It’s the time of the year for spooky reading. The most traditional Halloween reading would be the short stories of Edgar Allan Poe. Many horror movies later, surviving vampires, woman climbing out of television, grisly murder with an ice-pick, I have survived the genre. Ghosts and demons no longer scare me; nor does a monster lunging forward trying to eat my head off. I don’t want grisly murders; I prefer atmospheric horror in which one is stalked by an unknown but malevolent entity. The uncertainty is nail-biting, the ominousness stomach-turning.
My current read, Where Are the Children?, is one such book. The main character is haunted by the death of her two children about seven years ago and the shocking murder charges against her. She left California for the peace of Cape Cod, changed her name, dyed her hair, and started over. But her nightmare repeats as one morning her two children are missing. She’s battling against a sociopath, a kidnapper, and a killer.
Books that make my hair stand include The House Next Door by Anne Rivers Siddons, The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, And Then Then Were None by Agatha Christie and most surprisingly, the one that never advertised horror, but surprise is in store at every turn of a chapter, Under the Skin by Michael Faber.