(Design & illustration by Robert Roxby)
By Micol Ostow, author of family
I love, love, love to be scared.
No, seriously.
Mind you, I should clarify that by saying that I am a giant fraidy-cat; I get spooked out easily and the slightest sense of discomfit will keep me up at night.
But somehow, that doesn’t stop me from indulging in thrills and chills.
I maintain that this love of the dark side is inherited from my mother, who, when I was little and she was in graduate school, used to work on her Master’s coursework with B-horror movies on mute in the background. It was not uncommon for five-year-old Micol to walk into our den to see “classics” like The Red-Eyed Monster playing out on the small screen in the background.
Needless to say, it made an impression. These days, mother-daughter horror movie marathons are our standard form of bonding session, and we have both worried, only semi-jokingly, about what we will do if and when my impending daughter (due this December, sadly too late for Halloween ’11) chooses to eschew our beloved pastime for girlier pastures.
Of course, I’ve always been an avid reader, as well, and my mother also passed along a great love of the master, Stephen King. I stole away to the darkest corners of the library to read The Shining in secret at age eleven. When I was twelve, my father, realizing that he was quickly getting left out of the loop, came home with a gift for me.
Helter Skelter, the true story of the Manson Family murders.
“You’ll love it,” he said. “It’s like Stephen King, but true.”
Oh, yes. And so it was.
Did I mention the book had a photo insert? A photo. Insert.
I was twelve.
I tore through the first third of the book immediately.
I didn’t sleep that night.
Not even after moving to a sleeping bag on my baby brother’s bedroom floor.
And when I woke up in the morning, my father had left a note under my pillow—Helter Skelter, just like what the Family had scrawled on the walls of the Tate-LaBianca murders.
So, you get why I am the way I am, right?
Many years—and countless therapy sessions—later, I’ve managed to make this obsession with the macabre work for me. I’ve even somehow parlayed it into a career of sorts. If that’s not a happy ending, I don’t know what is.
So what scares me, other than deadlines, you ask? Well, Charles Manson, obviously, and just about anything by Stephen King. Beyond that, I’ll just briefly touch on some of the classic tropes:
Dummies:
Or other dolls-come-to-life. They gave Buffy “the wig,” and so goes my nation.
Excessively Precocious Children:
Particularly when possessed or otherwise dangerous.
Basements:
See also: boiler rooms, etc. People, stay above ground.
Twins:
“Come and play with us, Danny…”
Abandoned Gothic Mansions:
If someone offers you cash to spend the night in one of these places? Seriously, people—don’t even. A little tip from me to you.
Micol Ostow is half Puerto Rican, half Jewish, half reader, half writer, and, when under deadline, often half asleep. Micol was working as an editor of young adult fiction when she began to write her own books; since then, she has published over 40 works for readers of all ages. Her novel, Emily Goldberg Learns to Salsa
Micol received her MFA in Writing For Children and Young Adults from Vermont College of Fine Arts in 2009, and currently teaches a popular young adult writing workshop through Media Bistro. She lives in NYC with her Emmy-award winning filmmaker husband, Noah Harlan, and a persnickety French Bulldog named Bridget Jones.
Visit Micol at micolostow.com.
Follow @micolz on Twitter.
Comment on this guest blog and you’ll gain an extra entry for the big Halloween giveaway on October 31, containing prize packs of signed books plus books and ARCs donated by my publisher Penguin Teen!
Here’s a sneak peek of some books I’m giving away:
distraction no.99 