Stories of the Surreal

Very few fiction works capture the surreal as well as Ben Loory's book Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day. It's lyrical and mythical and a break from the everyday. I guarantee you've never read a book like this one. Consider this whimsical line (my favorite from the entire collection):

"The octopus is spooning sugar into his tea 

when there is a knock at the door." 

  

Judging from its cover (which I heartily recommend), it's clear something unexpected will emerge from these pages. And Loory doesn't disappoint. Within you'll find:

Bizarre alien children.

A swimming pool inhabited by an invisible sea monster.

A house in love with the ocean, separated by a cliff.

Boys who die in, then fly from, the depths of wells.

But this book is not all delightful animals having a tea party. It covers everything from fairy tale to nightmare to folklore, so don't expect a strictly cheery time from its pages. There are stories here that have a darkness I have not experienced since learning that in the original Cinderella story, the stepsisters cut off their toes to fit in the glass slipper.

I am reminded of a few novels as I read this (Shadow Show, Light Boxes, and Beatrice and Virgil immediately come to mind), but there is no clear companion piece to this work, as it stands unique and alone.

I am amazed by Loory's talent as I peruse these tales and I am dying to dive into them again and again.

octopus graphic originally from this site.

The Martian by Andy Weir

Book: The Martian

Author: Andy Weir

Why I Read It: Because I am a nut for anything space related. And I'd heard this was exceptional. 

First Line: "I'm pretty much fucked."

First Impression: Ha! This guy is funny! 

Last Impression: Wow. That was fun. Predictable, but not disappointing. And a little bit more dry technical content than I expected. But very very good. 

Ratings

Overall – 5 The praise for this novel is well-earned. It's sharp, witty, scientifically accurate, believable, addicting, riveting, and funny. It gets a bit dry toward the end as Mark Watney, our stranded Marstronaut, continues technical explanations when the reader is itching for focus on the action. However, these explanations are necessary, add accuracy, and make the entire scenario plausible. So, if the worst thing about this book is it is works a little too hard building credibility, that's not that bad at all. 

Characters – 5 The Marstronauts are diverse and interesting. The ground crew is less engaging than the characters in space, but they are still well-rounded and interesting. But these characters all pale against the likability of our main character. Mark Watney is the all-American underdog we all want to root for. And with each page and every Martian obstacle, we are all rooting for him.

Story – 5 Though predictable in places, every part of the story feels new placed against the unforgiving Martian backdrop. Each new challenge makes us hold our breath and each quip from Mark keeps us hopeful and turning the pages. 
Narration – 4 The only place this novel doesn't earn 5 stars is here, as the pacing could have been improved. The technical facts that keep him alive in the beginning lose their draw the more often they surface, though they remain just as true. 

Read Again? Definitely. It was satisfying and enjoyable. Once it's had long enough to rest, I'll revisit it again. 

Tell Others to Read? Absolutely! However, with the movie coming out soon, I'm sure most people will hear Mark Watney's story one way or another. 

Excerpt: I'm pretty much fucked. 
    That's my considered opinion. 
    Fucked. 
  Six days into what should be the greatest month of my life, and it's turned into a nightmare. 
   I don't even know who'll read this. I guess someone will find it eventually. Maybe a hundred years from now. 
    For the record . . . I didn't die on Sol 6. Certainly the rest of the crew thought I did, and I can't blame them. Maybe there'll be a day of national mourning for me, and my Wikipedia page will say "Mark Watney is the only human being to have died on Mars."
    And it'll be right, probably. 'Cause I'll surely die here. Just not on Sol 6 when everyone thinks I did. 
     Let's see . . . where do I begin?
    The Ares program. Mankind reaching out to Mars to send people to another planet for the very first time and expand the horizons of humanity blah, blah. The Ares 1 crew did their thing and came back heroes. They got the parades and fame and love of the world. 
     Ares 2 did the same thing, in a different location on Mars. They got a firm handshake and a hot cup of coffee when they got home.
    Ares 3. Well, that was my mission. Okay, not mine per se. Commander Lewis was in charge. I was just one of her crew. Actually, I was the very lowest ranked member of the crew. I would only be "in command" of the mission if I were the only remaining person. 
What do you know? I'm in command. 


                                                                                                                                   Content property of Broadway Books

A Little Piece of Fiction by Dale Vaughn

You know, there was a time when this body, so ugly and undefined, was once chiseled. This body was once cheered and lauded by friends and fans, and envied and hated by others. These hands so large and strong once held things and people of great beauty and esteem. 

They once cradled beautiful girls in their strength and protection. The girls, god, I remember them. Hanging all over me, fawning after me and pawing me like a trinket. Who was the arm candy in that situation; me, with the looks and the body or them with their innate beauty and shimmering eyes and clothes?  Even then, I knew that there was maybe, something wrong with me. But I paid no attention, what’s the use in worrying when there is nothing physically broke to fix?

I glided through high school on my looks and charisma, even though there was a working and very intelligent brain in my head. But no one wants intelligence from the “likes” of me, as the “normal” kids would say. 

By “normal” I mean the ones who would or could never have what I had. Maybe they were fat, had asthma, poor, or just too damn lazy to have what I worked so damn hard for! I apologize, that is the old me talking, the one who could never see past his own persona or even care what others thought or said about him, or for the world for that matter. What happened out there didn’t affect me, because it didn’t touch me physically. 

The kids at school who were poor, who’s parents worked two jobs just to keep clothes on their backs, food on the table, or a roof over their heads, I didn’t talk to them, hell, I didn’t even associate with them. They weren’t like me and could never be, in my eyes.

I got to college and life got a little harder, but not much. I still had my pick of the girls and fraternities for that matter. All of them wanted me to boost their self -esteem and prestige, but what about my own. About this time was when I started to notice what could possibly be wrong with me. 

Gone by Rhiannon Root

The fork stabbed at a bite of syrup soaked pancake and scooped it upward. The triangular bite disappeared in three seconds. The fork floated down to the table. Then the coffee cup floated up and an audible slurp filled the IHOP booth.

Jack hadn’t gotten used to eating with Helen since her accident eight months ago. Watching her eat was skin crawlingly creepy, like a surrealist painting.

“What did you want to talk about, Helen?” Jack asked, wishing she would stop eating. He hoped that the gooseflesh prickling on his arms would die down.

            The coffee cup floated down. “Jack, I don’t want this,” she said.

            “The meal? We can send it back.”

            “Us, Jack. I don’t want this anymore,” Helen’s voice was pointed. She seemed angrier these days. Jack wasn’t entirely sure why. 

            The coffee cup floated up again. Slurp. “It’s like you can’t stand me anymore,” she said.

            “That’s absurd!”

2014 Hugo Winners

This Weekly Read offers up samples from this year's Hugo Award winners. Because everyone needs good sci-fi. Enjoy! 

BEST NOVEL

Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie

BEST NOVELLA

Equoid by Charles Stross

BEST NOVELETTE

The Lady Astronaut of Mars by Mary Robinette Kowal

BEST SHORT STORY

The Water That Falls on You from Nowhere by John Chu 

An Exercise in Latitudes

I am a die hard Michael Crichton fan. His works of accessible (dare I say "beach read") science fiction open a door into a genre that some readers hesitate to tread. Crichton not only created this door but flung it wide open, gesturing all readers to come in and explore the type of fiction that could grow from scientific interests. His work is universally known, critically acclaimed, and just darn good reading.

When I saw Pirate Latitudes on the shelf, posthumously published, I hesitated. Pirates? I'm a bit surprised, but okay. Then, halfway through the book, a terrible thing happened. I got bored. I put the book down and nearly forgot about it, something that has never happened with any of his previous works.

But I am nothing if not a dedicated reader, so I read through til the end. The novel let no remarkable impact, no overwhelming impressions. It lacked the polish and energy of his other works and felt incomplete. Perhaps it was a first draft, or an idea he never truly fell in love with, which is why it never fell upon store shelves until now. My final impression was that it felt more like a writing exercise, albeit a very good one by a phenomenally talented author, than a complete final draft.

Now there is word that the story, even before published, will be adapted for the big screen and by Spielberg, no less. The movie has been in production since before the book was released in 2009, but with Spielberg and Koepp (screenwriter for Jurassic Park and The Lost World) involved, it's more than likely going to end up on the big screen.

New Harry Potter Short Story

It's true! As part of her growing HP-related literature, JK Rowling has released a new short story about the wizarding world, told by everyone's favorite rotten-to-the-core reporter Rita Skeeter.

 

You can find the whole story at Today.com, but enjoy this excerpt:

 

 

Dumbledore’s Army Reunites at Quidditch World Cup Final

By the Daily Prophet’s Gossip Correspondent, Rita Skeeter

 

There are celebrities – and then there are celebrities. We’ve seen many a famous face from the wizarding world grace the stands here in the Patagonian Desert – Ministers and Presidents, Celestina Warbeck, controversial American wizarding band The Bent-Winged Snitches – all have caused flurries of excitement, with crowd members scrambling for autographs and even casting Bridging Charms to reach the VIP boxes over the heads of the crowd.

 

But when word swept the campsite and stadium that a certain gang of infamous wizards (no longer the fresh-faced teenagers they were in their heyday, but nevertheless recognisable) had arrived for the final, excitement was beyond anything yet seen. As the crowd stampeded, tents were flattened and small children mown down. Fans from all corners of the globe stormed towards the area where members of Dumbledore’s Army were rumoured to have been sighted, desperate above all else for a glimpse of the man they still call the Chosen One.

Accepting Weekly Read Submissions

Dear Readers,
    Currently, we are accepting submissions from indie authors for our Weekly Read short stories. Short stories can be any genre, previously published, never published, really anything you think we'd find delightful. The Dying Book Affair holds no first publishing rights, first online print rights, etc. We are simply looking to share dynamite short stories with voracious readers. If you have a work you'd like to submit, details are below.

Happy reading!
TDBA editors


Genres accepted: All
Manuscript chapters: Accepted as long as they function as a short story
Word count: No more than 1,500 per story
Multiple submissions: Yes, but each story should be sent in a separate email
Closing date: 9/1/14
Submissions sent to: thedyingbookaffair@gmail.com, subject line Weekly Read Submission

I Saw You on the Manhattan-Bound Brooklyn Q Train

This delightful short story comes from an inventive missed connection found on Craigslist. It is beautiful in its simplicity and lyrical in its musings. Enjoy.

 

 

I saw you on the Manhattan-bound Brooklyn Q train.

I was wearing a blue-striped t-shirt and a pair of maroon pants. You were wearing a vintage red skirt and a smart white blouse. We both wore glasses. I guess we still do.

You got on at DeKalb and sat across from me and we made eye contact, briefly. I fell in love with you a little bit, in that stupid way where you completely make up a fictional version of the person you're looking at and fall in love with that person. But still I think there was something there.

Several times we looked at each other and then looked away. I tried to think of something to say to you -- maybe pretend I didn't know where I was going and ask you for directions or say something nice about your boot-shaped earrings, or just say, "Hot day." It all seemed so stupid.

At one point, I caught you staring at me and you immediately averted your eyes. You pulled a book out of your bag and started reading it -- a biography of Lyndon Johnson -- but I noticed you never once turned a page.

My stop was Union Square, but at Union Square I decided to stay on, rationalizing that I could just as easily transfer to the 7 at 42nd Street, but then I didn't get off at 42nd Street either. You must have missed your stop as well, because when we got all the way to the end of the line at Ditmars, we both just sat there in the car, waiting.

I cocked my head at you inquisitively. You shrugged and held up your book as if that was the reason.

Still I said nothing.

Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh

Book: Hyperbole and a Half: Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, and Other Things that Happened

Author: Allie Brosh

Why I Read It: The Under 30 Author square on my #ReadingBingo. Plus I love her blog. Ordered this book in the mail and couldn't wait for it to get here.

First Line: It seems like there should be some sort of introduction to this.

First Impression: Yay! It's here!

Last Impression: Hmm....a lot of this was already on her blog. And it loses its edge in the printed form. Sad day.

Ratings

Overall – 4 Heart Skipped a Beat Turns out, her work doesn't translate all that well to the printed page. If this was a rating on her blog, 5. A rating on how funny she is, 6. But as a book, it just didn't hit all the right notes. Pacing is so important in humor and seeing the hilariously awesome images before she's fully built up why they are hilariously awesome kills the moment.

Characters – 5 The dogs are the best characters ever, especially the Simple Dog. And the Alot is grammar joke gold.

Story – 3 Repeated content from much of her blog. Great stuff, just not new.

Narration – 5 She builds stories so very, very well. Comedic genius.

Read Again? Yeah. Mostly the dog ones.

Tell Others to Read? The book? No. The blog? Abso-frickin-lutely.

Excerpt: I can't. The images are mandatory in this situation. Thankfully, many excerpts (and really most of the book content) can be found here: http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/

Let's Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson

Book: Let's Pretend This Never Happened

Author: Jenny Lawson

Why I Read It: #ReadingBingo - Filling in the "Funny" square.

First Line: Call me Ishmael.

First Impression: Witty, biting humor. It can come off as overly snarky if read in a bad mood, however.

Last Impression: Quite the crazy life she's had and the sense of humor to survive/retell it.

 

Ratings

Overall – 4 Heart Skipped a Beat It was quite funny. Her sense of humor requires a particular mood from the reader and the novelty of her life wears off, but she still is a delightful narrator and you genuinely care about her and her wacky life.

Characters – 4 The people in the book come alive on the page and it is easy to envision her crazy father actually waking them up with a disembodied squirrel puppet.  

Story – 5 I wavered here because the book wavered. At times it was a 6, others it was a 3. Overall, her life is too strange to be fiction and fun to journey through.

Narration – 5 Her voice reaches the female audience quite well, but may not translate as well to the male audience. Check out the excerpt, which is taken from the first page of the book, to get a sense of what I mean. The rest of the novel continues in much the same direction. But, being a woman, her narration and style resonated with me. Thus the rating.

Read Again? No. I know the punchline/crazy experience already. But I enjoyed it.

Tell Others to Read? Every woman should read this, and open-minded guys as well. It's exceptionally funny, but some of her best moments are geared toward the females. 

Excerpt:...it makes a way more respectable beginning than the sentence I'd originally written, which was about how I'd just run into my gynecologist at Starbucks and she totally looked right past me like she didn't even know me. And so I stood there wondering whether that's something she does on purpose to make her clients feel less uncomfortable, or whether she genuinely didn't recognize me without my vagina. Either way, it's very disconcerting when people who've been inside your vagina don't acknowledge your existence. Also, I just want to clarify that I don't mean "without my vagina" like I didn't have it with me at the time. I just meant that I wasn't, you know...displaying it while I was at Starbucks. That's probably understood, but I thought I should clarify, since it's the first chapter and you don't know that much about me. So just to clarify, I always have my vagina with me. It's like my American Express card. (In that I don't leave home without it. Not that I use it to buy stuff with.)

Reading Bingo

This delightful reading bingo image was circulating the social media sites and I found it particularly inspiring. What a fun way to mix up your reading habit and get through all those books in your TBR list!

 

Of course other books will be reviewed here, but this seemed like a fun way to read those books currently sitting on TDBA shelves. The only rule was that each book had to be one I've never read. This is my personal list, so it is very science fiction, science, and nonfiction heavy, as those are some of my favorite genres. However, I encourage you to dig through your personal library and actual libraries near you to fill out your reading bingo.

 

So, without further ado, here is the list!

500+ pages - We, the Drowned by Carsten Jensen
Under 30 author - Hyperbole and a Half: Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, and Other Things That Happened by Allie Brosh
One word title - Nightfall by Isaac Asimov
1st by fav author - Pebble in the Sky by Isaac Asimov
Book a friend loves - Enchantment by Orson Scott Card
Forgotten classic - War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells
Non-human characters - Beyond Human: Robots and Cyborgs by Benford and Malatre
Short stories - American Salvage by Bonnie Jo Campbell
Heard @ online - Death Comes to Pemberley by P.D. James
That scares me - Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman
Became a movie - The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Funny - Let's Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson
Bestselling - A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan
10+ years old - 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke
Published this year - Leaving the Sea: Stories by Ben Marcus
Female author - My Beautiful Genome: Exposing Our Genetic Future, One Quirk at a Time by Lone Frank
Different continent - Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Based on a true story - Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
2nd in series - The Dark Monk: A Hangman's Daughter Tale by Oliver Potzsch
Number in title - Catch 22 by Joseph Heller
Mystery - Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie
Nonfiction - Space Chronicles: Facing the Ultimate Frontier by Neil deGrasse Tyson
Bottom of pile - Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef by Gabrielle Hamilton
Blue cover - Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality by Donald Miller
Free Space - Moby-Duck: The True Story of 28,800 Bath Toys Lost at Seaand of the Beachcombers, Oceanographers, Environmentalists, and Fools,Including the Author, Who Went in Search of Them by Donovan Hohn

Micromegas by Voltaire

On a planet revolving around the star Sirius there lived a young man of great intelligence, whose acquaintance I had the honor of making during his recent visit to our little anthill. He was called Micromegas, an appropriate name for great people. He had a stature of eight leagues, or 24,000 geometrical paces of five feet each, or 120,000 statute feet.

 

We earthmen have an average stature hardly more than five feet--one pace--so Mr. Micromegas' world must in turn have a circumference 24,000 times greater than our little Earth. Nothing in nature is simpler, more a matter of course. The dominions of certain potentates in Germany or Italy, around which you can walk in half an hour, compared with the empires of Turkey, Russia, or China can give but a faint idea of the vast disparity Nature has set between different orders of being throughout the universe.

Given his Excellency's height, any sculptor or painter would agree his waist should, proportionally, be about 50,000 feet around. His nose being one third the length of his handsome face, and his handsome face being one-seventh the height of his handsome body, it follows that the Sirian's nose is some 5,714 statute feet long.

 

His mind rivals the most cultivated among us; he knows many things, some of which are his own inventions. He had not yet reached his 250th year, and was studying, as was customary at his age, at the most famous school on the planet, when he solved 50 propositions of Euclid--18 more than Blaise Pascal, who, after having, according to his sister's account, solved 32 for his own amusement, became a pretty fair geometer, and a very poor metaphysician.

 

When Micromegas was about 450 years old, and already passing out of childhood, he dissected, with the aid of powerful microscopes, many little insects less than 100 feet in diameter; he wrote an interesting book about them, which got him into trouble.  

Shadow Show: All-New Stories in Celebration of Ray Bradbury

Book: Shadow Show

Author: A collection of short stories by many authors, including Neil Gaiman, Audrey Niffenegger, Dave Eggers, Sam Weller, Mort Castle, and Alice Hoffman.

 

Why I Read It: It's a collection of short stories in celebration of Ray Bradbury, who I love. Also, I was traveling at the time and a book of short stories travels easier than one long novel sometimes.

First Line: Hmmm, doesn't really apply because there are 26 first lines.
 

First Impression: Oh my. So very very dark. And creative.

Last Impression: This was truly an homage to Bradbury; emotional, unique, unexpected and human.

 

Ratings

Overall – 5 Heart Racing As it usually is with a collection of shorter works by different authors, this book provided a mixed hat of tales. Some truly struck a chord with me and some I trudged through to get onto the next story. However, the overwhelming feeling was one of deep satisfaction.

Characters – 3 With short works such as these, it is the story that pulls the reader forward, rater than the characters, so many times they were forgettable.

Story – 5 Unabashedly brilliant. Though most of the 26 tales were a delight, a few stood out as exceptional: The Girl in the Funeral Parlor by Sam Weller, The Companions by David Morrell, Little America by Dan Chaon, Young Pilgrims by Joe Meno, and The Tattoo by Bonnie Jo Campbell stand out as truly memorable.

Narration – 4 Again, varied by work, but these artists are all experienced and each story is masterfully crafted.

Read Again? Absolutely. And again. And again.

Tell Others to Read? I recommended this book as I was still traveling through its pages. It is a very specific readership however, and is best enjoyed by true Bradbury fans (those who have read beyond Fahrenheit 451).

Excerpt from the Introduction:

      In Shadow Show, this celebration of Ray Bradbury, artists who have been profoundly influenced by him pen their own short stories in homage, stories that through image, theme, or concept are either ever so obviously or ever so subtle "Bradbury-informed." From the lyrical magic of Dandelion Wine, to the shifting sands of Mars, to the rolling mist of The October Country, Bradbury's literary achievements in all their scope are honored by a host of today's top writers. Shadow Show presents our most exciting authors, who, like the honoree, are not contained or constricted by category or locale, as they touch the Bradbury base for inspiration to explore their own singular, wildest imaginings.

     The stories in this volume are neither sequels nor pastiches but rather distinctive fictive visions by writers inspired by a single common touchstone: the enduring works of Ray Bradbury.

 

 

Content property of HarperCollins.

A Christmas Tree and A Wedding by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

 

The other day I saw a wedding… But no! I would rather tell you about a Christmas tree. The wedding was superb. I liked it immensely. But the other incident was still finer. I don't know why it is that the sight of the wedding reminded me of the Christmas tree. This is the way it happened:

Exactly five years ago, on New Year's Eve, I was invited to a children's ball by a man high up in the business world, who had his connections, his circle of acquaintances, and his intrigues. So it seemed as though the children's ball was merely a pretext for the parents to come together and discuss matters of interest to themselves, quite innocently and casually.

I was an outsider, and, as I had no special matters to air, I was able to spend the evening independently of the others. There was another gentleman present who like myself had just stumbled upon this affair of domestic bliss. He was the first to attract my attention. His appearance was not that of a man of birth or high family. He was tall, rather thin, very serious, and well dressed. Apparently he had no heart for the family festivities. The instant he went off into a corner by himself the smile disappeared from his face, and his thick dark brows knitted into a frown. He knew no one except the host and showed every sign of being bored to death, though bravely sustaining the role of thorough enjoyment to the end. Later I learned that he was a provincial, had come to the capital on some important, brain-racking business, had brought a letter of recommendation to our host, and our host had taken him under his protection, not at all con amore. It was merely out of politeness that he had invited him to the children's ball.

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Book: The Night Circus

Author: Erin Morgenstern

 

Why I Read It: I wanted to read a fantastical period piece.

First Line: "The circus arrives without warning."

 

First Impression: Oh. It's about dueling magic, not a circus.

Last Impression: Wow. That was.....sad and unexpected and romantic and hopeful. Just beautiful.

 

Ratings

Overall – 4 Heart Skipped A Beat The story was certainly unique, but not what the title and visuals led me to expect. Those who pick up the book prepared for a magical love story will have expectations set accordingly and be instantly entralled.

Characters – 4 The cast is small and you get to know each character intimately. Their quirks breathe life into them and you are drawn in deeper as you progress, addicted to their world and desperate to discover their futures.

Story – 5 Hands down, completely amazing. So many unique wonders soar across the page, from the clock to the duel to the twists Morgenstern slowly unravels. I will say little to keep the discovery and anticipation intact. Just know it will be unlike anything you've read before.

Narration – 4 The world was picturesque, but the language that carried it was utilitiarian in comparision. It moved the story along, and painted the world in blocks of black and white and red, but could have given more.

Read Again? Most certainly. Not quite sure when the desire to visit this world again will capture me, but I am sure that it will.

Tell Others to Read? Yes. It is refreshingly different, easy to read, and well written.

Excerpt: Herr Friedrick Thiessen receives an unexpected visitor in his Munich workshop, an Englishman by the name of Mr. Ethan Barris. Mr. Barris admits that he has been attempting to track him down for some time after admiring several Thiessen-crafted cuckoo clocks, and was pointed in the right direction by a local shopkeeper.

     Mr. Barris inquires as to whether Herr Thiessen would be interested in making a special commissioned piece. Herr Thiessen has a constant stream of custom work and tells Mr. Barris as much, indicating from a shelf of variants on the traditional cuckoo clock that range from simple to ornate.

     "I'm not certain you understand, Herr Thiessen," Mr. Barris says. "This would be a showpiece, a curiosity. Your clocks are impressive, but what I am requesting would be something truly outstanding, das Meisterwerk. And money is absolutely no object."

     Intrigued now, Herr Thiessen asks for specifications and details. He is given very little. Some constraints as to size (but still rather large), and it is to be painted solely in black and white and shades of grey. Beyond that, the construction and embellishment is up to him. Artistic license, Mr. Barris says. "Dreamlike" is the only descriptive word he uses specifically.

The First Story That Terrified Me

...or why I can never ever wear a green scarf.

 

In honor of All Hallow's Read and the giving of scary books, I wanted to share the first story that scared me. There have been great books since then that have creeped me out, made my hair stand on end, and made me keep the light on, but only one story can claim the title of my first scary story.  

 

When I was very young, I read In a Dark, Dark Room and Other Scary Stories by Alvin Schwartz. This book was for younger kids (6 to 8), so it was not graced with the truly terrifying images of some of his other books.

 

It did leave an impression on my young mind, however, and within its pages, I stumbled across a story that completely horrified me. After reading this story, I shoved the book away, covered it with a pillow, and couldn't bear to look at it for days after. Even today, rereading it gives me flashbacks to my childlike fear.

 

Here it is, for your spooky pleasure, The Green Ribbon.

The Haunted House by Charles Dickens

CHAPTER I - THE MORTALS IN THE HOUSE

     Under none of the accredited ghostly circumstances, and environed by none of the conventional ghostly surroundings, did I first make acquaintance with the house which is the subject of this Christmas piece. I saw it in the daylight, with the sun upon it. There was no wind, no rain, no lightning, no thunder, no awful or unwonted circumstance, of any kind, to heighten its effect. More than that: I had come to it direct from a railway station: it was not more than a mile distant from the railway station; and, as I stood outside the house, looking back upon the way I had come, I could see the goods train running smoothly along the embankment in the valley. I will not say that everything was utterly commonplace, because I doubt if anything can be that, except to utterly commonplace people- -and there my vanity steps in; but, I will take it on myself to say that anybody might see the house as I saw it, any fine autumn morning.

     The manner of my lighting on it was this.

     I was travelling towards London out of the North, intending to stop by the way, to look at the house. My health required a temporary residence in the country; and a friend of mine who knew that, and who had happened to drive past the house, had written to me to suggest it as a likely place. I had got into the train at midnight, and had fallen asleep, and had woke up and had sat looking out of window at the brilliant Northern Lights in the sky, and had fallen asleep again, and had woke up again to find the night gone, with the usual discontented conviction on me that I hadn't been to sleep at all; -- upon which question, in the first imbecility of that condition, I am ashamed to believe that I would have done wager by battle with the man who sat opposite me.

 

      That opposite man had had, through the night -- as that opposite man always has -- several legs too many, and all of them too long. In addition to this unreasonable conduct (which was only to be expected of him), he had had a pencil and a pocket-book, and had been perpetually listening and taking notes. It had appeared to me that these aggravating notes related to the jolts and bumps of the carriage, and I should have resigned myself to his taking them, under a general supposition that he was in the civil-engineering way of life, if he had not sat staring straight over my head whenever he listened. He was a goggle-eyed gentleman of a perplexed aspect, and his demeanour became unbearable.