When I was a kid, we lived in a big old house. Everywhere, there were dark corners and shadowy spaces – just like any place that’s been around for a hundred years. My room had a closet, and I always kept it closed – especially before going to sleep. One night I had a dream about it. I was walking toward the closet door, and I couldn’t stop my hand from reaching forward. I turned the handle and looked inside. There, above my head, beside a naked bulb with a string, was a trap door I’d never seen. I looked away for an instant, and when my gaze returned, the panel had shifted. It was open a crack – just enough to let me see the darkness of an undiscovered attic. Something was up there, and it was looking at me.
That’s what I think about when I write horror.
And I want both of us – reader and writer – to explore that shadowy place together.