I love hearing avid readers talk about their favorite books, always looking for my next favorite book or my next favorite author, so when Jay Wilburn asked if he could write about his favorites so far this year, I quickly said yes. Especially because it was Jay. I’ve read other books he’s called his favorites and haven’t been disappointed yet. Get ready to get your credit card out… or just have your Amazon app open so you can add to your cart easily.
I try to read as much as I can. I grab up the new hot books and then eventually read them. I find some of the most interesting and surprising stories among indie writers. That’s no knock on the bestsellers, but there is a wider range in some of these releases that don’t answer to big publisher marketing departments.
I’ve made a new rule for myself that I can’t buy a book until I’m ready to read it. So, if I’m not going to read it now, I have to wait to buy it. It makes me read a little faster. It keeps me from buying up everything. Friends stare at me like I’m insane when I explain this rule to them.
I will go back and reread older books. I’m still in the process of rereading Stephen King’s books in order. I’m feeling a strong temptation to go back and read Swan Song by Robert McCammon which I haven’t read in years even though I can’t count how many times I’ve reread The Stand by Stephen King.
All that to say my reading habits are a little sporadic. I have managed to read a few things this year that I enjoyed and feel strongly about recommending.
CARNIVOROUS LUNAR ACTIVITIES by Max Booth III is easily one of the greatest werewolf stories I’ve ever read. It is a great book even outside the werewolf subcategory. The dialogue in particular is exceptional in this story. It is great when the story is confined in a location. It is great when it breaks out of that confinement. I’m a huge fan of this book and the writer.
For fun, I contacted each of the writers I included in this list and asked them what they saw as their strongest book, excluding the one I had read and reviewed. Max said the new book he has coming soon might be his best. It’s going to be called TOUCH OF NIGHT. I’m looking forward to that. Of the ones that are out, he said THE NIGHTLY DISEASE is probably his best. Having read that too, I’d have to agree. That book is awesome.
HOUSE OF SIGHS by Aaron Dries is another great book I’ve read this year. The chapters are done in a countdown format like The Running Man. The story barrels forward from beginning to a gut punch of an ending. The characters in the story could have easily been flat stereotypes, but Dries makes them full and interesting. It hurts when they are hurt. Even when you sometimes secretly want them hurt a little bit.
He was a little taken aback when I asked him to name his best book. I imagine he has a little trouble bragging on himself. He finally settled on THE FALLEN BOYS. Based on the strength of HOUSE OF SIGHS, I’m excited to check this one out, too.
A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS by Bob Ford and Matt Hayward was another great read. Two great authors making a great book is something to behold. This one feels like the story is crawling up out of the dirt and the trouble is building behind every turn. The story felt very tactile to me. Even when they weren’t specifically describing anything, I still felt like I could reach out and touch the scene and really feel the grit on the surface of things. The sequel is in the works and I’m looking forward to that.
When asked about best other books, Bob Ford said SAMSON AND DENIAL while Matt Hayward told me BRAIN DEAD BLUES is probably the best representation of his work. In the case of Brain Dead Blues, it is a collection of short stories which is the type of thing I love to read from a talented author. Short story collections sometimes make me feel like I’m getting a little bit more of the author and a wider range of work. Check out these two works, as well.
I also wanted to talk about a couple works on the way I’m looking forward to. In this case, both are nonfiction books. John Urbancik is a great writer. I’m particularly impressed with his short stories. He did a number of short story collections under the Ink Stains moniker. Now he has a nonfiction INK STAINS work on the subject of creativity in the offing. Review copies are out now and I’m going to grab it up as soon as it is available for purchase.
Tim Waggoner has a book in the works about the process of writing. There are a lot of this kind of book out there. I like the one Stephen King did. Others out there, I’m less impressed with. Considering the source on this one, I can’t wait to read this book when it is finished. From the classes he teaches, the information and questions he shares online, and the blog posts he shares on the subject of writing, his online presence alone contains so many pearls of wisdom on the craft. Having this compiled into a single work is a resource I intend to snatch up.
I feel strongly about the quality of the books mentioned in this article and believe you will likely enjoy them, too. Start reading!
Join Patrick Lacey as he discusses his love of Halloween…
If you’re anything like me, you know that Halloween is the greatest night of the year. Just imagine explaining it to someone new to the concept. Yeah, I get dressed up like a witch or a goblin and I hand out candy to children I’ve never met and they’re dressed up too and later on, when the big kids come out, my town looks like the scene of a crime. Toilet paper. Eggs. Shaving cream. It’s kinda like legal vandalism.
And that’s only the night. What about everything leading up to it? What about seeing plastic skulls and ceramic demons in your local department store while it’s still grilling weather? What about pumpkin beers and cereals that turn milk green and certainly what about candles that smell like candy corn and cost more than your car payment?
It’s most wonderful time of the year. That’s why on Halloween night, I do precisely one thing and one thing only.
Nothing.
The spooky season has become an assignment for me. With social media, everyone has a micro-blog of their own. My followers and the people I follow, they’re posting pictures of Halloween ephemera the moment it sneaks into stores. It becomes an adventure. It becomes my civic duty. I want to document all of the hub-bub because, in some corner of my delusional mind, people have actually come to expect and, dare I say, look forward to me posting pictures of pumpkin spice Cheerios.
And then there’s the movies. We live in a golden age of media if you’re a collector like me. Thousands of horror movies are available in special editions at the click of a button. And don’t even get me started on streaming services. You’ve got endless content on your hands. Your seasonal viewing is infinite but time is not. So you whittle it down. But do you only watch Halloween-related films or do you watch movies that remind you of Halloween? Something nostalgic or do you take a chance on a new release?
And in between mainlining slashers and inhaling Mellowcreme Pumpkins, if you’re anything like me, you’ve got to take in a haunt or seven. Everybody’s doing them these days, from local churches and farm stands to elaborate production companies who’ve paid a few big ones to rent out that abandoned hospital your city wants to convert into a mall. It’s hard to choose. The bigger guys have the budgets but those locals affairs are oozing with charm. So you do the logical thing. You attend them all.
I’m exhausted. Aren’t you? That’s why, come October 31st, the last thing I want to do is get dressed up and head to some party where there’s always that one guy, dressed as a gorilla, that no one seemed to invite. Instead, I get takeout. Something greasy and fried. Something I’ll have to pretend I didn’t eat the next time my doctor checks my cholesterol. I turn off the lights, leave a bowl of candy on the porch with a note that says Take One, like that’ll keep ’em in line. I light up the ol’ Jack O’ Lanterns and those pricey pumpkin candles. Then I throw on something spooky. Something I’ve seen a billion times so that it becomes background noise. I eat and watch, eat and watch, and outside the mayhem filters into the mix and it becomes a trance, one you only feel once each year, if you’re like me, and then all of the noise and visuals come to a boil and I’m—
And I’m sleeping on the couch and my wife is waking me up because it’s November 1st and while I’m more than a little bummed that the cycle has once again ended, I’m also relieved.
Besides, if you’re anything like me, you’ll just finish off the candy corn for breakfast and throw on some scary movies.
Patrick Lacey was born and raised in a haunted house. He currently spends his nights and weekends writing about things that make the general public uncomfortable. He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, his over-sized cat, and his muse, who is likely trying to kill him. Follow him on Twitter, find him on Facebook, or visit his website.
That’s the note left behind for Ivy Longwood when infamous killer Tucker Ashton murders her boyfriend. Several years later, after Tucker vanishes from his jail cell, Ivy travels to Ashton’s hometown of Marlowe, Massachusetts. Not for closure or therapy. She’s being called there. Steered by forces beyond her control. What she’ll find is not the quiet suburban town Marlowe once was. It’s something new. Something dark. Something that answers the question: Where did Tucker Ashton go?
Melvin Brown sees things that aren’t there. Monsters with tentacles and razor-sharp teeth. Ever the social outcast, he is bullied to the point of suicide. And his hatred of those who did him wrong does not die with him.
One decade after Melvin’s death, something strange is happening to Lynnwood High School’s smartest and most popular students. They begin to act out and spend time at the former high school, now abandoned and said to be haunted. And their numbers grow at an alarming rate.
Is this just a passing fad or are the rumors true? Does Lynnwood really have a teenage cult on their hands?
Liam Carpenter spends most of his time above his aunt’s garage, watching obscure horror movies and drinking cheap beer. But this week’s different. This week, things are getting weird. First, there’s his favorite director, Clive Sherman, showing up in town unannounced. Then there’s the string of murders that all seem like something out of Clive’s popular Pigfoot movie monster franchise. Throw in Liam’s mysterious new crush and the cough-syrup-addicted private investigator chasing her down and you might gain somewhat of a clue of what’s going on in Bass Falls lately.
And don’t even get him started on she-demons and blood sacrifices. Bone Saw studios is in town and they’re bringing you the bloodiest sequel featuring a pig-human hybrid killing machine you’ve ever seen.
Halloween in the Bible Belt, circa late 1980s through the 90s (and beyond):
I have a single memory of going trick-r-treating as a child. I know, that’s odd, even for folks who grew up in rural East Texas like I did. Every year I would see hundreds of kids out in their costumes of ghouls and devils and vampires and other various monstrosities, all carrying a bag or a bucket or a tub of some kind to store their candied spoils. And even with my single memory of trick-r-treating, I was never with any of those other kids. Not the ones going door to door, holding their containers out and open with a cheery, “Trick-r-Treat!” coming from them in a totally jarring contrast to the looks of their costumes. Not me. Not in my family, or in the families of any of the other people I knew growing up.
None of them?
That’s right. None. You see, when I was old enough to start school, I wasn’t put into public school. Public schools produced nothing but drug addicts and sex fiends, or so I had been informed in my upbringing. Teachers were active agents of the “enemy” (I always deduced this enemy must be the devil, though he was never specifically named), trying to dissuade children from any thoughts of higher powers or deity of any kind. So, when I started school, I was put into a private Christian school. Now, you might be thinking that even in a private school, there’s lots of kids and lots of different points of view, lots of diversity. But that wasn’t the case at Victory Baptist Academy. I think there were a total of around 15 students there, and that included Kindergarten through 12th grade. 15 kids. And about six of those were the children of the principal (a Baptist pastor), and one of the supervisors (we didn’t really have teachers, just workbooks we studied from and took tests from, and when we had questions, the supervisors would help us out).
I attended this school from Kindergarten through second grade. It was then that the school shut down due to lack of funds (the church that ran it couldn’t afford to keep it going any longer), and then I homeschooled my third-grade year. VBA reopened and I went to 4th grade and the start of 5th there once more, but they again ran into financial difficulty and had to shut down again. I finished out 5th grade homeschooling and spent 6th going to the home of a parent who wanted to homeschool, and we had a total of four students. So it wasn’t until 7th grade that my parents finally succumbed (claiming I was a monster of a student at home…utter nonsense to anyone who knows me 😉 ) and sent me to public school where I actually started meeting kids and people who were living their lives very differently from my family and who had some radically different points of view.
So, what does any of this have to do with Halloween?
I’m glad you asked.
As I was growing up, anytime “the devil’s birthday” came around (I have no idea how anyone ever came to this idiotic conclusion, but it was a standard mantra in our circles), we would typically attend what was called a “Harvest Festival” either at the church we attended or at the private Christian school I was in at the time. They had booths where you could bob for apples or toss ping pong balls into cups to win a goldfish or some candy, other various fair-style games. Candy and prizes. And we all dressed up as various Bible characters. NO ONE was to dress up as an evil monster. That would offend the Holy Spirit…or something.
It was like that every year. I can’t remember a time I didn’t want to get into one of the cool Jason or Michael Myers costumes I’d see in Wal-Mart (I’d never been allowed to watch any of those movies or horror movies of any kind, so I had no idea what they were about other than the looked really cool), but if I even asked I was met with the “I’m so disappointed you would want to do that” treatment from my parents. Like I had asked to smear turds on Billy Graham’s face or something. It was absurd.
BUT… it was my childhood. Yet, I DO have one memory of going trick-r-treating, and I didn’t achieve it by sneaking away with friends or anything. My dad took me. Me and my sister. I’m not even sure how it happened, but I was young enough I wasn’t in school yet, so perhaps they hadn’t gone fully into the “Halloween is bad, m’kay?” mentality at that time. But in any case, I did go the once.
I was Superman. I still couldn’t be a ghoul or a goblin, but Superman was cool enough. My dad made up this little trailer that could attach to the back of our four-wheeler, and me in my Superman getup and my sister in pillow case with eye-holes meant to make her look like Casper the friendly ghost loaded up in the trailer and my dad fired up the quad.
I need to pause here just a moment and explain the topography of where I grew up. We lived LITERALLY 15 miles from ANYTHING. There were four towns near us, and we managed to land right smack in the middle of all of them. Last house at the dead end of a black top county road, at least after my grandfather passed and my grandmother moved away. Our house was over a mile back into the woods from the highway, and there were maybe a dozen homes or so back in there.
So, we got rolling, my sister and I bouncing around in the trailer behind the four-wheeler, and we started making stops. Now, I’d seen other kids doing this around town when we’d be in town for church or events or visiting friends. I was anticipating getting all kinds of candy and was even practicing my “trick-r-treat!” for when we got to the doors and held out our bags like tiny little addicts.
The first three houses we stopped at were vacant. Nobody home, no answers to the door. Bummer. So, on we went down this old blacktop road, the rumble of the quad’s engine dancing and echoing through the pines and oaks all around us. We found a house with some lights on and pulled in. An old lady answered and was shocked to find there were kids out trick-r-treating way back on this country road. She looked a little embarrassed when she said, “I-I don’t have any candy set out… let me see if I can scrounge something up.”
She went to work hunting for something to give us, finally returning with a fistful of Werther’s Originals butterscotch candies for us. Woohoo. On to the next place.
Several other houses were likewise unoccupied that night, and in total, we scored candy from three houses. And only ONE of those actually had some candy out and ready for kids such as us. And this was the last one we stopped at.
We rode back a little lackluster as my sister and I looked over our meager spoils. It wasn’t much. Hardly enough to cover the bottom of the bag. But it was something. I had gotten to go trick-r-treating with my dad, and I had something to show for it, even if it was only a little. I remember looking forward to the next year where I was going to figure out a way to get my parents to take us to one of the towns we lived near and go trick-r-treating with some large groups of kids and REALLY make out like bandits. I would work on my parents through the next 365 days and I’d get to dress up like one of those really cool horror movie baddies I saw at the store and I’d get so much candy I’d make myself sick eating it.
I remember all of this, can remember the smile that was on my face as we pulled into the dirt track driveway of our home at the end of the county road, the one I was still sporting when we came inside and showed my mom what we’d gotten while we were out.
There was always next year.
Only, there wasn’t. Not for me. The next year and all the ones that followed were “Harvest Festivals” where we got plenty of candy but could only dress as Bible characters or—maybe—a decent superhero like Superman (since he’s a lot like Jesus…or something). I can remember too being able to look out the windows of the churches where these “festivals” took place and seeing all the kids going door to door with their cool costumes and getting candy and not having to settle down but getting to run and jump and skip and have such a great time…
It’s sad. There’s no big reveal here at the end, nothing we’ve been building towards where you see I finally got to take part in an ages-old tradition with all my peers. Nothing. Even when I was older and in public school, I still wasn’t allowed to partake in any of the school’s Halloween festivities. When I was told to write a paper about my favorite memories of Halloween, I had to sum it up with a single sentence: my family doesn’t celebrate Halloween. When my teacher saw this, her face scrunched, and I thought for a moment she might cry as she looked at me with sympathy oozing out of her by the gallon.
She gave my single sentence essay a 100. God bless her.
But that’s why we have kids, right? So we can do better than the generation before us did, to put the world into the hands of people who are better equipped than we are and who will make the world a better place than it was when we handed it over to them. And that’s what I’m doing. Halloween is a BIG event for us every year in our household and we trick-r-treat and we decorate and have a huge cauldron of candy we set out for other trick-r-treaters (our street alone gets between 700 and 1000 visitors every Halloween). My wife makes kick-ass margaritas and we watch Halloween (1978) and its sequels and anything else filled with flesh and blood until we can’t stay awake anymore. And my kids get to dress up as they like. Funnily enough, they’ve never chosen a ghoul or a goblin or a monster. Not yet. We’ve been princesses and superheroes and animals, but no monsters. But I’m working towards that. Maybe I’m trying to relive my childhood through my kids vicariously. I can own that. And, is it really so wrong if we do? When we miss something in our own lives, we really build it up in our heads as to what it was supposed to have been, and because of this we’re more equipped to orchestrate it for others later on. To really go all out.
I’m sad I didn’t get to experience these things when I was growing up, but the way my children get to experience them with my wife and I, that’s priceless. Their faces, their excitement, their copious amounts of candy, all of it. Knowing they are getting more than I did lets me know I’m doing something right.
And because of that, I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Chris Miller is a native Texan who has been writing from an early age, but only started publishing in 2017. Since the release of his first novel, A Murder of Saints, he has released a novella – Trespass – another novel – The Hard Goodbye – a single short story – Flushed – and has been inducted into multiple anthologies, including the acclaimed And Hell Followed from Death’s Head Press, where his story “Behind Blue Eyes” appears alongside stories from Wrath James White, Jeff Strand, and The Sisters of Slaughter, just to name a few. He has another new novel coming soon, the first part of a trilogy of horror, and will be featured in more anthologies throughout the year. He is happily married to the love of his life, Aliana, and they have three beautiful children.
Sophie Fields is a little girl tortured by her memories of Damien Smith, a much-loved and respected church elder with a secret lust for the unmentionable. After his misdeeds are covered up by church leaders, she climbs to the roof of her house and jumps to her death, right in front of her shocked brother, Charlie.
Twenty years later, detective Harry Fletcher is still haunted by the personal demons associated with the church cover-up. After losing his faith, his wife, and now his partner, Fletcher learns that Charlie Fields has come back to town with one mission: to kill everyone responsible for his sister’s death. It is Fletcher’s job to track and stop the crazed killer. But as it becomes clear who the main targets are, Fletcher finds himself in the midst of a moral quagmire. Although he sees justice in Charlie’s crusade, the killer seems to be taking out others not responsible for his family’s destruction. As Fletcher and his new partner battle each other in a test of ideology and limits of the law, the real demons show up and change everything.
As the old axiom goes, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.
John Savage realized that too late.
Following the biggest job of their lives, John and his small crew think they’ve got it made. But a lawyer, a junkie, a crooked cop, Savage and his girlfriend have unknowingly opened Pandora’s Box. And they won’t know it until it’s too late. As the brutally tortured bodies of their partners come to light, tensions rise all the way to the screaming, chaotic conclusion of this bloody crime thriller.
High risk brings high reward, but the safe bet is usually the smartest. Stick to the plan, or get ready for the hard goodbye.
An adrenaline pumping, nerve wracking, intense thiller that will leave you breathless. Frank took his son hunting and what was supposed to be a pleasant time of bonding turned into an absolute nightmare. Out in the middle of nowhere, on their own property, They stumble upon a group of trespassers trying to get rid of a secret so damning they’re willing to kill anyone that sees it. Get ready for a relentless page turner as Frank dares to fend off the assailants, while racing to get his son help before he bleeds to death.Chris Miller tells a story that any father could relate to. Trespass has what it takes to be a thriller best seller.
You’ve had a bad day before. We all have. But Marty is in a whole other level of shit. Literally.
Following a drunken night of sex with the office secretary, Marty’s guts are rebelling after his personal hangover remedy, nachos with jalapenos and hot sauce.
Marty has to go. And he’s got to get across the office to do so. Standing in his way are Nikki, the secretary from the night prior, Brad, the vape enthusiast douche, and possibly even his boss. The office door is always open, after all.
Join Marty on his trek, like a vulgar Lord of the Rings. The distance may be shorter, but the stakes are just as high.
A small town with dark secrets. A house hidden in the woods that holds horrors unimaginable. Four friends on summer break fighting off a group of bullies dead set on ruining their summer of fun. The little town of Winnsboro has buried its secrets beneath years of history and faded memories. But, it’s about to be unearthed releasing ancient creatures as a budding psychopath blooms Will they survive what comes for them and possibly the world or will The Damned Place end it all?
When Iona Caldwell asked if she could discuss Halloween from the point of view of a Druid, I jumped at the chance to have this kind of information given to my readers, a topic that I hadn’t had touched on in the history of my Halloween Extravaganza. What she had to say was very interesting, and I hope that y’all learn as much as I did.
Being a mom is hard enough. Being a mom and a Druid – now that might seem impossible!
Going to bed late, rough nights of sleep due to a restless mind of things being left undone, parent/teacher conferences, fundraisers – the list goes on. And these are daily activities.
Then there’s squeezing in the needs of a practicing Druid including (but certainly not limited to) spending time with nature, natural cleansing of the altar, morning and evening rituals, writing a Book of Shadows (not all druids do this, it’s my personal preference), meditating… you get the idea. Then there are times when two holidays (days of power for me) roll around.
Once the holidays get here, things take a drastic change.
Halloween is coming up and we all know what that means: candy, costumes, spooky decor, and delicious treats. That’s for my kids.
Since we don’t get a ton of Trick or Treating around our small town, we typically rely on Trunk or Treating, mall trick or treating and sometimes none at all if the weather is too cold, we have a sick munchkin or it’s raining.
If you are like me, you let your little monsters stay awake late and indulge in some pre-dentist visit inducing carbs waiting for the precious “sugar crash” that seems like it can take hours. It can leave the mind tired and really not wanting to do much other than falling into bed. That’s when Charlie Brown goes on the television and we enjoy some hot cocoa or cider while wrapped in our blankets in front of the fireplace.
For me, it’s the glorious night of Samhain.
This is the time when many things happen for a practicing Druid. The Wild Hunt rides, unsettled spirits walk the Earth, the Veil is thin and sometimes the third eye can get a bit overwhelmed. For those who practice invocation, evocation, moon work, spell work, etc, this can pretty taxing.
Most of my practice happens at night after the kids are asleep and the family tradition of watching Hugh Jackman’s Van Helsing (don’t judge me) is over.
However, like parenting, spiritual practice takes work. Sometimes you have to be willing to take some hits to certain parts of your life (like Netflix binging, gaming, etc) to become more in tune with the Divine. Samhain is the perfect time to commune with crone goddesses and your ancestors. It’s a wonderful time to do divination or rituals of evocation. Maybe you’re Wiccan and have separate ways of practicing altogether and have your own rituals and spell work.
Whatever way you practice, it takes serious devotion.
What I do for any Eightfold Wheel day is always start with a meal of some kind. Being a Druid means communing with family and others, it means networking and learning to balance the different aspects of our lives.
Just like Nature is the perfect balancer, I take my time with my husband and enjoy a meal while watching a movie. We may indulge in some “Witch’s Brew,” baked treats like freshly baked pumpkin bread or apple pies. Whatever we do, we take time to do it together.
After taking some time with the family and the wee hours when they’re all asleep, I typically spend some time letting the day “melt” from my body. It allows my mind to be open to the Divine and clears the space if you will.
This year, I plan to do a ritual of evocation to the Crone Aspect of the Triple Goddess. It can be terrifying to work with her but in the end you can receive amazing insight. I won’t go into exact detail as I wanted to give you a glimpse into how hectic Halloween (Samhain) can be when doing both.
It can be taxing but more importantly, it’s fun!
About the author:
My name is Iona Caldwell. I’m the author of the British Occult Fiction Beneath London’s Fog, which was published by FyreSyde Publishing this month. When I’m not busy weaving worlds of the arcane and dark, I’m spending time out in nature. I love books. My biggest inspirations are H.P. Lovecraft, Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, and Edgar Allen Poe. I blog about many things, but mostly everything bookish.
All of my novels are stand-alone novellas, each with a cast of people I hope my readers will come to love as much as I have.
Jonathan is the immortal master of Raven Hollow Manor – a decrepit mansion riddled with superstition, murder and restless ghosts. Beneath it lies a restless malice.
Its previous owner driven mad, violently kills his guests with a rusted ax, creating the perfect venue for Jonathan to seclude himself in a prison of his own device.
When the streets of London begin to run red with blood; the bodies exhibiting disturbing signs and baffling wounds, the identity of the killer remains elusive to police.
The bodies are just the beginning of Jonathan’s troubles. A mysterious letter accusing Jonathan of committing the murders appear, raising suspicion in the police. Hidden beneath the mangled bodies, Jonathan soon realizes he is being forced to face demons he thought died in a forlorn past he attempted to escape.
One thing Jonathan knows for certain: He must deal with the demons of his past if he is to survive his future. Not only him but those he has come to love as well.
Join Scott Carruba as he reminisces about Halloween as a kid…
I love Halloween. It has always been my favorite holiday. Sure, as a kid, Christmas was great. I recall many a sleepless Christmas Eve as I waited for dawn and the chance to get all those goodies, but Halloween still got the number one spot. There was something darkly appealing about it and how it stoked my imagination. Not to mention the dressing up and adventuring through the neighborhood for candy. The best spots were houses that really got into it. I still recall some to this day.
I spent my earliest years in a typical suburban neighborhood, so Halloween always proved a joy as me and my friends paraded up and down the streets for our annual treats. But when I was nine, my parents moved us all out into the country. We went from being one of many tightly packed-in houses to a lone home on a thirteen acre lot. As you might imagine, this dramatically changed Halloween. At the time, there was only one neighbor within reasonable walking distance. What were we going to do?
The first year my parents drove us back to the old neighborhood, and we trick-or-treated with our friends. That wasn’t going to last, though I didn’t realize it as a child. My parents weren’t big on Halloween, anyway, and I suppose it didn’t quite resonate with them how much I was going to miss it. I don’t even think my two sisters were that into it.
It turned out that a few miles up the road stood a couple of buildings on a small lot dedicated to community use. I’d go there sometimes for cub scouts. The city would throw a Halloween celebration here, so we ended up going. It was a typical small town festivity with games, treats and the two main events: a haunted house and a costume contest.
I love haunted houses. I was so into them and Halloween that I recall talking my parents into letting me throw a Halloween party when I was still young (middle school age, if I recall), and I turned our garage into a haunted house. It was fairly good, if I do say so myself, and we had more than a few of the visiting kiddies running out there filled with good-natured thrills.
I was quite eager to experience the haunted house at this community event.
I went in there with a typical snotty young boy attitude. I was excited, but I wasn’t going to be scared. No way. We went into a sort of abattoir room, and the mad scientist presented a “fresh brain” amidst his gory collection. “Nice cauliflower,” I proudly proclaimed. Yes, I was one of those.
There were typical jump scares and people with garden tools repurposed as weapons. They proved good for a quick yelp and run. We eventually ended up facing a tall guy dressed like the Grim Reaper. He made no sound, just loomed. As we were moving on, he grabbed me, and that did it. I felt real fright. I didn’t want them to keep me from my mom. I jerked free (or more likely, he got his desired result and let me go), and I clung closer to my mother as we finished up the tour. By the time I left, my heart was pounding. They had done their job and scared the snotty kid. Good for them.
Next was the costume contest. I don’t recall if it was the same year as my frightening, but I entered one time in a typical hobo clown costume. I had ragged clothes, worn shoes, a crappy, plastic bowler hat. I had my face painted up in down-on-your-luck fashion. As I sized up my competition, I felt I stood a good chance of winning. And then everything changed.
The people conducting the contest had put the haunted house on pause, and all the players from it came traipsing in to join the contest. I looked upon all those older kids and young adults in their seriously spooky get-ups, and I knew I was doomed. I recall hearing some murmurs of that being unfair. I didn’t think much on that. I just knew I was wasting my time.
The judges looked us over. We turned this way and that, did whatever. We were all there simultaneously as they perused us. I remember looking out and seeing my mom making some sort of gesture with her fingers toward her mouth. It then dawned on me. I had forgotten about the plastic cigar prop I had tucked away in a pocket. I pulled it out and got more into character as I puffed on the thing and acted, well, silly.
I can’t say if that made the difference, but I won the costume contest.
Looking back, I wonder if putting the players from the haunted house in was just meant to pad it and make everything more exciting. I would have done the same thing were I in charge. Still, it ended up a great Halloween memory for me – the time when a hobo clown slew a room full of frightening monsters.
Born in Houston, Texas into the temporary care of a bevy of nuns before being delivered to his adopted parents, Scott discovered creative writing at a very young age when asked to write a newspaper from another planet. This exercise awakened a seemingly endless drive, and now, many short stories, poems, plays, and novels (both finished and unfinished) later, his dark urban fantasy Butterfly series has been published.
The seeds for this tale began with dreams, as many often do, before being fine-tuned with a whimsical notion and the very serious input of a dear friend. Before long, the story took on a life of its own and has now become the first book in the series.
Having lived his whole life in the same state, Scott attended the University of Texas at Austin, achieving a degree in philosophy before returning to the Houston area to be closer to his family and friends. During this time, he wrote more and even branched out into directing and performance art, though creative writing remains his love.
A modern dark urban fantasy, telling of two powerful families who uphold a secret duty to protect humanity from a threat it doesn’t know exists. Though sharing a common enemy, the two families form a long-standing rivalry due to their methods and ultimate goals. Forces are coalescing in a prominent Central European city- criminal sex-trafficking, a serial murderer with a savage bent, and other, less tangible influences. Within a prestigious, private university, Lilja, a young librarian charged with protecting a very special book, finds herself suddenly ensconced in this dark, strange world. Originally from Finland, she has her own reason for why she left her home, but she finds the city to be anything but a haven from dangers and secrets.
The tale continues in Sword of the Butterfly, book two of the series, as Lilja and Skothiam continue to fight demons within and without. The infernal forces make a grand play, hoping to stab the world in its very heart. Casualties mount as further tensions rise in the City, threatening the vigilante with a loss of freedom and life. Children become victims of a madman’s design while the hunt is on for a powerful creature wreaking havoc across parts of the U.S. Lilja begins to question herself and her place in Skothiam’s life even as the very treasure they must protect comes under danger.
The third Book awaits. The last of them. All holding promises of untold power. Skothiam and Lilja continue their journey as they follow the trail to places unimagined. Strange forces lurk, biding for the moment to strike and exact price. Unexpected allies arise even as others seek to disentangle from the web. Who will gain and who will lose? What shadow waits, eager to consume them all? Find out in the conclusion of the Butterfly trilogy.
Meghan's House of Books 