I often see articles showing lists of "things people fear most." Inevitably the #1 item on these lists is public speaking. Somewhere along around #4 you get death. Frankly, I think this is the best proof that most people have something seriously wrong with their priorities. If it would keep me from dying, I'd climb on the stage at Lincoln Center every day and alternate Shakespeare sonnets with answers to math trivia. And I'd do it naked. On a high wire. Surrounded by clowns.
As it happens, I have no fear of public speaking. I'm not saying I'm good at it, just that it doesn't scare me. What does? That noise down in the basement late at night. When I hear that noise, my heart goes into my throat and a little roaring starts in my ears. There are guns in the house, and I guess I could keep one next to the bed, but I don't bother. Because here's the thing: when I hear that noise, I don't think burglar.
I don't hear the creak of the stairs and think that someone is coming to steal my TV (attention potential thieves: by this I mean my crappy, and really not worth the hernia you risk in carrying it, old TV). No. What I expect to see coming up the stairs is something cold. Something dead. Something that moves slowly but implacably forward. Something held together by dried scraps of ligament and shaped by a mass of mold and crawling beetles. Something with a glint of dull red malevolence deep in the socket that once held an eye. Something that could take the blast from a shotgun or the best swing of a bat without missing one awful, lurching, remorseless step.
Which is why I really don't tend to get much sleep.
I could blame this on a youth spent associating with Uncle Creepy and Cousin Eerie, but really, those books only confirmed what I already knew. The world might look OK on the surface, but underneath there was always something waiting to grab a foot carelessly dangled from the side of the bed. That's why I read horror novels. And so should you. Remember, the knowledge of ghoul habits you pick up today, could save your life tomorrow.
Ghost Story by Peter Straub
Once upon a time I climbed into an elevator, pressed the button for my floor, and then noticed that the only other occupant of the tight space was Peter Straub. As the box crept upward, I could't resist turning to him to say "Ghost Story is without a doubt one of the finest things ever written in the English language." Moving with surprising speed, Mr. Straub stabbed the button for the next floor and made his escape. But hey, that doesn't affect my opinion. This book is, without a doubt, a classic. A horror story for the ages. Laying down narratives on (at least) three different timelines, relayed by multiple characters whose own view of the world is not to be trusted, this is a novel that could twist Christopher Nolan's mind. Whether it's listening to old men swap stories on a cold winter night in New England, or wondering why one of our heroes has tied up a little girl in a Florida hotel room, this is a book filled with few easy answers -- and plenty of chilling moments.
The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson
There's little wonder why Hollywood keeps returning to this well. Hill House is the haunted house, a subtle blend of attraction and fear that's as sweet as a cake left to mold in some dark cupboard. This 1959 work is a lesson in how subtle, subtle, subtle moments of unease can drive home fear more surely than any huge confrontation. Even if you've watched the attempts to capture this on film, give it a read. It's a book where even the way sentences are phrased seems to be weighted with something not quite visible on the page.
Song of Kali by Dan Simmons
Simmons is better know for his Sci Fi take on the Canterbury Tales, Hyperion. But he's at his best in this shorter story of heat, darkness, and unspeakable evil. The story centers on an American couple in Calcutta who are in search of a new work from a respected poet. The thing is, the poet just may be dead. Don't let the title fool you into expecting scenes out of Indiana Jones. The horror here comes along as slowly and inevitably as any film zombie, but when it arrives it's lush, twisted, and rotten to the core. A warning to those that have been to Calcutta -- you're not likely to be taken with Simmon's view of the city. And a warning to those that haven't been -- if you read this, you may never want to go.
The Damnation Game by Clive Barker
It wasn't so long ago that Barker was "the future of horror." He cranked out chilling short stories with machine gun regularity and his first novel was looked for like the next installment of Harry Potter (if Harry Potter had the habit of tearing body parts off his enemies). But by the time The Damnation Game actually arrived in 1985, it wasn't quite the hit that many expected. Barker's trick is a simple one: he writes really, really well and he pulls no punches. Subtle, he is not, but the text is amazing. It's like having Lord Byron describe a splenectomy. That trick may really work best in his shorter pieces. But this novel will deliver a solid kick -- if you have the stomach for it.
Bag of Bones by Stephen King
Because it is not possible to talk about horror novels without talking about Stephen King, I'm stretching my usual list of four books to five this week. How King reshaped the modern horror novel can not be overestimated. He took horror from something that happens to people in far away places and crumbling castles, and remade it into something that strikes at your kitchen table, to people wearing Converse sneakers and enjoying a plate of Oreos. His writing flipped all the conventions of the genre. Ghost Story, the story of a New England town besieged by supernatural forces after a writer comes to town and stirs up old horrors, could not exist without Salem's Lot to show the way. Bag of Bones is the closest thing King has written to his own straight up ghost story. I know a lot of fans who consider The Stand to be King's best, but I don't agree. Bag of Bones may not stretch across a continent or invoke an ultimate confrontation of good and evil, but it's the better book. This is King's most open, most personal, most emotional novel. It doesn't pull cheap tricks like Pet Cemetery , it doesn't go for momentary thrills at the expense of plot like, well, insert any of a dozen other titles here. This book is clever, intense, melancholy, reflective, and self-revealing without being self-indulgent. If you've never liked King, or if you've read enough of his work that you think you know all his tricks, give this book a try.