12-step program. Those experiences and his IT background have taught him how to ascertain root causes with surprising insight.

Their podcast is like the deepest "Why I Love Horror" dive ever, so of course, after I allowed them to probe my entire life to figure out Why I Love Horror, I had to invite Steve and Chris to participate along with my podcast appearance.

Click here to listen to why Horror makes me happy. And use the same link to see all of their guess. The list is impressive and I know they have episodes through next spring already recorded. 

Now it is the hosts' turn. Today, welcome Steve to Why I Love Horror. And come back tomorrow for Chris' entry.

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You might think both hosts of a podcast called Horror Makes Us Happy would be horror fans, but only one of us is, and it’s not me. That’s not to say I haven’t come to appreciate certain elements of the genre, but to acknowledge that I’ve probably never felt the love as deeply as you, who are reading this. As an adult though, my journey through recovery showed me there are two aspects - of cosmic horror specifically - that touch on things deeply important to me. Becky was kind enough to ask me to share them with you.

(We recently interviewed Becky about her own personal connection to the genre, it’ll be published on Friday the 13th this October! If you’d like to hear that interview, subscribe to us on your preferred platform of choice, or bookmark our website.)

I expect most who read this will be American, and most Americans are Christian, so let me start by referencing how, in the Christian tradition, Satan tempted Jesus three times in the desert. There are multiple ways to interpret these trials, one of which is to view them as temptations of worldly desires (Food, Love, and Power).

In my twenties, I came across Professor Joseph Campbell's interview series The Power of Myth. The series covers 6 hours of interviews, so there's plenty of material there to discuss, but the important part for this conversation is that in the Buddhist tradition Buddha also underwent three trials. His could be summarized as Desire, Fear, and Duty.

As Professor Campbell described it, Buddha was meditating under a tree. All the gods of the Buddhist pantheon were afraid he was going to achieve true enlightenment, so the demon Mara came to stop him. First he tempted him with women (desire), then threatened him with violence (fear), and then in the last trial Mara commanded Buddha to leave, telling him he must fulfill his social duties (as a ruler, a father, and a husband).

Buddha believed his current endeavor to be even more important than those, and after denying these three attempts to manipulate him, he achieved enlightenment. If you've ever seen a statue of Buddha touching the ground with one finger, that’s a representation of this moment. He touched the ground to ask the Earth goddess to witness the event.

I've always enjoyed this symbol because it can be interpreted a number of ways I can identify with. I don't suffer from sensory issues, but one might understand feeling overwhelmed by the vastness of enlightenment, and touching the ground could be a good way to literally ground one's self. It can also be a way of saying, "I belong here", or "This place is important to me". In enlightenment one would understand that this place is every place - and every place is this place - but the feeling of connection is what's important: whether it’s to the Earth goddess, or to one’s self, the things one values, or transcendence itself.  

So what does this have to do with horror?

To make a decades-long story short, one of the most important things I've learned during my journey through counseling, therapy, and 12-step work is how important my place is in this universe, how I have every right to be here, to think the things I think, and to feel the way I do. That doesn’t mean I’m always correct about facts - there’s always room to learn - but my right, to not only life itself, but my identity - is, if not everywhere in horror, then probably in the top two or three most widespread elements.

The fears of the marginalized are everywhere in horror. Sometimes this is to highlight the marginalized for their own sake; sometimes to threaten those in even more powerful positions. (The antagonist slices through the marginalized like butter - what do you think it’s going to do to you?) Staying in touch with my own experiences of being marginalized is very important to me, but it’s not the most important thing I get out of horror. But it’s necessary to work through that to get towards what is.

Every time I look at the night sky it blows my mind to think that I'm staring out into a view that spans millions of light years. Yes, light pollution and the focal abilities of the human eye mean that every point of light I see is a star in our own galaxy, but my point is - if I were physically capable - the theoretical visible distance is practically infinity.

I'm nothing to the universe. Yet I'm here, now, and no matter what happens to me, my molecules, atoms, subatomic particles, and parts of me smaller than that will always be a part of this universe. Even if every particle of matter that makes me who I am were to meet an antimatter particle and be annihilated, there would still be something left of me in the energy expended.

There's almost a sense of defiance in this, but a lot of my recovery work has been focused on boundary issues, and it's very, very important to learn how one can defend one's boundaries without overstepping them and invading someone else's space. I don't need to go on an offensive. I reserve that right, but I don't need it. I can define myself.

Maybe empowerment isn’t what most people get out of cosmic horror - when it exists it’s often only there to show how foolish we mortals are - but it’s what I get out of it. I may not have the ability to defy some great interdimensional power, or super-powerful ancient race, but I have the will to protect myself if I need to, and I do have abilities I didn’t have when I was younger. I had to learn a lot to grow into these things, and now that I have them I appreciate the reminders I get from good, intriguing cosmic horror.

I love to collect quotes, and one attributed to Abraham Lincoln says, "I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true; I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live up to what light I have." The motto of every 12-step program I know is, “To Thine Own Self Be True.” What a wonderful thing it is to be reminded of these things, even if on the surface horror would seem to be suggesting the complete opposite.

I feel it appropriate to end with a quote from The Power of Myth, where Professor Campbell is responding to Bill Moyers’ question, “Isn't that the logical conclusion one could draw though, the philosophy of nihilism?” Joe replies, “Well, that's not the necessary thing to draw. You could say I will participate in this row, and I will join the army, and I will go to war. I will participate in the game. It's a wonderful, wonderful opera, except that it hurts. And that wonderful Irish saying, you know, 'Is this a private fight, or can anybody get into it?' This is the way life is, and the hero is the one who can participate in it decently, in the way of nature, not in the way of personal rancor, revenge, or anything of the kind.” These are the things that are important to me.

This is who I am, where I am, and I have every right to be here. This is what cosmic horror reminds me of.

Steve Becker is the author of A Guide to the Recovery Toolbox and cohost of the Horror Makes Us Happy podcast. You can find out more about him on the About page of their website, and additional links are available at https://linktr.ee/horrormakesushappy. 

31 Days of Horror: Day 12-- Why I Love Horror by Chris Hawkins With a Giveaway

Tuesday, I began a mini series, within a series, within a series. Wait...what? Becky that is very confusing. Okay, so let me explain.

You are currently reading the 31 Days of Horror series and today's post is part of the "Why I Love Horror" series within that series. However, it is also part of three days featuring authors who play their trade in the self publishing sphere, authors who are putting out solid books, titles readers love, but with little to no marketing push behind them.

All three of these authors are also members of the Horror Writers Association and they have offered up a book for one of you. All titles offered are finished copies that you should add to your library's collections immediately. The rest of you, should consider ordering a copy for yourselves.

Please see the most recent giveaway for rules. Those rules apply here as well. I will pull 3 separate winners over the weekend. The third name pulled will get today's title.

Now you can see what I mean about this being "a mini series, within a series, within a series." So let's begin.

Today I am featuring the brand new, debut novel by HWA Chicago Chapter Co-Chair Christopher Hawkins, Downpour.

I have thoughts, but I begin  with Daniel Kraus, who gave this unsoltiiced blurb after reading the novel.

"This book hits like a summer squall and never lets up, a real-time, one-location doom machine that earns its place beside The Mist." - Daniel Kraus, author of Whalefall 

I whole heartedly agree that this book is an excellent readalike for The Mist. That alone is reason enough to order a copy for your collections right now. From Goodreads:

A sudden storm appears above an isolated farmhouse in rural Illinois, bringing with it a relentless and unnatural rain. A rain that eats away at everything it touches. A rain that turns people into monsters.

Trapped inside his crumbling home, a father must do everything he can to keep his family from falling apart. But the rain calls to them, and not everyone wants to stay inside.

Haunted by memories of loss, he must put aside his painful past and find a way to keep them all safe. But the rain shows no signs of stopping, and time is running out.

From the award-winning author of Suburban Monsters comes a heartbreaking tale of survival and terror. 

I read this mostly on sunny days and I was checking the sky for rain clouds multiple times, with like actual fear of what I might see. Click here for more from on this book, including this:

Three Words That Describe This Book: intense dread, compressed time frame, trapped

I have a finished copy of Downpour for 1 winner, but again, if Daniel Kraus and I like it, isn't that enough for you to order it? Just in case, here is Chris himself to tell you why Horror can do it all.

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What Horror Means To Me
by Chris Hawkins

 

Whenever someone asks me why it is that I love horror, I think of roller coasters.

There’s a feeling you get when you’re at the top of a roller coaster. And I don’t mean the shiny, magnetic ones that shoot you down the track like you’re being launched off the deck of an aircraft carrier. I mean the old-school rattle-coasters, the ones that are just an accumulation of rickety hills made of piled-up wood. The kind where the cross bracing looks more improvised than planned, and you’re pretty sure some of it is missing and what’s left is all cracked because the last time it was painted probably wasn’t in your lifetime.

But you get on the thing because it has to be safe, right? Otherwise, why would all these other people be in line to get on it, too? I mean, they’re hearing all the same screams that you are and none of them seem to be thinking anything of it, and when the cars arrive they’re more or less full, so you’re pretty sure that they’re coming back with everyone they left with.

So you sit at the front because everyone in this country knows that first is best. You climb in and fasten your threadbare seatbelt–no fancy shoulder harness here!--and you wait. You wait long enough to notice that the kid working the controls doesn’t even look old enough to be in high school, and the one who checked the seatbelt barely glanced at the thing at all. Then you shudder a bit and wonder if it’s too late to get off. Just when you’ve resolved to do exactly that, the whole thing lurches forward and there’s no turning back.

That’s when the chain catches you and starts to pull you up. And it’s slow, so slow that it feels like time is stretching, and you’re not getting any closer to the top even though the ground is getting farther away. And the whole time, you’re hearing the heavy ratcheting of the chain, like the tick of a clock counting down to doomsday, and you realize that the machinery that makes this thing go probably isn’t any different than it was back in the days when men wore top hats and kids died of things like Polio and Smallpox.

And you’re sure now that some of the cross bracing really is missing because you can feel the whole structure swaying ever so slightly as you climb. And by now you’re certain that you made a bad choice–maybe even a fatally bad choice–but you’re so high up now that the people look like ants and when you chance a look over the side you see that the only thing between you and the ground they’re walking on is a sheer drop. You’re committed. The only way out is through.

The top is in sight now, and it’s worse than you thought, because you can’t see anything over the crest in the hill. You know that the track has to be there, that it has to keep going, but for a moment you’re not so sure. You’re at the summit now–you have to be–but all there is ahead is empty air.

The chain lets go, and everything goes quiet. There’s a pause while you wait for gravity to take you, and because you sat up front you can feel it wanting to pull your body out ahead of the cars, and there’s only that skinny strap of seatbelt to hold you back.

That’s when the feeling starts to take hold.

It starts in your gut, just above where the seatbelt is digging against your hips, a sickening sense that something is about to go terribly, horribly wrong. It tingles its way up your spine and across your limbs and into your fingertips. You push back with your legs and you grip the hand-bar tighter, but gravity is coming for you no matter what you do because gravity is inevitable and gravity always wins. You can see the track ahead of you–at least some of it–and the drop is steep, steeper than you thought it would be. There’s no way this can end well, no reason why it should end well, and you never should have agreed to go on this ride in the first place.

And at the same time, there’s a voice in your head that starts to rise above the rush of blood in your ears, and that voice is positively giddy. That voice knows that this is exactly what you came for. It knows that you stood in line for forty-five minutes just so you could experience this moment, this feeling, with your heart pumping and your body amped up like it’s ready to run. That voice is at odds with everything your body is telling you, which only makes your body work that much harder to be heard. You’re elated and a little bit sick all at once, and when gravity finally takes you and you roar down that track the voice comes out in a scream.

The ride is over way too quickly, but that feeling? That feeling lasts. It trembles through your legs as they touch solid ground. The world is tilting, and it forces you to look at everything like it’s brand new. Colors are brighter. You feel the cool breeze tingle the little hairs on your arms and all of it is telling you that you’re alive. You did the frightening thing and came out whole on the other side. And you want to do it again.

That’s why I love horror. It’s the only kind of storytelling that even comes close to replicating that feeling. The slow building of dread. The terror of knowing what’s lurking around the corner but still being powerless to stop it. The catharsis that comes when you’ve been through hell but come out safe on the other side. It’s not the same as the roller coaster ride, but when it’s done right, it’s better. It’s so, so much better.

No other genre can do that. Romance might get the blood moving. Thrillers might give you a shot of adrenaline. Science fiction may take you to places unknown, but only horror can do it all. That’s why I read horror. That’s why I watch horror. That’s why I write horror. That’s why I love horror.

So who wants to go again?

31 Days of Horror: Day 11-- Why I Started From Beyond Press by Mike Phillips With a Giveaway

Yesterday I began a mini series, within a series, within a series. Wait...what? Becky that is very confusing. Okay, so let me explain.

You are currently reading the 31 Days of Horror series and today's post is part of the "Why I Love Horror" series within that series. However, it is also part of three days featuring authors who play their trade in the self publishing sphere, authors who are putting out solid books, titles readers love, but with little to no marketing push behind them.

All three of these authors are also members of the Horror Writers Association and they have offered up a book for one of you. All titles offered are finished copies that you should add to your library's collections immediately. The rest of you, should consider ordering a copy for yourselves.

Please see the most recent giveaway for rules. Those rules apply here as well. I will pull 3 separate winners over the weekend. The second name pulled will get today's title.

Now you can see what I mean about this being "a mini series, within a series, within a series." So let's begin.

I met Michael Phillips because he is in my Chicagoland chapter of the HWA. He is also one of the chapter's volunteers, running our website. During one of our meetings, he mentioned launching is own micro press. My ears perked up. Then he talked about what he would be publishing through it and I emailed him immediately after the meeting asking for the press' first title to review. I got the book read and into Booklist Online because it was amazing.

Click here to read my glowing review of This World Belongs to Us: An Anthology of Horror Stories About Bugs. Cynthia Pelayo, Paula D. Ashe, V. Castro and more have stories here. This is a note to miss book for ALL library collections and Michael is offering a finished copy to one of you to prove it. If you win, add it to your collection. Everyone else, go order it. You will have to do it from online retailers or you local indie book store. But now it has a Booklist review so you can!

I invited Michael here to talk about not only his love of Horror, but why he started a micro press. Below is his story. And if my review didn't make you want to buy the book, his essay will. And do as Michael does. pay it forward by ordering his books. 

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Why I Started From Beyond Press
by Michael Phillips

From Beyond Press kind of started as a pandemic project, although I didn’t realize it until later. I sell sci-fi, fantasy, and horror paperbacks through my Instagram and ebay account, It Came From Beyond Pulp, and through it I met horror writer Kealan Patrick Burke. In 2019 I hatched the idea of inviting him to Chicago to do a reading and signing at Bucket O’Blood Books and Records, and because we’re both film lovers, I also asked him to curate a program of short horror films for the event. I recruited Chicago-based horror comic artist Corinne Halbert, creator of the Acid Nun series, to do a poster, and she delivered a beautiful, freakish work of art.

Inspired by the poster and by Kealan’s reading, I asked the two of them if they’d be interested in doing an illustrated book. The result was “Distinguishing Features,” a chapbook with a new story by Kealan and illustrations by Corinne. I printed 200 copies and had author and artist sign them, and we talked about doing a release party at Bucket O’Blood in May of 2020. The pandemic intervened, but the book sold out in a couple months anyway. I asked Kealan for recommendations for the next book, and he introduced me to Cynthia Pelayo, who said yes. She wrote the heartbreaking story “Snow White’s Shattered Coffin,” and I found suburban comic artist Vheto Gutierrez Vazquez to do the cover and illustrations. Again, 200 copies, signed and numbered. Those are sold out too. I have wide-ranging interests, so for the next book I asked my friend, the jazz musician and podcaster Lloyd Brodnax King, if I could make a book of his long-running Twitter project “Stoopin,” in which he tweeted pithy observations of his rapidly gentrifying south side Chicago block. That book came out in 2022.

That summer, I decided to turn my small chapbook enterprise into From Beyond Press. I got advice from Cina Pelayo and from Joe Mynhardt at Crystal Lake Publishing about how to run a publishing company, and how to do it in an ethical manner. And in a battered copy of Things with Claws, a 1961 collection of stories about killer animals and monsters (it also contained Daphne du Maurier’s “The Birds”), I found John B.L. Goodwin’s 1946 story “The Cocoon,” which is one of the creepiest things I’ve ever read.

I decided that my first “real” book would be an anthology of horror stories about bugs, using Cina’s story (which she graciously allowed me to reprint) and Goodwin’s story as the starting point. I tracked down Goodwin’s heirs and secured permission, I filed as an LLC, I turned my bookstore logo into a publishing company logo, I built a website, and I launched a Kickstarter and a call for submissions for what became This World Belongs to Us: An Anthology of Horror Stories about Bugs.

It struck a nerve: I asked a bunch of award-winning authors if they’d write stories, assuming maybe one or two would be interested, but almost all of them said yes—Laurel Hightower, Paula D. Ashe, V. Castro, Kealan Patrick Burke, Felix I.D. Dimaro. I raised $2500 to help pay for the book, I received more than 500 submissions (thank god for slush readers!), and I’ve sold more than 200 copies, in addition to the ones sent out as Kickstarter rewards. Not bad for the first book from a publishing company that nobody had ever heard of. The next anthology is Escalators to Hell: Shopping Mall Horrors, which is due out next spring. It’s co-edited by Jennifer Jeanne McArdle, an award-winning writer who was incredibly helpful as a slush reader for the bug book. I couldn’t have done it without her, so now I’m paying her to help.

I don’t think of From Beyond Press as a horror publisher. I love horror, but I don’t only love horror. I read widely—right now I’m reading Native American author Louise Erdrich and Indian author Khushwant Singh—and I want to publish widely. I’ve lived on the south side of Chicago for 20 years, and I want the press to reflect that, like it’s reflected in my other projects. I used to run a small nonprofit film series called South Side Projections that showed movies around the south side. We showed a lot of work by and for the African American community, and I made a lot of connections. My spouse, art historian Rebecca Zorach, also works closely with the Black community in Chicago. While she was researching the Black Arts Movement in Chicago, she learned that Frank London Brown, who chronicled Chicago’s Black community in the 1950s through journalism and the groundbreaking novel Trumbull Park before his tragic early death, had written some short fiction for the Chicago Defender.

I am a historian by training, and in my film work I often used my research skills to find things: rights to elusive historical films, contact info for filmmakers who seemed to have vanished. I found one director through her ex-husband’s bankruptcy filing, and another through a letter to the editor he wrote to the New York Times in the 1990s. So I found 133 of Frank London Brown’s stories—bite-size, poignant, vibrant vignettes about Black life in Chicago in the late 1950s—and I found his family and offered to split the proceeds from the book with them, even though the stories were in the public domain. They deserve to see some money from their father’s work. And so This Is Life: Rediscovered Short Fiction by Frank London Brown came out this summer. It’s in 25 branches of the Chicago Public Library, and it’s being taught in classes at the University of Chicago and Northwestern this fall. I wanted to emphasize that the stories still speak to us after 60 years, so I asked Nile Lansana, a young Black poet, to respond to them in verse. I asked my friend Sandra Jackson-Opoku, an award-winning novelist, to write an introduction, and it turns out that she had lived down the street from Brown when she was a little girl.

I have a couple other archival projects in the works. In October, I’m launching a new series of reprints of work by women who wrote for the pulp horror and sci-fi magazines of the 1920s-1950s. The first one is by Greye La Spina, who was more successful than H.P. Lovecraft back in the day, but she’s mostly forgotten now—because, I argue in my introduction, she was a woman, for a time a working single mother, at other times a caretaker for her sick husband, so her writing career often took a backseat to her roles as mother and wife. It’s certainly not because the stories aren’t good—they’re incredible, and they’re so different from what we’ve been taught to expect from that period. And I’m working with the daughter of Ida Chittum, whose retellings of scary Ozark folktales in books like Tales of Terror and The Thing Without a Name gave a generation of kids nightmares back in the 1970s. We’re going to reprint her work, including some never-before-published stories.

I understand that I’m operating from a position of privilege. I was able to start the press while working half-time because my spouse has a great job. I’m able to promise professional pay rates because if sales don’t materialize, I can afford to pay out of pocket. I’m trying to use that privilege to benefit others. I’ve made it clear that I want to publish diverse anthologies, and I’m proud to say that only a few of the stories in the bug book and the forthcoming mall book are by straight white men. The mall book, especially, is queer as fuck, and I’m very proud of that. I’m going to publish work by Black authors, by Latino authors, by forgotten female authors. It might take a while, since I’m doing most of it by myself, but I’ll get there.

31 Days of Horror: Day 10-- Why I Write Horror by PD Alleva w/ Giveaway

Today I am beginning a mini series, within a series, within a series. Wait...what? Becky that is very confusing. Okay, so let me explain.

You are currently reading the 31 Days of Horror series and today's post is part of the "Why I Love Horror" series within that series. Today is also the start of three days featuring authors who play their trade in the self publishing sphere, authors who are putting out solid books, titles readers love, but with little to no marketing push behind them.

All three of these authors are also members of the Horror Writers Association and they have offered up a book for one of you. All titles offered are finished copies that you should add to your library's collections immediately. The rest of you, should consider ordering a copy for yourselves.

Please see the most recent giveaway for rules. Those rules apply here as well. I will pull 3 separate winners over the weekend. The first will get today's title.

Now you can see what I mean about this being "a mini series, within a series, within a series." So let's begin.

PD Alleva writes violent, fast paced Horror that reader LOVE. His novel Jigglyspot and the Zero Intellect is coming out on Halloween, and the advance praise is good. You like cannibals, carnivals, and clowns? Well then this book is for you. In fact, I have a hard cover copy for one lucky library worker to give away this week (see link with rules above). 

But here's the thing, Alleva's novels may be full of graphic violence but his reasons for writing Horror are based in his own personal history and his work as a psychotherapist. You want to know why some of the most violent and gory Horror novels are no only fun for some readers, but also necessary, meet PD Alleva.

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Why I Write Horror

By PD Alleva

There are so many reasons I write horror it’s difficult to fit everything into a quick blog read. I could probably write a full book on the subject, and maybe someday I will write such a book, but for now we’ll have to list the reasons in this blog. I’ve outlined a few of those reasons below, but the short answer is because horror is the only genre that truly satisfies every emotion, feeling, and sensation the human mind and heart can conjure. Where else can you get humanity, gore, and intellectual stimulation? What other genre makes you want to cringe, puke, shiver, inspire, laugh out loud, and be horrified to the point that the reader questions every simple bump, creak, or shadow creeping into their bedroom?

Horror satisfies my craving to be bold, brilliant, eclectic, and terrified all at the same time. As a writer, I like to conjure emotions within my readers that they never knew existed. Whether that takes place with a laugh out loud moment as someone is carving, slicing and dicing a human body for dinner, or a tender moment that twists into a sadistic orgy, it’s all good to me.

What I enjoy most about the genre is the constant battle between the light and the dark, and the delicate balance when walking a fine line between the two. Inside every horror story, the dark side of humanity is on full display, both within the story and within the reader. I’ve always been intrigued with the balance between the light and the dark and how delicate that balance is. How easy it is to be bad and how difficult it is to maintain integrity, honesty, and goodwill when everyone else seems to have given up and given in. How easy it is for people to slip into the darkness and how one wrong move or choice can lead to a path paved with tragedy despite our good intentions.

I write horror because no matter how bad things are, they can always become far more dire and horrific. Horror is a reflection of the worst-case scenario, but with a few twists. A twist because there’s always the other side, the one that triumphs through it all. The place where hope is discovered is never more profound as when we confront our ultimate fears. However, unfortunately, life isn’t always rainbows and butterflies and our unlikely heroes don’t always run off into the sunrise, holding their arms up in triumph. There’s a lesson to be learned in such circumstances, because there’s another side to the coin, another side to life that constantly persists on winning and will do anything to secure that win. It’s called the dark side, the evil and downright nasty hearts who will stop at nothing to stretch their talon across humanity. Think of the manipulative con man, or the gas lighting narcissist or any other person you’ve ever come across that had evil in their heart. We need to be aware of such people and not fool ourselves into believing that everything is going to magically work its way out. Horror teaches us to keep our wits in check, to persist and stay true to ourselves. To forgive but not forget.

Horror asks: how far are you willing to go? How far are you willing to cross the line into darkness in order to survive? It’s only when we embrace the darkness that we are truly evolved and when we confront dire circumstances, the most horrific parts of the human heart can rear their ugly heads. But it is also the time for triumph, overcoming tragedy and standing up to confront our darkest fears. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. If I could choose for this not to happen I would, but I’m not the one running the big show, I’m simply reporting what I see and I tend to not placate or lie to people that everything’s gonna be all right when sometimes it’s definitely not going to be. That’s the reality that horror is capable of, because where else can we stretch the limits and spoon feed a heavy dose of reality that burns all the way down into the stomach, leaving a nasty taste in the back of the reader’s throat and then toss in hope and victory? If the purpose of life is to evolve, we’ve got to find recourse to tragedy and learn the lessons that allow us to evolve. Horror offers a platform to pen such stories. But there’s more on that below. So let’s tidy up this little blog with a few additional reasons on why I write horror and the path that has led me down the horror rabbit hole.

Reason 1: Being born was a tragedy. I was born into violence. Groomed for it too. Without getting into too many details, let’s just say I’ve seen more than my share of violence, manipulation, crime, and all that comes with such a lifestyle. Although at the same time there was a lot of light within all that darkness and growing up, I constantly battled with walking a fine line between the darkness and the light. Luckily, the light won. But that winning method was only achieved after the darkness was accepted. I spent so many years attempting to deny that dark part of the heart, but like a child, it wanted more attention. Kept rearing its ugly head. Best way to describe it is the yin and yang. Are we going to be mostly darkness with a little light or mostly light with a little dark? It’s only after we’ve accepted all of ourselves that we are free. I have a keen understanding of the criminal and violent mind, so why wouldn’t I write horror? Such knowledge lends to creating great villains, and who doesn’t enjoy a proper villain?

Reason 2: Horror, horror, everywhere. I see horror everywhere. What do I mean by that? I mean, I hear about horror and tragedy on a constant, everyday basis. The manipulation and treachery that exists within our species is a constant player in all our lives. I’ve been a psychotherapist and hypnotherapist for close to twenty years, specializing in treating PTSD and traumatic experiences. There’s nothing more horrific than the reality of one human being inflicting trauma on another. We live in a sick, sick world, although just how sick most people are unaware of. In my time, I’ve serviced patients who have suffered through human trafficking, satanic worship and pedophilia, as well as war, addiction, abduction, and psychological trauma/brainwashing. The brainwashing aspect is what I refer to as programming, or psychological trauma, which, unfortunately, is the trauma no one ever talks about. As I tell my patients, as strong and as powerful as the human mind is, it is also equally as fragile. Horror is everywhere. It’s a part of our lives and a part of our history. Of course, people are going to be drawn to horror, terror, and tragedy. They see it all the time whenever they turn on their favorite news channel. Horror is everywhere, but without it, we’d never be able to see the light.

Reason 3: Venting frustrations without hacking and whacking human bodies. In my private life, you’d never guess that I wrote horror novels. I’m a compassionate, spiritual being who would rather spread joy in my daily life than engage in manipulation, crime, and negativity. Horror provides an outlet to vent frustrations and offers a method to indulge in that fine line between the light and the dark. I keep it to the books, which allows such things to stay out of my personal life, because if I don’t, that dark energy has a tendency to spill over into a series of self-deceptive behaviors. Energy is a fickle thing, it’s going to live and breathe whether or not you want it to. It’s the law of attraction, and it’s better to channel that dark energy into a creative response, exorcising it in the most positive outlet. As I tell my patients, use that dark energy for purpose, focus, ambition, and success.

Reason 4: What is past is prologue. But mostly I write horror because I absolutely love the genre. When you grow up in a troubled home, attempting to understand your environment, horror is as natural as gravity. We need to understand. We need to persist. And we need to see the light that exists within ourselves. I remember all those nights, reading by my flashlight, under the covers, at home within my little hovel and inspired by the words dripping off the page. It’s where I found the light. It’s in all the stories, those plot points where sacrifice for another is on full display, or how the feeble child finally comes out of their shell to tell the devil to fuck off. Where the human condition ballooned from chapter to chapter with the lesson that life is not always perfect and sometimes we’ve got to stand up and make our voices heard. Plus, and let’s be honest, because I am a writer, the craft, the emotions, and the sensations that ripple through the reader with a profound emotionally charged reading experience is by far and bar none the best experience I could ask for.

I grew up on the classics: Poe, Shelley, Bradbury, Stoker, Bronte, to name a few. Horror always highlights that fine line where the internal struggle of the human heart is on full display. It can tear a family apart or bring them together. Spiral a sick mind into madness or bring that same mind into the light. There’s no telling how it’s all going to end, but what we know is that the journey satisfies all the cravings, itches and emotions, so why not continue?

Fiction should be intelligent, entertaining, and should dig deep into the heart of the human condition. Fiction has always reflected society and has historically come with dire warnings on the persistence of the darkness that exists within the human heart. And what genre captures the heart of humanity in all its splendor and madness better than horror? Of course I write horror. There is no other genre that comes close to all that horror can provide.

Keep it real. Read horror to escape. Read horror to learn. Read horror to satisfy that itch to be bad. But read horror, don’t live it. Read horror so your private life is awesome, filled with joy, wonder, and amazement. Keep reading. 

 ~ PD Alleva

Author Bio: I write books, that’s what I do. Horror, scifi, thrillers, fantasy, and sometimes a literary gem. Good ones, crazy ones, fun books, entertaining books, scary creepy books that are absolutely insane, books with depth and thrills, and stories that rip out the heart of humanity and throws it on a slab to be feasted on. Yeah, that’s what I do, I write books. Any questions? My current projects include: the Pulp Fiction, Sci-Fi/Fantasy series, The Dark Veil: The Rose Vol. III; the horror thriller novella series, Girl on a Mission; the supernatural thriller series, The Hypnotist; and a follow up to Jigglyspot and the Zero Intellect, tentatively titled, The Sleepy Hollow Incident.

Author Links: 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/pdalleva_author/

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/pdallevaauthor/

TikTok: @horrorbookclub

Twitter: https://twitter.com/PdallevaAuthor

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/pdalleva

Website: www.pdalleva.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7634126.P_D_Alleva

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/p-d-alleva

Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/gxKH7P

31 Days of Horror: Day 9-- Other Resources and Links Roundup

I do have most of the month scheduled with guest posts, but I have also saved a few days to share links from other places with you all. And after the list, say tuned at the bottom for a video treat of me talking about the rise of popularity of Horror courtesy of my publisher. 

1. A resource I have mentioned many times, and even have listed on my permanent Horror Resources Page, Jump Scares: Scary Books for Scary People. Run by Emily Hughes this site contains her Horror Shopping List. You want to know what is coming up, click here (includes archives of past years). Click here to read a guest post by Hughes, from March of 2023, on how the list is compiled as well. And say tuned from some exciting news to start 2024 regarding the resource and me and a podcast. 

2. Goodreads has published their annual Horror coverage:

• 100 New Horror Book Recommendations for (Nearly) Every Kind of Reader: This is a list based on appeal, subgenres, and themes, making it a great resource to use as you are having conversations with readers. All have 2023 copyrights.
• Readers' Top 66 Horror Novels of the Past Three Years: mining their reader data, Goodreads lets us see what readers have mot enjoyed.
• Horror Experts Recommend Terrifying Tomes: as a counter punch to the Reader list, here are expert picks for all ages.

3. The Horror Writers Association's Halloween Haunt blog-a-thon is running for another year. You can use this link to bring up every post in reverse chronological order. But beware, it goes way far back and you could end up down a rabbit hole from which you may never return. But at least that would be on brand. 

4. Neil McRobert of the Talking Scared podcast, also listed on that same Horror Resource Page as Jump Scares, had his list of the best Horror of 2023 go live at the start of the month for Esquire here. You think that's early, the day after it went live, I had my meeting with LJ to finalize our top 10 list as well.

5. Book Riot, a Summer Scares partner, has excellent Horror coverage all year long, but of course they ramp it up during October. Click here for everything in their "Horror" category.

And now, as promised, here is a video of me, recorded by my publisher at ALA Annual in June, talking about why horror is so popular right now.

31 Days of Horror: Day 8-- Wy I Love Horror by Sam Rebelein

Similar to yesterday's post, I read Edenville, a debut novel by Sam Rebelein (which came out 10/3/23 from William Morrow), for the October 2023 issue of Library Journal, and after finishing it, I had to invite Sam to the Why I Love Horror family. If you read this bonkers, in all the right ways, novel you would want to talk to Sam more too. 

But first, here is my draft review and some further notes via Goodreads:

Three Words That Describe This Book: Cosmic Horror, Sardonic Tone, Folk Horror

Notes:

• This book is a horror and humor mash up.
• It is a scathing critique of academia, especially MFA programs.
• It is also BONKERS but in all the right ways. It will both appeal to a wider range of readers AND turn some readers off. I think that is a good thing. You have to enter reading it with the understanding that it is over the top on purpose.
• The ending was quite empowering in a way that would make Stephanie from the Books in the Freezer podcast happy. 

Draft Review: Cam is a struggling NYC writer whose debut novel flowed out of him in the aftermath of a terrifying nightmare but it flopppled soon after publication. Quinn, Cam’s girlfriend, is a bartender originally from Upstate NY who believes in the ghost stories from back home. When an eccentric woman from the prestigious Creative Writing Program at Edenville College, near Quinn’s hometown, comes to invite Cam to be a writer in residence, both Quinn and the reader know it is a bad idea, yet Cam accepts. What follows is an entertainingly bonkers tale infused with so much unease and danger that it is literally dripping from Cam’s eyes. It is a story that explores the Cosmic and Folk Horror tropes to their furthest reaches while also providing a scathing critique of academia, especially MFA programs, all wrapped up in one wild ride of a read.

Verdict: Rebelein’s debut confidently leans in on its sardonic tone, mixing humor with over the top Cosmic Horror, a combination that will appeal greatly to fans of We Sold Our Souls by Grady Hendrix, but don’t sleep on the dark academia aspects as also seen in Catherine House by Elisabeth Thomas.

And now it is Sam's turn to share why he loves Horror, in an essay which asks who screamed first-- us  into the void or the void at us.

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Why Do I Love Horror? Because It Helps Me Scream

Sam Rebelein

When I was eight, I firmly believed all villains should be melted or eaten or both. I think the art of a brutally satisfying third-act villain death is somewhat lost in film these days, but perhaps that’s because I grew up with stories like Jurassic Park and Indiana Jones, in which villains were melted and eaten all the time. I couldn’t tell you a thing about the film Agent Cody Banks (I haven’t seen it since, like, 2004), but I do remember that, in the third act, a villainous Ian McShane is eaten from the inside out by nanobots. In a kid’s movie.

I think I find this trope invigorating because it insinuates that the antagonistic forces in our own lives will someday find their comeuppance at the hands of something far worse than they are. I find it comforting, knowing there are hungers out there that eat indiscriminately. Powers who don’t care if you’re a CEO or a high-ranking member of the Third Reich. In the end, all flesh tastes the same.

When you’re little, it’s easy to see the world through a cosmic horror lens like this. Almost everything is a power far greater than you, and you could just as easily melt as the next guy.

Like many horror writers I know, I was ironically a huge scaredy-cat as a kid. I wanted to be brave, but I just couldn’t do it. Multiple times, I demanded my parents take me to a haunted house, only to have them inevitably usher me through the entire thing with my eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down my face.

I’ve always loved aquariums and zoos, so big creatures have never stirred in me a feeling of worthlessness, emptiness, or cosmic dread. The specific imagery of the Cthulhu mythos has never been particularly frightening to me. But when I was little, I had constant spirals of anxiety that I would often entertain for months on end. For instance, when I was five, I knew that if I touched the walls of our home, electricity from the wires within would jump out and electrocute me. I was sure this was true, just as I was sure that every stomachache was a mortal illness, and every night I went to sleep, I may never wake up again. Once, for no reason at all, I became suddenly so certain I wasn’t going to see the dawn that I wrote a note to be read at my funeral. The next morning, I was perfectly fine. But I still have the note just in case.

As an adult with significantly more agency than I had when I was eight, I’ve outgrown some of these quaint fears, but others have grown worse. Climate change, insurance companies, deeply-ingrained systemic hate—these are my Elder Gods now. Thousand-eyed beasts with many claws, sleeping just below the surface of our world. Whenever I need to visit the doctor and my provider isn’t in my network, that’s cosmic horror. Any time I hear about Catholic priests continuing to molest leagues of young men, I always feel like there’s very little I can do, personally, to fight that colossal tentacled beast called the Catholic church.

When I was four, I nearly lost my left arm. I smashed my hand through a glass door, tore open the bundle of nerves we apparently all keep in our armpits, and fell back onto the floor. I remember staring up at my mother, on the phone with her sister, suddenly horrified as she discovered what must have been a lot of blood spreading across the floor around me. She was able to call the ambulance quickly, because the phone was already in her hand, and the ambulance happened to be just down the street. The doctors assured her that if either of these things had not been true, I may not have survived.

She’s told me this many times over the years, which, ya know, is nice, but isn’t super helpful for my anxiety. She means to say that grand forces of good are at work in the universe, and have been taking care of me since I was very little. It’s a pleasant enough idea, except angels have always terrified me. If they have the power to summon an ambulance, they also have the power to send it further away.

My greatest fear as a kid was Heaven itself. An endless landscape of un-time, hidden in the fluffy clouds beyond the sky? What the fuck does that mean?? To this day, eternity makes my brain hurt. I imagine Heaven like the crushingly long afternoons I used to spend laying on my bedroom floor, doing nothing. As an only child, I often had to entertain myself, which is how I started writing funny little comics about dinosaurs. But I often just…lay there, too. Imagining stories. Imagining my death. Imagining the cosmic horror of Heaven.

I don’t know when it occurred to me that I could write about my fears the same way I wrote Jurassic Park fan-fic. It wasn’t until college that I started writing horror instead of short funny stories and comedy sketches. I didn’t really read horror before college, either. The closest I came to it as a kid was R.L. Stine, K. A. Applegate, Bruce Coville. Animorphs always freaked me out. The idea that anyone you love could be a meat-suit piloted by a brain slug—that’s cosmic horror for sure. I was a huge fan of Series of Unfortunate Events as well, which is certainly cosmic horror, in a way. How far and how deep do Count Olaf’s tentacles reach? How inept are the adults who are supposed to be our heroes?

When I was fifteen, I fell in love with the Saw franchise. I adored that gritty, rusted world. Everyone was having affairs, each bathroom was shittier than the last (literally). And Jigsaw presided over all. He was the mad god of this land, with an ever-crueler imagination that I found endless fascinating. He was my first horror hero, with his barbed wire and red LED clocks. Maybe it was because his orthodoxy made more sense to me than the stuff I was forced to swallow every Sunday morning. He was honest about the fact that our bodies are not our own. And in Jigsaw’s world, eternity did not exist. You never had more than 90 seconds.

This is why I love horror. It gives us the vocabulary, however twisted, to rebel against ideas that terrify us, even the most well-intentioned, saccharine ones. Horror doesn’t necessarily make us afraid, it allows us to scream into the void about the fears we already have. I was already afraid of most things from the jump. Getting buried alive, spiders, the dark, dying alone, my second-grade math teacher… Being able to read, watch, and write about these topics allows my mind to scream about them in a way that my body does all the time anyway.

Maybe that’s why there seems to be a resurgence of love for works like Goosebumps. My generation grew up reading those stories to alleviate the fears we had back then. Now that we’re adults, blossoming unto an earth that’s drowning and burning simultaneously, we want to remember those old, quaint fears about our neighbors being ghosts, our dad being an unemployed plant-monster, the posters in our bedroom coming to life… These terrors feel so much nicer, now that we’re afraid of so much more.

Which is my way of saying that if you grew up with Goosebumps and Series of Unfortunate Events as well, you should check out my debut novel, Edenville. Here, you’ll find Lovecraftian beings, horrifically narcissistic egos, deeply codependent relationships, and the unstoppable power of elite, liberal arts higher education. All fine examples of cosmic horror.

Edenville is an adventure into a haunted-house land, driven by characters who recognize that they’re in a horror story but decide to roll with it instead of running away, out of the same sick fascination that kept me watching the Saw movies as a high schooler. I wanted their reactions to this world to feel genuine. I wanted to know: How would you really react if you found myself in a Goosebump? Wouldn’t you want to see how deep the rabbit hole goes? It’s horror, yes, but it’s also an escape. Because which is scarier: Losing yourself in a rabbit hole filled with monsters, or staying in a reality in which you can get shot while simply dancing?

So come scream with me in Edenville. Scream into the void of being a small breathing thing stuck inside a universal machine. Come feel the forces of evil tear into your flesh, and see the forces of good bring the ambulance to your door in under a minute.

I love writing horror because it helps me articulate my own screams into the void. Which is only fair. I feel like the void screamed at us first.