What's the first horror novel that you read?

 October is here, good people, and I'm going to make the most of the spooky season here in the Land of Way.  As an author, I'm always curious about the books that the rest of you enjoy, and with Halloween arriving at the end of the month, I'm wondering how many of us remember the first horror novel that gave us goosebumps.  I would absolutely love it if if my readers were to chime in with their thoughts on the fist scary book that they enjoyed.

I was an avid reader from an early age on.  By the time I was 5, I was trying to write stories of my own.  Even as a youngster, I had a taste for the spooky stuff.  That became a legitimate passion when I read Stephen King's Christine during the summer that followed the third grade.  Honestly, I wouldn't recommend presenting your favorite 8 year-old child with this novel, but reading it was surely a transformative experience for this particular writer.  It firmly illustrated that both the horror genre and reading were things that I wouldn't want to live without.  Prior to reading this book, I enjoyed a good scary story, but after reading Christine I was head over heels for gruesome tales.  The worm had definitely turned in more ways than one, for not only had I become a horror fanatic, but I also no longer wanted to spend my time with smaller books.  Dr. Seuss and Encyclopedia Brown were left in the dust as I started devouring books by King, Farris, and Matheson, among others.

I'm going to post a review of Christine later today, but in the meantime feel free to tell me about the first horror novel you read and how that impacted you.

The Best Smell in the World

It's an easy one for me.  It's probably an unusual choice, but I know there are others who will understand--though I fear we may be a dying breed.  Yes, it's an old musty paperback, with that ancient smell that sweeps me back through a few hundred musty paperbacks that I flipped through in a few thousand different places.  There's nothing quite like it.  Every time I pick up one of those old treasures (like the copy of Jaws I'm currently reading, the same copy I've read so many times I've lost count) and that aroma washes over me, I'm filled with a special sort of joy.

I've always loved that smell, though for different reasons.  As a youngster, that was the scent of adventure, and perhaps even a whiff of the taboo as much of what I was reading was intended for mature readers.  I started with King's Christine at the age of 8 after finding my dad's stash of horror novels.  Given the way this life-changing discovery went down, I don't think that was an accident, and Pop never objected once my love for such fare became common knowledge.  Anyway, in those days the potent smell of the aging paperback was an invitation to adventure and a passport to worlds yet unknown.

Now, there's still a bit of that magic in the smell, but it's more about familiarity and a love for all the joy and knowledge this particular hobby has provided me with over the years.  It's a bit nostalgic, perhaps even a bit melancholy, and yet it is a wonderful smell that remains ripe with promise.  Whether it represents a return trip to a familiar destination or a brand new odyssey, that smell remains partnered with the excitement of taking part in a story, the greatest pastime of them all.