I have the interesting conundrum of loving scary things and being absolutely terrified by them. The first time my dad read me “The Tell-Tale Heart” (As a bedtime story! Thanks, Dad!) I couldn’t sleep until I took my ticking clock off the wall and buried it under towels in the hall closet. Yet on our next trip to the bookstore, I begged for my parents to buy me the complete works of Poe, ready to be scared again.
That’s because, despite my inherent wimpiness, I love nothing more than a good spooky story…
