One of my favorite classic novels is Dracula. It’s (obviously) from another time period, where the buildup is slow and measured. The long road of events lets us travel along and immerse ourselves in a time and place of grays and blacks.
And yet, if you ask me, I’ll tell you that I don’t read horror. What I mean is that I’m not into blood and gore and axe-hacking. No, if I’m going to read horror, it’s going to be the Dracula kind, the rich tapestry kind that weaves into normalcy and turns it inside out. Just don’t ask me to read it at night.
When Carrie Vaccaro Nelkin began reading Snare to our writers’ group, the Penheads, uncomfortable chills prickled my skin. I didn’t want to be there on that deliberate, insidious ride that frankly creeped me the hell out.
And when we got to one scene—well, I looked at her in disbelief. She wrote that? If she hadn’t been a friend and I hadn’t known it was fiction, I would have clobbered her one.
It is what it is. A twisted road on streets I know very well in my city. A road that travels along evil lines and asks us to follow along. Or drags us into the Pit. You’ll have to decide.
You can find it at: http://permutedpress.com/books/snare