You might think that I'm desperately trying to catch up with my reading challenge, but when I started to hunt down individual werewolf short stories because I wasn't feeling the collections I found, I kind of fell into a rabbit hole.

A beautiful rabbit hole, that is, because The Other Side turned out to be one of the best, if not the best, that I read this time around. Simple in terms of the plot, but it has this mystical, almost occult-ish, wispy aura that reminded me of decadence (probably is too, I'm not sure, since my interest in it is still at its fetus stage). Plus, whenever there are magical flowers, I'm in.

I also sensed that Stenbock might have been an interesting person. I was right.

.

It's natural to be suspicious about novelizations. What could be so different about them that makes them worth the read? The Wicker Man is a great answer to that: overall, the story feels more fleshed out and detailed. On the other hand, I found myself being irritated by Howie, the policeman who travels to a Scottish island to investigate a case of a missing girl. He's got a pile of religious hang-ups that results in endless patronising rants about the religious beliefs of the island. There is a girl missing and he's worried about the luscious lips of the innkeeper's daughter. Come on now. Get a grip.

That being said, The Wicker Man is fairly effective as horror, just more quiet than what you'd expect. A bit too quiet at times, but it does have a very present eerie mood. You just know the people have something to hide, and then it all culminates in one of the greatest endings of horror cinema. It's a bit different in the book and the movie, but they're both good in their own way. The former leaves a lingering mood and the latter has more desperation. Obviously, the drawback of the book is that you won't be able to hear the music or see Christopher Lee prancing around in a wig and a dress.

Not finishing this. Started out like a noir and quickly devolved into a repetitive and unfocused mess. Will check out A Cast of Killers at some point since that's the one people seem to like the most.

Surprisingly, I think I liked Moore's drawings and paintings more than I did the photographs. I've had this in my book shelf for years, and now that I finally cracked the damn thing open, my tastes have either changed or this was an impulse purchase back in the day.

A run-down summer cottage in the middle of nowhere in the Finnish countryside. Peeling paint in the ceiling, suspicious rustles in the corners, giant mushroom circles outside. I thought it would be the perfect place to crack open a horror novel. I stayed up well past midnight, all the curtains were open, and I ended up being... Disappointed. Not scared, just disappointed.

That being said, Burnt Offerings isn't bad by any means. I appreciate how it isn't your usual haunted house novel. No straightforward ghosts, creaky floors, sounds of footsteps (although there's nothing wrong with those). The feeling of dread stems from the fact that the house seems to be seeping under its inhabitants' skin, changing their personalities, desires, motives, and perceptions of their environs. This re-enforces the idea that it's people that are the scary ones, not moving chairs, and it's where the connection to The Shining is most visible (apparently King was inspired by Marasco's novel). And the

Spoiler

violence towards your own family

is of course another thing.

To me, however, this was one of those "great as a concept, not so much when executed". Maybe the story's past life as a screenplay was the reason why it felt too long and drawn-out for what it was? Not to mention that the characters were pretty thin (especially the boy). The movie is decent, but it's such a paint-by-numbers adaptation that it left me feeling the same as the novel did (although I can't really complain about having more Oliver Reed and Bette Davis in my life). There are one or two scenes that are genuinely creepy and a few aspects that will still make me defend the book as a worthy horror classic, but as a whole it could have been more impressive.

Sometimes ordinary mundane reality can be much scarier than supernatural beings. It's the knowledge that, for example, murderers aren't figments of imagination, but any one of us can get involved with them or foster them in our families.

What if the murderer is a child? Rhoda Penmark is a completely psychotic little twit, but has perfected her imitation of normal human behavior and emotions so well that most people are completely unaware of her true nature. Until her mother, Christine, begins to understand the situation. The ostensibly conventional 1950s milieu never seems idyllic, but has plenty of dark undertones and is soon engulfed completely by questions of hereditary sociopathy/pscyhopathy, Rhoda's antics, and Christine's slow mental deterioration. The tragedy culminates in a chilling ending that is much more effective than the tacked on compromise in the 1956 movie.

When you look at Anstey's achievements as a humorist, Stella Maberly is not the sort of thing you'd expect him to write. It's a chilling tale of contrasts: Stella's temperament has been harsh and unforgiving since she was a child, her violent outbursts turning into sullenness and a desire for solitude and quarrelling, whereas her former schoolmate Evelyn is admired by everyone for her generous and caring spirit. When Stella is forced to seek employment, Evelyn hires her as a paid companion. For a while their personalities seem to mesh surprisingly well and they grow closer.

Until a man enters the stage.

This moment, I believe, is what causes the clash and the events to spiral down to the horrifying conclusion. How, what, and why is up to the reader to decide. I adore unreliable narrators, and Stella is one of the best. Is there a realistic and psychological reasoning for her behavior and outlook, or is the story a genuine chilling psychological horror story?

My opinion was swaying back and forth at first, and although there was one particularly revealing sentence that made up my mind, the ending still left a lingering doubt and an antsy feeling. What if...?