I want my words to be curls of smoke that linger a cold brush of icy fingers I want my words to be bones clinking in the night claws scratching for a fight I want my words to be a raven’s cry in the air a creak from an old stair I want my words to be the depths of oceans deep the shadows in your sleep I want my words to be the blood that boils the floods that roil the heat of flames unspoken shames shards of ice heavy price a mark the dark
If I had to trace my fascination with true crime stories, horror, science fiction, and thrillers back to the beginning, the start would be at the public library in Bristol, RI. My grandparents lived there, and growing up I stayed with them often in the summer with my two sisters. One of the staples of those stays, among visits to Colt State Park and Newport Creamery, were trips to the library. My sisters and I would typically take out the maximum amount of books allowed, and spend the majority of our time reading. By the time I was in 5th grade, we had exhausted all the options for our age group and graduated from the children’s section in the basement to the adult section on the first floor. This is where I discovered my first true crime novel. I can’t remember the title now, but it was centered around a local newscaster who was stalked and eventually killed by a jealous husband. I was fascinated. I wasn’t allowed to watch any TV or movies with …
This plastic jack-o’-lantern has been my Halloween lookout for the past 15 years. I bought it for the first apartment I shared with my now husband, and it’s still with us, four apartments and a house later.
Only in a Disney movie would the biggest fright in a horror movie be providing music for a skeleton dance party, and that’s exactly the position Mickey Mouse finds himself in Disney’s first horror themed cartoon. The cartoon had some difficulty getting passed censors, but was released in early December of 1929. My favorite part is the skeleton who plays himself like a xylophone and winces every time he hits his own head.