I love(d) Stephen King, still am mad about Poe, used to read Gothic novels non-stop, have seen just about every horror movie ever made, and am now looking for thrills at Michael Arnzen’s Gorelets. A recent post of his brought back memories of Karloff, Chaney, Christopher Lee, Peter Blood, Vincent Price, and then Elvira’s Saturday night horror movies.
The first short stories I wrote back in high school were of the horror genre. One that I remember was called The Black Lace, and it was something about a young girl who was a talented pianist but bore a family curse, and one day her father notices a growing web-like pattern of black lines appear on her hands as she plays…
I’m currently studying the process of decomposition on the body of an unfortunate vole who wandered onto a set mousetrap in my frameshop. (Too late now, after forgetting to ask my husband for six weeks to remove it. I also don’t like guts and gore on a personal reality level—just in books and on film).
“What do you want for Christmas?” my husband asks. Free reign to use the credit card to order some of Arnzen’s books.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology