Ghosts of Novels Past: Tremblay, horror, and an excuse to use a colon.

Infinite Stages

All right dear readers.  Here we go.  All things post modernary, literary, genreary, culinary, and readanary.  Infinite Stages welcomes you to darkness.  Beware of spoilers… Tremblay will spoil you.   

I am easily startled.  I jump scare with the best of them.  I unleash a very feminine shriek, gripping my wife’s arm, spilling popcorn with an outstretched finger hissing, “BEWARE.”

But I am not easily frightened.  And I certainly do not stay up all night staring at the ceiling because the hotel I’m in has something flashing over and over again.  Because the air conditioner kicks in at an interval I can’t calculate.  Because more people seem to walk past my door at four in the morning and stop… stop there.  My wife’s sleeping breaths do not cause me anxiety.

And yet.

I will not say reading A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay will necessarily frighten you.  It might not…

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