My Source of Dread: Why I Read and Write Horror
I was five years old and playing in the dirt side yard in front of my childhood home when I met my first clown. I distinctly remember one summer day when a man dressed as a clown and carrying balloons (the colors black and yellow seem prominent in my memory) walked by my house and tried to sell me one of the balloons. I don't remember how much they were exactly, but it didn't matter. I had no change on me. When I told him I had no money, he seemed irritated and raised a hand like he was going to hit me, and skulked away. The whole time he was yelling back at me, “they’re only pennies , kid… they’re only pennies and you can’t even buy ONE? ONE!? ONLY PENNIES!! ” This frightened me in an indescribable way. For weeks I was scared he would come back and kill me because I didn’t buy a balloon. Or worse, he would just stand outside my window. *** “Why do you read and write horror?” Although some horror writers—that is, those who have the guts to actually use the w