You can read good, scary dark
fantasy and horror fiction all year long. There are no set rules that you should read it only during autumn. But with pumpkins stocked in piles at the grocery stores and Halloween
decorations and candy fighting for space on shelves, there’s something about
reading a few spooky novels, nonfiction ghost books, and terrifying short stories this time of the year. Though there is plenty of good reads out there, here's ten to get you
started.
The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson: This is the only book I read in my
life that one scene out of it scared the bejesus out of me, while I was in a
classroom full of students in 8th grade.
Blurb: It is the story of four seekers who arrive at a notoriously
unfriendly pile called Hill House: Dr. Montague, an occult scholar looking for
solid evidence of a "haunting"; Theodora, his lighthearted assistant;
Eleanor, a friendless, fragile young woman well acquainted with poltergeists;
and Luke, the future heir of Hill House. At first, their stay seems destined to
be merely a spooky encounter with inexplicable phenomena. But Hill House is
gathering its powers—and soon it will choose one of them to make its own.
It by
Stephen King: This and his other book, Salem’s Lot, scared me while
reading alone at night. Blurb: They were just kids when they stumbled upon the
horror within their hometown. Now, as adults, none of them can withstand the
force that has drawn them all back to Derry, Maine, to face the nightmare
without end, and the evil without a name.
Ask the Bones: Scary Stories from
Around the World, edited by Arielle
North Olson and Howard Schwartz: There’s something about folklore. Blurb: What
is real and what is imaginary? Do evil creatures lurk in the shadows? Do demons
attack the helpless? Are there such things as invisible men? For generations,
storytellers have given substance to our worst fears. In Ask the Bones, master
storytellers Arielle North Olson and Howard Schwartz retell a varied selection
of the world's most frightening folktales. Be warned-these stories could scare
you to death!
Seed by Ania Ahlborn: Blurb: With nothing but the clothes on his
back—and something horrific snapping at his heels—Jack Winter fled his rural
Georgia home when he was still just a boy. Watching the world he knew vanish in
a trucker’s rearview mirror, he thought he was leaving an unspeakable nightmare
behind forever. But years later, the bright new future he’s built suddenly
turns pitch black, as something fiendishly familiar looms dead ahead. When
Jack, his wife Aimee, and their two small children survive a violent car crash,
it seems like a miracle. But Jack knows what he saw on the road that night, and
it wasn’t divine intervention. The profound evil from his past won’t let them
die…at least not quickly. It’s back, and it’s hungry; ready to make Jack pay
for running, to work its malignant magic on his angelic youngest daughter, and
to whisper a chilling promise: I’ve always been here, and I’ll never
leave.Country comfort is no match for spine-tingling Southern gothic
suspense in Ania Ahlborn’s tale of an ordinary man with a demon on his back. Seed plants
its page-turning terror deep in your soul, and lets it grow wild.
The
Haunted by Bentley Little: Blurb: The
Perry family's new house is perfect-except for the weird behavior of the
neighbors, and that odd smell coming from a dark corner in the basement. Pity
no one warned the family about the house. Now it's too late. Because the darkness
at the bottom of the basement stairs is rising.
Hell House by Richard Matheson: Blurb: Rolf
Rudolph Deutsch is going die. But when
Deutsch, a wealthy magazine and newspaper publisher, starts thinking seriously about his impending death,
he offers to pay a physicist and two mediums, one physical and one mental,
$100,000 each to establish the facts of life after death.
Dr.
Lionel Barrett, the physicist, accompanied by the mediums, travel to the
Belasco House in Maine, which has been abandoned and sealed since 1949 after a
decade of drug addiction, alcoholism, and debauchery. For one night, Barrett
and his colleagues investigate the Belasco House and learn exactly why the townsfolks refer to it as the Hell House.
The
Manor by Scott Nicholson: Blurb:
Ephram Korban was an admirer of the human creative spirit, dedicated to
collecting art in its many forms--literature, photography, painting, and
sculpture--before he took his own life. Nestled in the heart of the Appalachian
Mountains stands the home he built as a retreat for artists to hone their
craft, perfect their skills...perhaps even produce a masterpiece. Isolated from
the outside world in the electricity-free mansion, artists gather to court
their muses for six weeks, undisturbed. Anna Galloway has no interest in art
and even less in the people who produce it. Her sensibilities are more in tune
with the realm beyond the physical, where the souls of the deceased reside and
visions reveal secrets. She has included herself among the elite artistes in
residence at Korban's retreat because she has seen the manor in her dreams--and
believes Korban's ghost may be wandering its halls. Now, a blue
moon is on the rise in October, opening magical pathways to conjure up
something unimaginable. Something feeding off the energies of those in the
house. Something seeking everlasting life--at any cost.
Complete
Stories and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe by
Edgar Allan Poe: You can’t go through October without reading Poe.
H.
P. Lovecraft: Complete Fiction by
H. P. Lovecraft: While Poe writes about terrors of the mind, Lovecraft brings
us the physical monsters.
Something Wicked This Way Comes by
Ray Bradbury: Only Bradbury can write tales of the October Country so well, and
this novel is one of his best dark fantasies. Read the book, then rent the
movie based on it—it will get you in the Halloween mood. Blurb: A
carnival rolls in sometime after the midnight hour on a chill Midwestern
October eve, ushering in Halloween a week before its time. A calliope's shrill
siren song beckons to all with a seductive promise of dreams and youth
regained. In this season of dying, Cooger & Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show
has come to Green Town, Illinois, to destroy every life touched by its strange
and sinister mystery. And two inquisitive boys standing precariously on the
brink of adulthood will soon discover the secret of the satanic rare-show's
smoke, mazes, and mirrors, as they learn all too well the heavy cost of wishes
-- and the stuff of nightmare.
Want more scary reads? Check out my collection
of short dark fantasy and horror stories, Spectre Nightmares and
Visitations, published by Under the Moon. It is available both in print and
as an eBook at Under the Moon estore and in print only at Amazon. And a couple of weeks ago, I left a couple of signed copies at Books, Beads and More in Mechanicsville, Virginia. For their address and phone number go to their website/. Call before going to make sure the copies are still there.
Book Blurb:
Many things scare
us. But the most fearful things are those that infect our nightmares and
visitations. Monsters from the closet or from another planet. Ghosts that haunt
more than a house. Werewolves are not the only shapeshifters to beware of. Children
can be taken from more than the human kind of monsters. Even normal things can
be the start of a heart-pounding terror. Prepare to step beyond the pages of
Spectre Nightmares and Visitations.
Just tell yourself that they're only stories.
Just tell yourself that they're only stories.
The "House on Green
Street" chapter from Spectre
Nightmares and Visitations.
It was a very cool, breezy night, the
crescent moon hovering high in the black sky like some malefic spirit ready to
do mischief. Children dressed in costumes of assorted themes ran up to doors,
pausing to ring doorbells, and yelling, “Trick or treat!” in high-pitched,
demanding voices. Jack-o-lanterns, flickering with bright light, sat on door
steps or in windows, lending a cheerful context to the night of Halloween.
But my cousin, Jim and I only paused for a
moment to savor these special sights and sounds of Samhain. We trudged up to a
small apartment complex on Green Street where our friends, the Collinfines,
lived. Next door to the complex was an old house, empty for years and reputedly
haunted. Normally a scabby sore on the upscale street, tonight, it added to the
Halloween atmosphere.
Inside the apartment, we found a loud
boisterous party, with people dressed in grownup versions of the costumes of
the children outside in the night. In one corner some bobbed for apples in a
tub of water, while others were lodged firmly in front of a large 53-inch
television, watching the movie “Halloween”. Others just sat around, munching on
party food and gossiping.
Jim, dressed as
Count Dracula, tried to put the bite on a pretty red-headed woman dressed as an
angel. As for me, I came dressed as a gypsy fortuneteller and that was my
function for the party, fortune telling, along with telling ghostly tales.
Spying an empty spot, I set up shop at the coffee table in front of the big
blue couch and sat down.
Someone turned off the TV set and the
place grew quiet as people began to gather around me. I spent the next hour
telling fortunes. When everyone who wanted had their fortunes told, I began to
relate some scary ghost stories. It was after I had just finished the story of
a haunted room in an inn where that no one could ever spend an entire night in
and live that a tall dark-haired man in the back of the room spoke up.
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
I eyed him, weighing the question
carefully, and then answered him. “No. I believe that all things like ghosts
can be explained scientifically, if given time to figure out what is causing
the phenomenon.”
Then with a shock I noticed his eyes for
the first time. They gleamed blood-red in the black light, which made the
Halloween decorations glow in the room. He smiled, but it looked more like a
grimace, and I saw sharp, razor-like fangs gleaming between his parted lips.
Then I remembered that it was a Halloween party and that what he was wearing
was only a costume, frighteningly lifelike. A very effective costume,
nevertheless. He walked toward me like a wolf or large panther stalking their
prey. A few chills ran up my spine. Others must have felt the same, for they
parted like the Red Sea, letting him through and not allowing even the ends of
his black cloak to touch them.
He stood in front
of the coffee table and stared down at me. Feelings of uneasiness swirled
inside me. Something about him bothered me. I wanted to jump up and run away
from him, but I forced myself to stay put.
Bending down, he placed one large hairy
hand, with fingers tipped with sharp fingernails, down flat upon the shiny
surface of the coffee table.
“Well, I have just the bet for you,” he
said.
His voice raised the hairs on the back of
my neck.
“What’s that?” I asked, staring
unflinchingly into his bizarre eyes, determined not to show any fear.
His smile grew more feral. “Why, there’s a
supposedly haunted house next door. I say that if you stay the whole night
there and returned here in the morning—unharmed—you will have proven to me that
your theory about ghosts not really existing is true. Do you accept, Miss
Jenner?”
I paused, wondering how he knew my name
and reflecting on his strange request. “What’s wrong with the place next door?
Do people go into it at night and disappear or something?”
His eyes lit up. “Why don’t you stay there
and find out?”
Indecision filled me, until I heard the
whispered murmurs reaching my ears, whispers that I was a coward. Throwing
caution to the winds I stood up and said, “Oh, all right. But who’s going with
me?” I heard the edge of false courage lining my voice.
Jim, a glass of wine in hand, spoke up. “I
will, Leslie.”
He looked like he
had been drinking pretty good for some time now, and I didn’t think that he
would make the perfect companion for ghost hunting, but as no one else
volunteered, I accepted his help. He turned and gave a sloppy grin to the
redhead he had been fawning over since we arrived. No doubt he was doing this
not because he wanted to back me up, but more to impress her. It seemed to
work, as she simpered up at him, a silly look on her face.
Jim, a lurch of drunkenness in his step,
and I left the party and headed over to the house next door. An old dilapidated
place, it looked like it once had been a lovely shade of blue, but had faded to
a dirty gray, flaking in places. Armed with only a couple of flashlights and
blankets to keep out the cold, we stood before it and stared up at a broken
brown porch covered in shadows of the night.
I aimed my flashlight and in the light,
discovered the door, ajar.
Apparently kids or someone had broken in
before, making it easy for us to get inside.
We picked our way through the debris on
the porch (Jim actually blundered through the mess) and entered the house
through the black-as-pitch doorway.
We found ourselves in a large room, empty
of furniture and life, filled with debris, and there was a curious mold on the
fading wallpaper covering the walls. Jim, not too steady on his feet, fell down
onto his rump with an oath and slipped into a loud snoring as he went into a
drunken sleep. 70
I covered him with
his blanket and left him there as I decided to go ahead and explore the place.
I peered closely at the mold, but decided it was better left alone, and passed
through an open doorway into what once had to have been the kitchen.
I rifled through the cabinets while
watching out for brown recluse spiders and rats when I heard a racket coming
from back where I had left Jim. It had to be him, and I heard him stumble up
the stairs to the second floor above. His clumsy feet banged around up there,
and then suddenly, grew silent.
I raced back to the living room and called
up the stairs. “Jim! Are you okay?”
Total silence. Worried that he had hurt
himself, I ascended the stairs. I searched all the rooms on the second floor,
but couldn’t find him, injured or otherwise. I worried, knowing he was too
drunk to slip away and hide, playing a joke on me. I kept calling his name but
didn’t get a response. The silence felt creepy to me.
A loud bang came from the ceiling above
me.
“Jim!” I called out.
Loud footsteps erupted. Following the
sounds to the end of the dark hall, I discovered steps that lead upwards, to
the attic, I supposed. Slowly I climbed them, angry. Here I thought Jim was
hurt when all the time he was up in the attic, fumbling around, safe and
unharmed.
Just you wait, Jim Conners.
I halted at a closed door and pushed it
open, entering. The room was pitch black and freezing cold. The door slammed
shut with a loud bang, locking me in. 71
I cussed Jim out
for making me even come in here when, with a swish of air, something slapped
the flashlight out of my hand and sent it clattering into some far, dark
corner. Even though I couldn’t see who, or what, did that, I figured it had
been Jim, who wasn’t as drunk as I thought.
“Jim, that’s not funny. When we get out of
here, I promise you’re going to be sorry.” But he didn’t answer me, and I forged
more deeply into the attic, slapping at unseen cobwebs. I kept calling,
receiving nothing but silence and I grew angrier by the minute. I now felt that
Jim, some people at the party, and that horrible man had conspired to pull a
stupid prank on me. This joke had gone on long enough.
“Okay, Jim, you guys have had your little
joke. Now please, unlock the attic door and let’s get back to the party,” I
said, trying to cool down. “You want to know something? I’m still not even the
tiniest bit frightened. Angry, yes, scared, no.”
“Not frightened, Miss Jenner, but oh, you
soon will be.”
The whisper breathed like a slight breeze
into my ear. I turned my head to the right and saw the dark-haired man with the
reddish eyes standing by my side, a green glow surrounding him. He had a nasty,
feral smile plastered on his face.
“How did you get in here? We left you at
the party.” I shivered, but not due to the increasing drop in the temperature,
which had grown worse since he had appeared. 72
He snickered like
some demented child.
“Did you, my dear? I decided to help you
really celebrate Halloween, in a very special way.”
“Where’s Jim?” I asked, my voice squeaking
higher in pitch.
“Why, he’s here with us . . . forever. As
soon you will be, of course.”
He pointed to a corner in the room. Jim
lay there on his back on the floor, encased in a greenish glow. At first I
thought he was just unconscious, but then I saw the slit under his chin, a red
liquid trickling down from it.
My God, the creep had murdered Jim.
Frightened, I backed away, groping behind
me for the locked attic door as I kept my eyes on the crazy person in the place
with me. My fingertips touched the splintered wood of the door and with one
hand; I grasped the door knob and tried to open it. But it stayed locked,
steadfast. The man and his strange light vanished just then, leaving me alone
in the dark. My heart thudding painfully and with the metallic taste of fear in
my mouth, I whirled around and began pounding and kicking at the door.
I broke off when I heard a familiar
ghastly whisper in my ear. “Now you will be part of the house on Green Street.
Forever—”
I screamed.
****
Excuse
me, but I have to go. However, I do have final proof that ghosts really do
exist, because, now, I’m one of them, a part of the house on Green Street.
Forever.
