What Price, Trick or Treat? (Musings from “The Scary House”)
I’m in the horror business. In my case, as a writer, I dwell in the more reflective end of the pool, not as direct and hypercharged as the filmmakers, not as broad and showman-like as the haunted attraction mavens. But I, too, take my scares seriously. And like so many others, I wait anxiously each year for the arrival of what I hold in my heart as an additional national holiday- Halloween. Do the wife and I throw a costume party? Of course. Do we decorate our home? Copiously inside, with a sprinkling on the exterior. And as for participation in the ultimate Halloween ritual, trick or treat, let’s say ringing my doorbell is an experience with a price of admission all its own.
My small Wisconsin town, I am proud to say, still holds its trick or treat hours on the evening of Halloween, starting shortly after school is dismissed (should Halloween fall on a weekday) and ending shortly after sunset. I’m not sure what possessed me to answer my door in full costume that first year, but I knew it needed to be good (no simple rubber mask and a goofy slogan T-shirt) and it needed to be hardcore. Not a fan of the splattery or body trauma type of costume, I decided to go the route of the sinister, the brooding—not “in your face” but “in your nightmares.” The first year was an articulated foam skull mask, gray and green with grave mold. I popped in my red contact lenses, disguised any visible signs of living flesh with grease paint, a long black wig and top hat, a high collar Edwardian shirt complete with cravat, black gloves and a black Victorian style wool coat. I thought, if nothing else, it would be great fun to pull such a theatrical-grade stunt. Most of the candy-snatching kids at my door would think “oh, look, another lame grownup dressing up for Halloween” and a few might actually appreciate the authenticity or at least the effort. The result proved to be a little more than that.
I have long been fascinated by performances of various villains and wicked background players in movies, plays, etc. and I am amazed at how proper body language becomes crucial to making or breaking the part. How the head tilts when speaking or when listening, how the hands move (or do not move), the power of a well-placed, slow smile. No thespian myself, these things still translate into my own trick-or-treat “performance” when my doorbell rings. Here is the formula: I wait a few beats after the bell to build a little anxiety, then jerk the door open just a crack to start, and finally sweep the door open slowly. Then I stand and stare, and wait for the words “trick or treat” to waft my way. Sometimes they come. Sometimes they are barely a whisper. Sometimes…well, we’ll get to that. Slow and silent, I dole out candy with an understated flair, a funeral director still accommodating his visitors despite the fact he’s been dead for a decade or more.
Some bell ringers are unable to find the ritual words but merely hold out their candy sacks. I recall a small fairy princess or two running tearfully back to their adult chaperones, their interest in candy replaced by the need for a safe, warm and living bosom to which they can cling. Over the years, my wife and I have gotten into the habit of counting how many “cryers” I get. A response I remember most fondly happened on the year my costume was a heavy monk’s robe with a full blackout face inside the hood. A flaming candelabra was clutched in one black-gloved hand, and as always the movement was slow and silent. A lone youngster in a Robin Hood outfit, complete with longbow, stared into the waiting black hole of a face and, with a type of controlled panic, demanded “don’t do that.” Other than leveling a silent stare, I wasn’t doing anything. However, I nearly broke character with a burst of laughter. I believe I rewarded him with extra candy.
Already, by the second year, one of the neighborhood mothers confided in us that word was on the local school age circuit: At Halloween time, my home was known as “the scary house.” What a prideful moment it was! Of course, that put me at the base of budding tradition, and so the need to change up the outfits and keep the experience fresh each Halloween loomed up and has been a challenge ever since. Faceless princes of darkness, crazed clowns, even Darth Vader himself have manned the candy dish at “the scary house” over the years, met with smiles, goggling uncertainty, and sometimes bleats of fear. Cruel, you might say. Traumatizing, you may protest. But there is no harshness behind the man at The Scary House. I do not yowl or lash out, there is no aggression. Merely presence. It adds an extra dimension to the formula trade off: child dresses up and gets free candy for their efforts. At The Scary House, the owner, too, dresses up and you must endure a moment of discomfort, trepidation, or dark wonderment before the sweet treats land in your plastic pumpkin. It’s Halloween, after all. Its traditions are built around the belief malevolent dark spirits are roaming the land and your only hope to remain safe is to cover your identity during the cold dark hours between sunset and dawn. Should you choose to rove, there is no telling what may answer the door upon which you knock.
Dean H. Wild grew up in east central Wisconsin and has lived in the area, primarily in small towns surrounding the city of Fond du Lac, all his life. He wrote his first short horror story at the tender age of seven and continued to write dark fiction while he pursued careers in retail, the newspaper industry, and retail pharmacy. His short stories have seen publication in various magazines and anthologies including Bell, Book & Beyond, A Feast of Frights, Night Terrors II, and Horror Library 6. His novel, The Crymost, is an exploration of tradition, superstition, and encroaching horrir in a small Wisconsin town. He and his wife, Julia, currently reside in the village of Brownsville.
There is a place just outside of town where the people of Knoll, Wisconsin take their sorrows and their worries. They don’t talk much about it, and they don’t discuss the small tokens they bring as offerings to the place known as the Crymost. After all, this is Knoll, where certain things are best left unsaid. The Crymost, however, will not remain quiet for much longer. Something ancient has awakened in that remote, sorrowful place, and time is running out for its inhabitants. Long-kept secrets will need to be unearthed before the entire town succumbs to the will of a powerful, dark stranger who works hand in hand with a hungry entity crossing Knoll’s borders, invading its homes and executing a soul-draining grip on its citizens.
Mick Logan moved away from many things when he left the city of Royal Center: a career, a tragic death, a bout with crippling mental anguish, but he and his wife found tranquility in the small town of Knoll. His new job and new friends brought him closer to normal, and for that he will always be grateful.
Meghan: Hi, Mick. Thanks for agreeing to sit down and talk to me today. Some of my readers have yet to read your story. What should they know about you?
Mick Logan: In another life I was a teacher. Middle school English and Lit. But that path crossed some dark streams and I took a job in this little town, doing little things that occupied my hands and my thoughts in little ways. Not settling or pining away like Willie Loman, but rather appreciating the refuge I found. There are still nights when I dream about Robbie in that school stairwell, how he screamed as he fell. And then I wake up, and Judy’s there by my side, and Knoll is quiet and sleepy all around me, and I find my peace again. I’ve always been a city kid, and yet I like this town. Teachers are often viewed as authority figures, and I didn’t mind wearing the mantle, but working for the village the way I do now, with little or no burden of authority, brings a sort of relief. Not that I haven’t applied my own brand of leadership to the job. I guess it’s in my blood.
Meghan: What do you believe in?
Mick Logan: Like metaphysical/religious stuff? I believe in varying degrees of power, to put it simply. I believe in the power of the human will to change the course of—fate? nature?—and I believe that we need to take more responsibility for the condition of our surroundings, the paths of our lives and the motivations of those around us. Not to mention the forces of nature (and supernature) flowing around us. Give them names if you like, but accept them, acknowledge them. Loathe them if that’s what it takes for you to give them credence. But inside us and outside, there are perpetual forces at work. Oh yes. I guess I always believed this, but The Crymost proved it to me. Whew, that went deep. Sorry.
Meghan: What haunts you?
Mick Logan: Three things, mostly. Robbie’s death, of course, and the helpless feeling that overcame me that afternoon in March when Justin Wix did what he did. And the funeral. I know what I saw when I walked up to Robbie’s coffin. Some days I have myself nearly convinced it was all an illusion, an outcry from an overworked and exhausted mind, but how valid is an explanation when you need to constantly revisit it and drum it into your own head? And, of course, there’s the betrayal I feel for my own mind letting me down in those dark days before I moved to Knoll. The worry Judy felt for me, wondering if I was permanently unraveled. The worry I felt for the same thing. Concern over whether or not you could fall off that emotional precipice once again. It stays with you, probably forever.
Meghan: Do you have any phobias?
Mick Logan: One of my greatest fears is the day indecision cripples my ability to act responsibly. Couple that with a dread fear of losing my grip on my mental faculties and I guess I’m a real psychological mess. Ha-ha. I guess it’s all about failure of the mind when it comes to phobia.
Meghan: What’s the worst thing that has ever happened to you?
Mick Logan: Up until Judge Thekan came to town, it was easily watching Robbie Vaughn slip down the gullet of that stairwell and hear—not see, because I was too far away—but hear him strike the marble floor at the bottom. His bones, his head. The dark days after that were bad, too. Worse for Judy than for me because I was in some type of emotional fog.
Meghan: Are you lying to yourself about anything?
Mick Logan: Yes, My biggest lie, I guess, is that I’m over all the terrible things from the past. That I’m impervious to them. They no longer have a bearing or an effect on me. I have learned through the whole Crymost thing, such confidence is in itself a lie.
Meghan: What was your childhood like?
Mick Logan: Pretty normal stuff, I guess. Dad might have been the brains of the outfit at our house, but Mom was the rock.
Meghan: Were your actions the result of freedom of choice or of destiny?
Mick Logan: I didn’t have to stay in Knoll. When things got bad, I could have easily jumped in the car and drove away, but there is a core determination in me that doesn’t allow it most of the time, so my actions in regard to everything that took place in Knoll were a choice. Did certain events from my past prepare me to face Thekan and The Crymost? Perhaps, but many segments in a man’s life can be interpreted as preparation for something. Is that destiny? I don’t know. Maybe the old Mick, the one who taught school and kept a cocksure grip on his confidence might say so, but I’m not so sure anymore.
Meghan: If you could go back in time and change anything, would you?
Mick Logan: Dozens of things. Maybe hundreds. I think letting the easygoing, trusting nature of this town take me over, and letting certain things go on without challenging them sooner would be a big one. Even idyllic peace, be it your surroundings or a deeper inner tranquility, can have a heavy price. It can be blinding.
Meghan: What does your name mean to you?
Mick Logan: All in all, I think it’s a pretty all-around regular guy type of name. But in my teaching days I always like the ring of “Mr. Logan.” Formal, with good meter and tempo. Judy still calls me that once in a while, and quite frankly I love it.
Meghan: What scars, birthmarks, tattoos, or other identifying marks do you have? What stories lie behind them?
Mick Logan: Nothing like that, really, except for the stitches in my shoulder that I got the day of the voting initiative in Knoll. Not to sound too maudlin or poetic, but most of my scars are on the inside.
Meghan: What was unique about the setting of your books and how did it enhance or take away from your story?
Mick Logan: My personal story? Knoll is not just any small town, but one with a tragic history and a very insular existence—unique to say the least. And those two elements relate to one another so strongly my personal journey was enhanced by them on a few levels. First of all by the common thread I share with the town—a past of tragedy and recovery, and of course there’s some absolution and redemption thrown in there, too.
Meghan: How do you see yourself?
Mick Logan: I hope I’m likeable. I’ve always tried to be, anyway. I kind of bungle through the marriage thing and do all sorts of “good husband” stuff but deep down I think Judy could have done better, especially considering what I put her through. I can’t image she stayed with me—hell, propped me up and helped me walk again in a figurative way. She’s just—uh, I don’t know. I have no words right now for how much I…I need her, I guess. And I’m a good delegator. I think I handle getting things done very well. I like to think I’m smart, but of course we all know that’s mostly illusion.
Meghan: How does your enemy see you?
Mick Logan: Pretty much as a pain in the ass. That one sharp burr in the shoe that makes you say “This day would be great if not for that one, damn thing that just won’t let go.” And at the same time, he is a little intimidated because he doesn’t know what to make of me. He can’t get a reading on me like he can with most people. I might scare him a little.
Meghan: How does the author see you?
Mick Logan: Sad sack. Punching bag. Ha-ha. I’m kidding. It’s his job to make things tough for me, after all. When I look back at what he wrote, I think he had a lot of sympathy for me, and relayed it in a kind but firm way, all my troubles, my anguish. And I think he threw most of that stuff at me because he knew deep down I was able to handle it.
Meghan: Why do you think the author chose to write about your story? Do you think they did a good job?
Mick Logan: As it turns out, like I said, the town and I have stories that run on parallel tracks. I don’t think you could go into Knoll at that time, and tell its story without dragging me into it. His job was fine. I’ve tried for a long time to put my past, and the incidents at The Crymost into words but despite all my experience with literature and the English language, I’ve never been able to do it. I can barely converse with Judy about it. The author’s handling of the whole ordeal is honest and believable, which is quite a feat since I sometimes have trouble believing it ever happened.
Meghan: What do you think about the ending?
Mick Logan: It think it suits me. Life is motion. Moving on, letting go, leaving those you love, loving yourself enough to make the necessary changes. A poetic ending for someone who has had a life like mine.
Meghan: Do you think the author portrayed you accurately? Would you change anything about the story told? Did they miss anything?
Mick Logan: As far as how my personal story relates to The Crymost, nothing was missed and I don’t think I’d change a thing. Other than my physical description which might include a lantern jaw and bulging muscles. Ha-ha.
Meghan: Have you read any of your authors’ other works? Any good?
Mick Logan: In my teaching days, I read many of his short stories. Of course they were nothing I’d expose my students to because they typically strayed a little too far over the line and some parents would disapprove. But I think my author adds some credence and intellect to his genre. I know that he hopes he does—I can sense it in his words. We’re kind of—you know—close after all. Ha-ha.
Dean H. Wild grew up in east central Wisconsin and has lived in the area, primarily in small towns surrounding the city of Fond du Lac, all his life. He wrote his first short horror story at the tender age of seven and continued to write dark fiction while he pursued careers in retail, the newspaper industry, and retail pharmacy. His short stories have seen publication in various magazines and anthologies including Bell, Book & Beyond, A Feast of Frights, Night Terrors II, and Horror Library 6. His novel, The Crymost, is an exploration of tradition, superstition, and encroaching horrir in a small Wisconsin town. He and his wife, Julia, currently reside in the village of Brownsville.
There is a place just outside of town where the people of Knoll, Wisconsin take their sorrows and their worries. They don’t talk much about it, and they don’t discuss the small tokens they bring as offerings to the place known as the Crymost. After all, this is Knoll, where certain things are best left unsaid. The Crymost, however, will not remain quiet for much longer. Something ancient has awakened in that remote, sorrowful place, and time is running out for its inhabitants. Long-kept secrets will need to be unearthed before the entire town succumbs to the will of a powerful, dark stranger who works hand in hand with a hungry entity crossing Knoll’s borders, invading its homes and executing a soul-draining grip on its citizens.
Meghan: Hi, Dean. Welcome back to my annual Halloween Extravaganza. It’s been awhile since we sat down together. What’s been going on since we last spoke?
Dean H. Wild: On the writing front, I will have a short story published in CrashCode, an anthology of technology-based horror tales to be released by the end of 2019. My story is called “The God Finger.” I’ve also been working with The Horror Zine on an anthology of ghost stories and I have started another novel.
Meghan: Who are you outside of writing?
Dean H. Wild: Some people call me “organized.” Some call me “thorough.” I recently had someone refer to me as “gentle.” I suppose you need to have most of your marbles in the can to do what I do, and I have quite the soft spot in my heart when it comes to the animals of the world. A lost and lonely kitten can nearly break my heart in two. But I’m mostly your typical introvert with a tenacious commitment to the comfort of guests in my home and a gentleman’s appreciation of a fine whiskey.
Meghan: How do you feel about friends and close relatives reading your work?
Dean H. Wild: I have no trouble with it. They already know about my dark and twisted core, so if some of that leaks into my work (and it always does) I have no shame or concern. They are aware of what they’re getting into.
Meghan: Is being a writer a gift or a curse?
Dean H. Wild: The answer is Yes. Ha-ha. I love the organic feel the flow of ideas brings when I’m in writing mode. It is an experience that defies words. And to have someone read the work later and relate to it is an author-reader connection that is rewarding and precious. However, the drive to put words to paper, especially when those words are coming hard, spurred on by the need to move forward with a piece and bring it to fruition can be brutal. It consumes all thought, making the rest of your life a state of distraction. Performing any other task, however menial and/or necessary, becomes a source of guilt. And there is no escape from the misery, because once the manuscript-at-hand is complete, there is utter helplessness against taking up the pen and starting another.
Meghan: How has your environment and upbringing colored your writing?
Dean H. Wild: I grew up in a very colorful blue collar environment populated by some very hard-smoking, hard-drinking adults. This was offset by the honest, peaceful, almost idyllic lives of some kind and nurturing relatives. Therefore I was exposed to two very contrasting lifestyles, and being the quiet, introverted and nearly “invisible” child that I was, I often observed how these two groups interacted with their chums and, more interestingly, how they intermingled. I feel this gave me a very up-close view of how people interpret, judge and play off of one another. How they speak differently when in the company of their cohorts vs. in mixed company. It gave me a good sense of character, I feel.
Meghan: What’s the strangest thing you have ever had to research for your books?
Dean H. Wild: Aside from the usual weird stuff (how to pick a lock, various homemade explosive devices, other things that have, no doubt, landed me on some sort of watch list or other) I would have to say it would be the decay and anaerobic gases produced by our garbage as it breaks down in the depths of our landfills. Pretty savory stuff, right?
Meghan: Which do you find the hardest to write: the beginning, the middle, or the end?
Dean H. Wild: Most often, for me, it is the end. I know far in advance where the book is headed, so “what” is going to happen isn’t too much of a challenge, but I find it critically important “how” the ending falls into place. I require the ending to be satisfying in relation to the story and in regard to the characters as well. It needs to be more than a finish. It must be to be significant, and the prose needs to be just right. I often struggle with endings to get them fine-tuned to suit my needs.
Meghan: Do you outline? Do you start with characters or plot? Do you just sit down and start writing? What works best for you?
Dean H. Wild: I’m a pantser through and through. No outlines here ever. I will make notes as I go along to make sure I hit a desired plot point or include an incident that has popped into my head while working on the story, but that’s about all the preplanning I do. At the very, microbial level, when I’m first hatching a book idea, my main character is typically the starting point. Certainly not every minute fact about them, but basic characteristics that make them relevant as a protagonist. Plot follows closely, to be sure that character’s relevance applies. Day to day, it is a butt in chair/pen in hand method.
Meghan: What do you do when characters don’t follow the outline/plan?
Dean H. Wild: Sit back, shake my head and figure out how to write myself (and them) out of the predicament. Or sometimes I follow them down that new path. It’s scary when a character’s intuition is stronger than mine, but I love it.
Meghan: What do you do to motivate yourself to sit down and write?
Dean H. Wild: Sometimes the story calls out to me. Sometimes I need to seek it out. But it all comes down to the fact I think about the current work-in-progress all the time. No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing at the moment. The story/novel/whatever is always working in the back of my mind like a perpetually running machine. It makes me ready, at a moment’s notice, to sit down and get to work on it, whenever those precious moments are available. I guess, with me, it’s not motivation as much as it is staying in an “always ready” state.
Meghan: Are you an avid reader?
Dean H. Wild: I read as much as I can. Not sure that makes me “avid.” But I’ve always got two books going at once, sometimes three. I still can’t keep up with my TBR pile, however!!
Meghan: What kind of books do you absolutely love to read?
Dean H. Wild: I prefer fiction over nonfiction, and I like to invest for the long haul, so I prefer novels over story collections or anthologies when I read. Horror makes up the bulk of my reading choices, but any novel with striking, memorable characters faced with obstacles and challenges hold my interest. Especially novels with good pacing.
Meghan: How do you feel about movies based on books?
Dean H. Wild: For me, the two mediums are vastly different, with their own unique methods of storytelling. I do not compare book to movie since what works for one might fall flat for the other. I consider each on its own merit and don’t trouble myself with picking nits over why the book’s blonde protagonist is a redhead in the film or why the dragon was fought on a rickety bridge instead of on a mountain spire.
Meghan: Have you ever killed a main character?
Dean H. Wild: In a novel, no. In short stories, yes.
Meghan: Do you enjoy making your characters suffer?
Dean H. Wild: I do not. I do, however, understand this is an element of storytelling which must remain present. Often, my characters come with a lot of built-in anguish so a lot of their suffering comes from within. That being said, a character who remains unchallenged can be a largely uninteresting character, so I have learned how to make the going rough to enrich the story.
Meghan: What’s the weirdest character concept that you’ve ever come up with?
Dean H. Wild: An ancient, soul-hungry entity that takes the form of a huge, rolling, wooden wheel. It’s in a novel I’m shopping around right now, something I wrote back in 2012. Watch for it one day!!
Meghan: What’s the best piece of feedback you’ve ever received? What’s the worst?
Dean H. Wild: I will relay the best in the form of an anecdote. I submitted a manuscript to be professionally edited, and the editor was very helpful and very knowledgeable. One thing she pointed out (and I realize now that deep down I was aware of this but never gave it any real thought) was my overuse of the letter “C” when it came to character names, place names, etc. Almost every character had a “C” either in their first name or last. Restaurants, street names, towns, contained “C’s” without number. One character even drove a Camry, for crying out loud. It was a bit jarring for me to rename most of my beloved characters after spending so much time with themand knowing them so well as Cora, Cassidy, Clark, Charlene, etc. But the editor was right. And I came to realize in the piece I was currently working on, the same thing was occurring again, this time with the letter “T”!!! I’m not sure why my brain works that way, but it is something I am cognizant of now and avoid without fail.
As for the worst feedback, I was advised by an editor to get rid of a secondary character because he didn’t like her. Well, she may have been secondary but some of her actions and predicaments were pivotal to the plot any my main character would have zero motivations to learn or to act upon his intuitions without her presence (she was his ex-wife) so I’m not sure if the editor actually read the whole book and was aware this or not. To excise her would mean monumental rewrites and a huge change to the entire storyline. I didn’t do it. (I did, however, change her name so it didn’t have a “C” in it)
Meghan: What do your fans mean to you?
Dean H. Wild: To those who’ve read something of mine, said “this was pretty good” and look for more work with my name on it, I say a thousand thank you’s. The need to write is the throbbing heart and the driving conscience of an author’s craft, but the constant reader is the surging blood. Would I continue to write even if no one read my creations? Of course. But knowing there is someone out there experiencing the tale I created and realizing at least a little enjoyment from it is a reward all its own. I write for that unseen audience (readers, fans, whatever name you want to give them) as much as I write for myself, and in the act hope I am creating a connection. “Here is my story, stuff I like to read. I hope you like it, too.”
Meghan: If you could steal one character from another author and make them yours, who would it be and why?
Dean H. Wild: That would be Ben Mears from Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot. He is everything I find intriguing in a main character. He’s troubled, yet sincere. Levelheaded yet unsure. He’s an every-man philosopher, impassioned and humble. I think you’ll find snips of him in most of my main characters.
Meghan: If you could write the next book in a series, which one would it be, and what would you make the book about?
Dean H. Wild: To be honest, I don’t often read many books that are part of a series. I’m a fan of the stand-alone novel so I’m not sure how to answer. Most of the series I have read are such broad-scope endeavors I would not presume to step in and attempt an installment of my own. It would feel like trespassing.
Meghan: If you could write a collaboration with another author, who would it be and what would you write about?
Dean H. Wild: I’m usually entrenched up to my eyeballs in my own work—I’m in it all or nothing—so it’s difficult for me to imagine collaborating. What I have thought about is a sort of “tag-team” story collection, perhaps something with a theme, where two authors, or perhaps three, take turns weaving their tales; one by me, one by author #2, then one by author #3, then back to me again, round and round. As to with whom I might collaborate—the list is endless. There are so many talented folks out there. I would like to see some dark humor threaded into this fantasy tag-team. Jeff Strand or Larry Hinkle come to mind.
Meghan: What can we expect from you in the future?
Dean H. Wild: Now that The Crymost is on the shelves and selling, I have begun to work on a new novel. I also have a nearly-completed novella which I need to finish, but since I’ve been away from that tale for a while, it will be a challenge to get back into the groove with that one. And I have notes on two other novels which I would like to tackle after the current one is done. Lots of irons in the fire or ready to be consigned to flame. We’ll see what comes of it.
Meghan: Where can we find you?
Dean H. Wild: My website is the cleanest, clearest path.
Meghan: Do you have any closing words for your fans or anything you’d like to say that we didn’t get to cover in this interview or the last?
Dean H. Wild: Only that I appreciate every reader who picks up a book, however briefly, and finds enjoyment within its pages. To write is a fulfillment of a striving energy greater than the soul. To be read is a validation beyond words.
Dean H. Wild grew up in east central Wisconsin and has lived in the area, primarily in small towns surrounding the city of Fond du Lac, all his life. He wrote his first short horror story at the tender age of seven and continued to write dark fiction while he pursued careers in retail, the newspaper industry, and retail pharmacy. His short stories have seen publication in various magazines and anthologies including Bell, Book & Beyond, A Feast of Frights, Night Terrors II, and Horror Library 6. His novel, The Crymost, is an exploration of tradition, superstition, and encroaching horrir in a small Wisconsin town. He and his wife, Julia, currently reside in the village of Brownsville.
There is a place just outside of town where the people of Knoll, Wisconsin take their sorrows and their worries. They don’t talk much about it, and they don’t discuss the small tokens they bring as offerings to the place known as the Crymost. After all, this is Knoll, where certain things are best left unsaid. The Crymost, however, will not remain quiet for much longer. Something ancient has awakened in that remote, sorrowful place, and time is running out for its inhabitants. Long-kept secrets will need to be unearthed before the entire town succumbs to the will of a powerful, dark stranger who works hand in hand with a hungry entity crossing Knoll’s borders, invading its homes and executing a soul-draining grip on its citizens.
Meghan's Haunted House of Books 