All Hallows' Read 2011 or On Getting Your Halloween On

Last year, the author Neil Gaiman made a modest proposal about starting a new tradition for Halloween. Basically, the proposal was that we don’t have enough special days that involve the giving of books, and there should be. So earmark Halloween as that special day. Find a scary book for your kid, your spouse, a friend or an uncle and give it to them on Halloween. You can call it All Hallows’ Read. Or you can call it I-Don’t-Think-I’ll- Be-Able-To-Sleep-With-The-Lights-Off-Night.  Whichever.  But get a book for someone you love. Below is a list of some of my faves, to get you started off on the right foot.

Getting Your Halloween On

My Favorite Creepy Reads for 2011 All Hallows’ Read

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I read a lot of horror and science fiction and even so, there’s a lot of stuff out there I haven’t gotten my hot little mitts on. A girl can only spend so much time reading books until the plaintive cries of her family drive her into the kitchen to cook dinner for them or wash their clothes.  But here’s a quick list of some of my all time favorites, and why they are my favorites. It’s heavy on the undead, but you already knew that about me.  Maybe this list should be titled “Getting Your Vampire/Zombie On”.

The criteria for making this list was the one I use when I read a piece of horror fiction- that it was frightening or disquieting on some level, that it elicited a strong emotional response on part of the reader, in this case, me.  If those two things happen, then usually the third takes place naturally- that you’ll remember the story or part of the story’s imagery for a long time, especially when you are navigating a dark hallway on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water in the middle of the night.

Salem’s Lot- Stephen King

An oldie but goodie.  This is not the handsome but very pale boy next door kind of vampire story but the creepy, there’s vermin dragging themselves around in the crawlspace underneath the house and when was the last time we saw mom kind of vampire tale.  The building tension and atmosphere of a silently emptying town is what I remember most of this gem.  Guaranteed to make your pulse race the next time you hear scratching at your window…I could list more than several other titles by Mr. King but for the sake of space & brevity, let's stick to this one, this time around.  But you should also check out Pet Sematary if you haven't already...

The Road- Cormac McCarthy

This story contains no vampires, zombies, or any other supernatural being and that’s exactly what makes it so horrifying.  It is a post apocalyptic tale masterfully composed by McCarthy where the sparse, matter of fact writing reflects the emptiness and quiet horror of the day to day survival of a father and son.  Despite being an avid, marathon style reader, I had to take frequent breaks to get through this book.  The imagery will stay with you for a long, long time.

World War Z- An Oral History of the Zombie War- Max Brooks

A collection of ‘first hand experiences’ told by the survivors of a zombie apocalypse. The characters interviewed are varied, from a Japanese teenager stuck in a high rise apartment after his parents fail to return home one day, to a soldier caught in a desperate military last ditch effort to contain zombies in Yonkers, NY. Although we as readers know that each of these characters have survived long enough to tell the tale to the interviewer, the level of tension through-out the book and the immediacy of the story being told first hand by each character is in turn both mesmerizing and at times, repulsive. I hear the audio version of this book is even better and I believe it.

The Best of Joe R. Lansdale (selected short stories)

 In the intersection where pulp fiction meets humor, meets terror, meets absurdity, Joe R. Lansdale reigns supreme. And if you don’t know the guy, do yourself a favor and pick up this collection, it really is some of his best short pieces. He will make you laugh, cringe in horror and yes, sometimes repulsion.  A writer that can call up all these emotions so artfully, and sometimes simultaneously, is a great writer indeed. Just don’t blame me for your sleepless nights later.

Zombie Haiku- Ryan Mecum

If you really don’t dig poetry I have something that will change your mind.  This is another of those books that straddles the spheres of humor and horror at the same time and when that happens, a strange, dark and wonderful alchemy occurs. This is a quick 139 page read written entirely in Haiku from the point of view of a zombie. Our poetic protagonist lurches from meal to meal describing, in what the book jacket succinctly describes as- “…increasingly disjointed and terrifying three line poems…”. Funny at times, quite horrible throughout most of it, this is one of those rare gems where the poems’ imagery really does stay with you, rather you like it or not……

Dracula- Bram Stoker

What can you say about a classic? The clean lines, the atmospheric quality of a gothic novel, the rich prose, the epistolary writing. Commit to the unabridged version and immerse yourself completely into the story.  If the image of your undead best friend returning to her crypt with an innocent baby in her arms, i.e. dinner, doesn’t give you the heebie jeebies, I don’t know what will…

The Brief History of the Dead- Kevin Brockmeier

I wondered about adding this to my list as it does not really fall under the category of scary books.  It is one of my favorite books, however,  the kind I pull down from the shelf and reread often.  Yes, there are dead people in it, and a rampant virus and a sole survivor, but it’s not that sort of book. It is a contemplative, and beautifully written book about loneliness and second chances and what it means to be alive.  I found it mysterious, compelling and ultimately satisfying- a great read.

Dead Inside Do Not Enter- A Lost Zombies Book

This book is one of the newer ones out on the market, published this year, and I get real excited when I talk about it-mainly because of two main factors.  Well three, really.  One being that it is a collaborative work between many people and two, that it tells a story using a medium in a new, creative way.  Three being that it still packs the punch of a narrative piece-it has the power to elicit all the emotions of a good read.  This book is a collection of photographs of handwritten notes, journal pages, letters and fragments of writings that are supposedly found in a backpack during a global zombie pandemic. Leafing through each piece of paper is looking into the story and back story of each person.  Within, and behind each scribbled note lies a harrowing tale of sorrow, betrayal, horror, of a heartbreaking decision, a moment of resolve or of a final relinquishment.  The book was put together as an experimental storytelling project by the members of Lost Zombies, a collaborative fiction world where zombies do really roam the streets. Check it out at www.lostzombies.com.  

Bitch Is Back

This morning, while I’m brushing my teeth, carefully balancing on my one good foot like I have to do, I feel her more than hear her come in.
She usually slams the door on her way in (and always on her way out) but this time she slips quietly into the bathroom behind me on the way to the toilet, the familiar ripped-to-shit FRANKIE SAYS RELAX t-shirt that she uses as pajamas brushing the back of my arm, raising goose bumps. I almost swallow my mouthful of toothpaste but manage to spit it out before I gag on it and wait until she sits her ass down on the toilet, watching her through the mirror in quiet outrage.

The ensuing silence is broken only by the tinkling sound of urine being passed into the toilet. Eyeliner and mascara smeared to hell. Waves of curly black hair standing on end.  Is that glitter on her cheek? A million bangles on her wrists jangle as she reaches for the toilet paper. Who the hell wears jewelry to bed, for fuck’s sake? I don’t know what to be pissed off at most- that she shows up when she feels like it or that she’s been fucking sleeping while I’ve been waiting for her.  I can’t stand it anymore.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I finally sputter out, little flecks of toothpaste splattering the mirror.

“Why, hello there, Sugar.” Did she just bat her eyelashes at me?

“Don’t fucking Sugar me! Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been waiting for you for 3 weeks. 3 weeks, goddammit!”

She stands up and slips the tiny strip of underwear back up.  I can’t help but notice that it is black and lacy. I wonder, not for the first time, if it’s one of mine.

“Yeah.  I thought I’d let you get a little rest in first………mmmmmm…”

She is stretching now and I am momentarily distracted at how nicely her…um…t-shirt stretches as well. And the bitch knows it, too. She catches my eye and gives me a wink. A wink!

 I feel a hot wave creep up my face and I’m suddenly preoccupied with having to rinse out my mouth. She’s standing uncomfortably close behind me and when I look up again, she’s running fingers through her curls and wearing that half smile of hers.

“You could have just dropped by, you know,” I grumble, drying my hands now. “I was flat out on my ass for 3 weeks, drugged up. Couldn’t read, couldn’t watch a fucking movie without losing the plot line, reduced to watching daytime telly, for fuck’s sake. Where were you? Catching up on beauty sleep?” I’m trying to be sarcastic now but I can’t really look into those green eyes right now so I don’t know if it’s working or not.

“Mmmm. Let’s just say I’m here now, Sugar. And it looks like we’ve got some catching up to do, yeah? Jesus, when are you getting this gray out? You look like your mom.”

I swat her hand away from my ponytail in irritation. “The kids like it.”

“Well, you aren’t doing yourself any favors, Sugar.” She breathes on my neck.  “Where are the little shits, anyway?”

“The ‘little shits’ are finally in school, both of them, and you’d know that if you’d have bothered to come by.” I look up sharply, “You aren’t going to start that shit up again, are you?”

We are looking at each other through the mirror, my brown eyes holding her green ones and after a beat she shrugs and looks away. She has issues working around children. She’s jumpy and keeps her distance when they are around, and that’s been a big problem in the past. We just don’t get anything done.

It was bad enough when the kids weren’t even around yet. She’d come and go as she pleased, like some stray or some girlfriend that shows up only when she needs to get laid and a place to crash for the night. The kind that ‘borrows’ some money in the morning, promising to pay you back soon and when you turn your back, steals your stash as well. And you let her because her kisses are so sweet and her hands are so soft and the things she whispers into your ear are so weird and wicked and who cares if you’re gonna have to eat ramen for the rest of the week, it was so fucking worth it to have her over, even for that one night.

But she was consistently erratic and I could always count on her showing up when I needed to get the work done, be it a piece for the school paper or a short story for Comp. class. Even when she came in stinking of vodka and cigarettes, nursing a hangover, we got the shit done.

But things changed after the 9 to 5 job and the wedding. Her visits became shorter and less predictable. She’d show up in the middle of the night, drunk and belligerent.  Our fights got worse and the work was sloppy and half-baked and rarely came to fruition. She hardly ever spent the night anymore. She was always gone by daybreak, slamming the door, leaving behind an overflowing ashtray of clove cigarettes, new water stains on my coffee table and a piece of shit story I couldn’t do anything with and was ultimately destined for the waste basket.

By the time the babies started showing up, she stopped coming around all together. She resented that I had even less time for her and I resented that she resented me.  I was up to my ass in diapers full of baby shit and half crazed with sleep deprivation. I was in no mood to coddle anyone, not even her. Years went by without even a postcard and just when I thought it was hopeless, that I’d really seen the last of that shapely rear end of hers go out my front door for the very last time, she shows up on my couch one night, all cool and collected, staring at me through a haze of clove scented smoke.

“You coming or going?” I had asked then, trying not to sound too hopeful. Standing there in a dark room, in the middle of the night in what can only be described as mama pajamas, some cloth fabrication structured for easy access to your boobs, but not in a good way.  Not like before.

She’d exhaled a plume of smoke and squinted at me through it, with that half smile. “You know I’m always Coming, Sugar.” For a muse, she really does have a crude sense of humor.

And with that, she stayed the night. The work was done and it was delicious.

She comes over every once in awhile, now. Sometimes the kids and my man are home and she just rolls her eyes around and throws herself on my office chair in the corner, petulantly twirling round and round until I get my ass over there. More often than not, she flips me the bird and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like FuckThisShit and slams the door on her way out with me desperately shouting after her, ‘Come back at night.  At night!’

Now we are standing here, staring at each other in the mirror and I’m really, really glad she’s here even when I’m still kind of pissed off she didn’t come to me when I was lying in bed with a broken ankle for 3 fucking weeks.  I could kiss her. And maybe if I get lucky later, she’ll let me.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Do you even own a fucking desk anymore?” she demands, green eyes flashing.

“Yeah.  It’s in the living room. Pass me my crutches, I’ll show you.”

“Get them yourself. Do you at least have some coffee going?” She’s stepping over some bath toys on the floor. “Jesus Christ, this is a dump.”

She is such a bitch.  And I tell her so.

I get a saucy look in the mirror. “That may be so, but I’m your bitch.  Sometimes.” And she gives my ass a pinch on the way out.