Under the distorted mumbles of the PA system’s announcer, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” serenaded me as I entered Penn Station, in perfect juxtaposition with the filth-caked vagabond with the recently-broken nose, the old woman wheeling around bags of crushed cans, and the gangs of armored cops brandishing AR15s. And as I stepped out of the station and onto the cold streets of New York City, I found myself wishing I had a gun on me too.
Big cities always put me on edge. I’m an introverted country boy who has never been that fond of other people, so places like New York City make it impossible for me to relax. I feel like my guard must be always up. This is because of the sheer number of people surrounding me, the crushing weight of all those other bodies around no matter where I go. It also makes me feel dirty—infected—reminding me of the Romero-movie hellscape NYC became during the peak of the pandemic. Then there’s the stench of piss and smoke and sewer vents and all the rotting garbage in the streets. The endless lullaby of sirens, honked horns, and people screaming. Every billboard coated in graffiti. Broken glass and cigarette butts at your feet. Nothing but concrete everywhere you look. It’s easy to mistake the snowfall for fallout.
Having been born in Long Island, I’ve been to New York City many times throughout my life. When I was a young man, there was something exciting about it. Now, I see only danger and despair. How much is that due to the world changing, and how much is it due to me changing? Hard to say. While I certainly don’t feel safe in big cities, it’s not so much fear that repels me from them, but a sense of abject disgust, a massive disappointment in my fellow human beings. For people to take beautiful countryside and turn it into a sooty metropolis makes my heart sink. By and large, the masses confuse me with their priorities (or lack thereof), and nothing astounds me more than when human beings create hostile environments for themselves. It’s one of the many things that has led me deeper into isolation as I’ve reached middle age, residing in my farmhouse in the mountains and enjoying a level of social activity not seen since the Unabomber.
But sometimes even I get invited to parties, which is what I was doing in the Big Apple to begin with. More specifically, I was a plus one. When you date a woman who works in New York City, you inevitably end up going there sometimes, and so here I was, the arm candy at a NYC law firm’s private holiday party. To say I was the outsider grossly understates it.
Everyone was very nice, but it’s always a little awkward explaining what it is I do, particularly to people outside of my industry—normal people. It’s flattering when folks are impressed that I’m a full-time writer, but it’s like walking a tightrope when I must explain that I write fiction, because the next question is always what kind, and the genre of horror makes normal people’s eyes go wide as silver dollars. Horror fans are very familiar with that look, but trust me when I say getting it is ten times more powerful when you’re a professional horror creator.
At this party, one woman politely told me she was going to check out my books. Her husband then joked with me that “if she ends up having nightmares, we’re gonna have words.” I assured him she would have nightmares because that’s my job.
It’s what I do, folks. I generate dread. I propagate terror. Hell, I put out three scary novels just in 2023 alone.
Frightening people is what I do for a living. That’s kind of weird, right?
I spent the night just beyond the roar of the city. The next morning, snow flurries filled the gray air and grayer streets. I thought about my father growing up in Brooklyn in the ’50s, signing doo-wap on street corners with his fellow greasers, then working on cars in Hauppauge. I thought of my mother tending bar in NYC in the ’70s, and how she was pregnant with me during the Son of Sam murders. I thought about how my family moved me out of New York when I was a kid and how I’d ended up coming back. Dad’s been dead for close to fourteen years now, and this Friday will be the twelfth anniversary of my mother’s death from cancer. With them gone, there’s not been any home to go home for the holidays to. Not for a long, long time. It’s like that for mid-life orphans. But in some strange, roundabout way, I did come home this Christmas—home to New York City, a place that couldn’t feel more alien to me if it burst out of my ribcage.
This is because home is not a place but an idea, a feeling. Returning to my mountain farmhouse and my old dog makes me feel at home, because it is the home I have created for myself. Here the walls are decorated with scary movie posters, the shelves are stacked with horror novels, and the bathroom has its own Ghoulies statue. For me, horror is not just entertainment that I enjoy. It’s something I have completely dedicated my life to, to the point of creating it for a living. Where I was born is irrelevant, as is where my ancestors came from. Where I grew up is all in the past and everywhere I’ve ever lived has always felt temporary. And yet I know where my home is because I know where I belong.
Horror is my home.
And there’s no other place like it.
One of my old horror books is now out of print. It will return someday, but currently it’s out of stock at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other retailers, though some third-party sellers may have it. The only place you can get a new copy of this book is directly from my website. Growing Dark highlights some of the best of my early work. It contains chilling tales of horror and the macabre, some weird westerns, and even a Christmas crime story. Back in 2015, Rue Morgue Magazine called it “a must-read.” I’m still proud of it after all these years. Anyway, I just happen to have overstock of this title, so here’s what I’ve decided to do, while supplies last.
Order any book of your choice from my website (or even a t-shirt) between today (12/12/23) and Christmas Day (12/25/23), and you’ll also receive a copy of this out-of-print book for FREE. That’s right—two signed books for the price of one! Get one for yourself and one for a friend, or nab them both for your personal collection.
NOTE: THIS FREE BOOK OFFER IS ONLY WHILE SUPPLIES LAST! Once the overstock is out, it is over.
So, to further spread the holiday cheer, I’m also offering a special discount. Use code: XMAS at checkout to receive 10% off your entire order. Code is good now through Christmas Day. So even if you miss out on the free copy of Growing Dark, you’ll still get a good deal on your order.
Currently watching: holiday action movies! If you have trouble accepting Die Hard as a Christmas movie, not only are you dead wrong but your tiny head is going to pop like faulty Christmas lights when I put on Cobra, Lethal Weapon, Invasion USA, and The Long Kiss Goodnight as seasonal viewing.
Currently reading: The Passenger by Cormac McCarthy. But I’m very excited that the new Ryan Harding book, Transcendental Mutilation, has just been released. Harding always flawlessly delivers the most intense writing extreme horror has to offer. A new release from him is something all fans of brutal fiction should celebrate.
Currently listening to: The few Christmas songs I actually enjoy, like “Back Door Santa” by Clarence Carter, “I’ll be Your Santa, Baby” by Rufus Thomas, “Santa Claus Wants Some Lovin’” by Albert King, and “Christmas with the Devil” by Spinal Tap.
That’s all for this newsletter. I expect to put out another one before Christmas, but I’ve included the Christmas card photo here anyway. Happy Holidays from me and Bear!
Until next time, keep reading, and try to be merry.
Your pal,
Kris
Excellent read.
I absolutely love your short story collections and I will be taking advantage of the Growing Dark offer although I loved Blood Relations the best. The brother sister story in that one (you know the one) is the most disturbing EH story ever for my money.
I try to throw recommendations for your short stories in on r/extremehorrorlit whenever possible because, like Ketchum, you have a particular gift for the format. I think Growing Dark and Blood Relations are criminally underrated books.
Thanks for the offer and Merry XMAS to you, Bear and your plus one!