From my earliest memories, I remember the special thrill of holding a new book in my hands, turning it over, investigating the front and back covers before carefully cracking it open and exploring inside. (I should add that by “new book” I mean a book that was new to me – it could be a library book, borrowed from a friend, passed on from a relative or purchased at a local garage sale.

What mattered is there was a new book for me to explore. A world that I could lose myself in. Reading was one of those very special endeavors that ruled my life from the time I graduated from chewing on the pages to chewing on the content within.

But another special thrill has filled my life for just as long, the rippling and powerful emotions running in parallel and giving me just as much pause, thought and reflection. It has been my fascination with things that go bump in the night, the monster I knew was lurking under my bed, the eerie presence I felt watching me from my closet, the frightful presence under the basement stairs.

From the Charlton Tales from the Crypt and The House of Mystery comic books to books about Bigfoot, The Loch Ness Monster, UFOs, ghosts and monsters, I couldn’t get enough of those creepy paranormal tales. The National Enquirer was a great source for eerie speculative tales reported as “news” – and my adolescent mind, not being able to explore many “live” paranormal tales that were unfolding (the internet was still more than half a decade away), gravitated towards them.

I never grew out of my love for reading, nor for exploring creepy and paranormal tales. And I doubt I ever will. And I’m quite delighted with the manner by which these two loves merged as I discovered the special thrill of writing, and creating something that absorbed and gave back to these two worlds that have given me so much.