One last thing…

(Parentheses) Books to open — SOON!

Harrisonburg’s own independent book store will be opening SOON! There have been a few unavoidable construction delays and permits needed to open; but the good news is that there has been progress at the Liberty Street Mercantile.

(Parentheses) Books will MOST LIKELY be opening this month! As soon as proprietor, Amanda Friss, has a confirmed opening date, she will be shouting it from the rooftops for all of Harrisonburg to hear!

Patience has been the word for this soon-to-be amazing place, and when curious patrons step into the shop on a chilly day, autumn leaves on the doorstep, a wonderful selection of books and bookish delights will await.

I, for one, cannot wait for our very own independent bookshop to open, and wish the proprietor, Amanda Friss, brilliant success!

Parentheses Books ongoing progress

It’s starting to look like a bookshop!

Spooky tales to chill your October evenings:

The October Country, Ray Bradbury

(Ray Bradbury's The October Country is a land of metaphors that can chill like a long-after-midnight wind...)

“That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain.”

Something Wicked This Way Comes, Ray Bradbury

(The shrillness of the calliope calls to all with promises of dreams and youth restored. Two boys discover the secret of smoke, mazes, and mirrors; two friends who will know the stuff of nightmares.)

“For some, autumn comes early, stays late through life where October follows September and November touches October and then instead of December and Christ's birth, there is no Bethlehem Star, no rejoicing, but September comes again and old October and so on down the years, with no winter, spring, or revivifying summer. For these beings, fall is the ever normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth. In gusts they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, and surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web hears them, trembles—breaks. Such are the autumn people. Beware of them.”

The Moving Toyshop, Edmund Crispin

(A toyshop that isn’t really there… a murder… a bit of dark academia thrown in for good measure and an immense fortune… all adds up to a super fun read on a rainy October afternoon.)

“It was a small sound, an indefinite sound, but it made his heart beat violently and his hand tremble. Oddly enough, it had not previously occurred to him that the person who had killed this woman might be still in the house. Turning his head, he looked steadily out of the half-open door into the darkness beyond, and waited, absolutely motionless.”

The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson

First published in 1959, The Haunting of Hill House is a perfect work of unnerving terror, of psychological horror. It is the story of four seekers who arrive at Hill House: Dr. Montague, an occult scholar looking for solid evidence of a “haunting”; Theodora, his lighthearted assistant; Eleanor, a friendless, fragile young woman well acquainted with poltergeists; and Luke, the future heir of Hill House. Their stay seems destined to be merely a spooky encounter with inexplicable phenomena. But Hill House gathers its powers—and soon will choose one of them to make its own.

“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”

These are but a few examples of October’s spooky offerings. There are so many great tales of the season, some classic and others more contemporary in which to get lost; and what could be horrifying than Stephen King’s ’Salem’s Lot.

Please approach all spooky tales with caution and always read with the lights on!