Halloween Haunts: Introducing New Readers to Horror by Adrian Ludens

Let me be clear: horror is NOT just for Halloween! I believe this with heart and soul, and yet, I’m guilty of perpetuating that stereotype.

Think about the average reader: the stay-at-home parent seeking diversion during a few quiet minutes; the businessman or businesswoman reading during their commute on the subway; the person who turns up their nose at everything that isn’t “literature;” the person who only reads non-fiction; the person who read one horror author once and gave up on the genre.

This list could go on. Horror is often marginalized, much to my frustration.

Here are a couple recent examples from conversations I’ve had:

In mentioning to a coworker’s wife that I was compiling stories for a horror short story collection, she immediately responded, “Oh, my daughter would want to read that!”

I’m sure she meant it as a compliment, but her assumption about the content of the stories irked me. I quickly (but politely) replied, “I would read it first; most of the stories contain adult themes and several have graphic scenes. I don’t write for kids.”

Why does she assume horror fiction would be only for younger readers? Did she read Goosebumps and Fear Street as a kid and then lose touch with the genre? If so, she’s done herself a grave disservice—excuse the pun (sorry, not sorry). I’m not suggesting she read ONLY horror fiction, but why give it up?

Another example: My wife’s aunt approached me at a family gathering. She said, “Adrian, are you still writing?”

I assured her that I was.

“Is it still weird shit? Have you thought about writing normal stories?”

Perceiving some obvious disdain on her part, I decided to talk “books” with her. I asked what her favorite book was and she enthusiastically talked for several minutes about a gritty mystery trilogy, two young adult fantasy series, and a dark fantasy series geared toward adults. Every one of them contained elements of horror.

Sensing an opportunity to (hopefully) expand her reading, I told her about my favorite series of anthologies: the old Alfred Hitchcock Presents books, which were published in various volumes for both adults and younger readers. My favorites were ghost-edited by Robert Arthur, who did a marvelous job interspersing fantasy, horror and weird fiction amongst the crime stories.

She wasn’t sold. So I summarized Roald Dahl’s story “Man From the South” for her. I won’t spoil it for those who haven’t read it, but when I revealed the ending, her jaw dropped and her face lit up. I could tell the story would have thrilled her had she read it.

But how does one convince someone who “doesn’t like horror” that they should give it a fresh look?

I can’t resist helping myself to low-hanging fruit. As I mentioned at the beginning, I’ve used Halloween as an excuse to advertise horror. My last three self-published books were all released in September, so that I could do signings ahead of Halloween. I played to the stereotype because I believe that’s when the broadest selection of potential readers is most willing to shiver through a ghost story, or devour a zombie tale.

This same line of logic is why so many charities run their campaigns in the months leading up to Christmas; ‘tis the season for giving, after all.

I am thrilled that my newest book has been selected as the “book of the month” for a reading group sponsored by a local television station and indie bookstore. When asked if I’d like my book to be featured in September or October, I made the obvious choice.

So, yes, I’ve based my humble, do-it-yourself marketing strategies around Halloween tie-ins. I do, however, promote every magazine and anthology appearance on my blog, web site, and Facebook page with enthusiasm—no matter what the time of year. My friends and readers know that horror holds a year-round fascination for me.

At the end of the day, that’s the best weapon in my arsenal. I’m ALWAYS ready to talk horror and dark fiction. I’m quick to find angles: if the person hates slasher films, I’ll extol the virtues of weird fiction (both classic and ‘new weird.’) If the person loves supernatural romance, I’ll bring up the Blood Lite series, for instance, or an author who writes fiction with elements of supernatural romance, but who has a foot firmly planted in horror also.

I know there’s truth to the old adage about ‘leading a horse to water,’ but there’s a true joy in hearing back from someone who is thrilled to have just discovered a New Favorite Author.

I’d love to convert the whole world into fans of horror fiction, even if we have to do it one reader at a time… and starting this Halloween!

TODAY’S GIVEAWAY: Adrian is offering two ebook copies of When Bedbugs Bite. Enter for the prize by posting in the comments section. Winners will be chosen at random and notified by e-mail. You may enter once for each giveaway, and all entrants may be considered for other giveaways if they don’t win on the day they post. You may also enter by e-mailing membership@horror.org and putting HH CONTEST ENTRY in the header.

Please visit www.adrianludens.com

ADRIAN LUDENS is a radio announcer and short story author from Rapid City, South Dakota. His newest collection, When Bedbugs Bite, is available from Amazon in paperback and Kindle formats, and from other sites (B&N, BAM) in paperback. Other recent and upcoming publication appearances include: Shadows Over Main Street (Hazardous Press); Surreal Worlds (Bizarro Pulp Press); Gothic Fantasy Science Fiction Stories (Flame Tree Publishing); and The Mammoth Book of Jack the Ripper Stories (Little, Brown). He is an Active member of the Horror Writers Association

Excerpt from When Bedbugs Bite

SEPARATE TABLES

The gentleman making the reservation insisted upon separate tables.

“My chosen and I must begin our dinner apart,” he murmured to Laura over the phone. “I intend to ask for her hand. I choose to observe certain cherished customs of my people.”

“Yes, of course,” Laura replied. She promised separate tables in opposite corners of the candlelit bistro and offered to serve them personally.

When the appointed time arrived, so did a pale girl of about eighteen. Laura showed her to a table, went over the night’s featured dishes and offered to bring her a beverage.

The girl gave a solemn shake of her head. “I must wait for Mr. Rask.”

“Of course.” Laura admired the girl’s porcelain skin and elaborately-braided hair for a moment and withdrew. She returned to the hostess table in time to greet Mr. Rask.

He was a muscular man with handsome features, close-cropped russet hair and sparkling blue-green eyes that reminded Laura of her trip to Bermuda two summers ago. After showing him to a table in the opposite corner Laura decided Mr. Rask was easily the most handsome man she’d ever met. He had an undeniable charisma that Laura couldn’t quite put into words.

“I would like a bottle of Marques de Riscal.” Rask felt inside his coat and continued. “My chosen will start with the artisan cheese and olive plate, with the vanilla salted quail and roasted garnet yams for her main course. Take her a glass of club soda with a lemon wedge. And present her with this.” He held out a small square black box.

Laura took it and found it surprisingly heavy for its size. She placed it in her apron pocket and returned to the kitchen puzzling over the rigid customs of this strange couple. Was this an arranged marriage perhaps? There did seem to be a noticeable difference in age and likely a substantial difference in wealth.

Artisan cheese plate in hand, Laura walked toward the girl’s table. A stooped man with a bushy white beard jostled past her. One gnarled hand gripped the pale fingers of the girl.

“Oh, Papa, thank you!” she gasped. Tears of relief streaked down the girl’s cheeks and Laura watched as the pair hurried out into the night.

Not knowing what else to do, Laura brought the plate to the girl’s vacant table and, after a moment’s hesitation, seated herself. A leather pouch now lay on the table. Laura lifted it and heard the clink of coins. She removed the small black box from her apron pocket and glanced around at the other tables, but the patrons were engrossed in their own meals and conversations.

Laura raised the lid of the box and a covetous moan escaped her lips. The largest ruby she’d ever seen shimmered like liquid flame; the centerpiece of an opulent ring ensconced in the black box. Thirteen tiny diamonds surrounded the ruby like ashen coals around a still-blazing fire.

Laura tore her eyes away and snapped the lid closed. She rose and made her way back to Rask’s table.

The man raised an eyebrow as Laura reached his side.

“She left,” Laura murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Rask’s face fell. His shoulders slumped.

“She left with an old bearded man,” Laura said. “This was on the table.”

She handed him the bag of coins.

“Her father has changed his mind, then.” Rask made the bag disappear into a pocket and asked, “The ring; you still have it, then?”

Laura swallowed. Reluctantly, she withdrew the small box and placed it on the table. Rask looked at Laura intently.

“You saw the ring?”

“It’s breathtaking.”

“My chosen would not take it.” He lifted the lid.

“I would,” Laura heard herself saying. The beauty of the ring had completely entranced her.

“The ring was to be a gift in exchange for her hand,” Rask revealed. Laura realized he was appraising her face, then her fingers. “Would you give me your hand to receive this ring?”

“Yes, I would.” Laura glanced at the handsome stranger and marveled. He had looks, money and a delicious air of mystery. Her eyes strayed back to the ruby as she imagined a whirlwind marriage, romance, adventure…

Rask broke in on her thoughts. “I must ask again: are you certain you wish to give me your hand in exchange for this ring?”

“Yes!” Laura reached for the box. Rask produced a gleaming meat cleaver and severed her right hand from her wrist in one brutal yet efficient blow.

Laura gaped as her hand seemed to jitter across the table toward the ring in the box. Rask wiped the blade of the cleaver clean on his cloth napkin and returned it to a coat pocket. He lifted the ring from the box and held it out to her. Laura focused on the glittering red jewel and held out her shaking left hand. The handsome man at the table took her wrist with his left hand to steady it and slid the ring onto her middle finger with his right.

“A perfect fit!” he marveled. “And it looks gorgeous on you. Wear it with pride.”

Laura nodded weakly and pressed her bloody stump between her ribs and her left arm in an attempt to reduce the steady gouts of blood that kept spurting out.

“You’ll want to have someone fashion a tourniquet for that right away,” Rask instructed, his voice not unkind.

Laura wondered if she could cauterize the wound on the flattop grill in the kitchen. Could she bear the pain? Would she succumb to shock? She took a step in that direction then wobbled and turned back.

The eccentric gentleman pried off a fingernail with a small pair of pliers and nibbled at the pads of a fingertip. He paused when he realized Laura was still gazing at him.

“Yes?”

The bistro spun around Laura like a carrousel. She fought to remain standing. Habit took over.

“Thank you for dining with us. Enjoy your… meal.”