Reading · Joe’s Substack

Remember in my last newsletter, when I said I was avoiding public appearances so I could stay home and get some writing done? No? Apparently I don’t either, because I signed up for the Ashland Library Horror Fest, happening at the public library in Ashland, MA., on April 11th. My bud Christopher Golden is hosting a talk with me at 1:30.

If you’re able to make it to this event, you won’t need to pay for a psychic card reading to see your future: you’re going to have a good time.

Just a couple weeks back, Lividian announced their signed, slipcased edition of NOS4A2, crafted to sit nicely alongside the limited editions they did of 20th Century Ghosts, Heart-Shaped Box, Horns, and Wraith. Sadly, it went and sold right out. ☹️

Or did it?! 🤪

It’s possible they’ll make the last couple hundred available today. If you’re a collector, there are a lot of goodies to enjoy here, including the (very dark) alternate ending and an essay by Mathias Clausen (my favorite writer of non-fiction about the horror genre). Not to mention David Palumbo’s full-color illustrations which run the gamut from elegiac to pants-wetting scary. Check it out.

This has been an experiment in deploying emojis in the newsletter. 👍/👎?

Leave a comment

I was sorry to see The Washington Post closed down their book review section, Book World, managed by editor Ron Charles, who long-ago paid me a couple bucks for my own first published review (of Chuck Palahniuk’s Rant—it was a pan). Here’s a good piece in the NYTimes Book Review about the way a literary hub like Book World can sometimes change a writer’s life. (Ron Charles now runs a literary newsletter right here on Substack. See below:)

On the other hand, it’s recently come to light that the NYTimes Book Review ran a piece of criticism that was both plagiarized and partially generated by AI. Uh, hey—if you’re a critic and you’re tempted to use an LLM to help you with your workload, maybe don’t. It’s a sad, lazy way to write.. and also has the side effect of devaluing literary criticism, which is already relentlessly devalued by the sort of data-driven moguls who don’t see any reason to publish it in the first place.

So a couple days ago, I had an idea for a new occasional feature here in Escape Hatch. I thought: wouldn’t it be fun to do a series of interviews with some of my favorite horror writers—but not just any old interview where we interminably gab about process and influences and agents and AI. Boooooring.

No, I got thinking, wouldn’t it be great to see how our favorite fright freaks would handle being plopped down into the sort of scenarios they usually write about? Credit to Andrew Joseph White, who inspired this line of speculation. When I was at the Union Square Barnes & Noble a few weeks back, to sit in on their horror panel with some other writers in the genre, Andrew asked all of us if we would survive our own books. I figure a fascination with whether one could make it through the events of a horror movie is exactly how a lot of us wound up doing this for a living.

Enter shock scribe, scriptwriter, and actor Nat Cassidy, who was kind enough to submit to the very first Best New Horror Quiz. Nat blew my mind in 2025 with When The Wolf Comes Home, one of the very best things I read last year. It comes on like a re-imagining of The Terminator, with a werewolf instead of a killer robot. And then… it gets a whole lot weirder.

Next up for Nat is I Know A Place: Rest Stop and Other Dark Detours, his first collection of terror tales, and featuring an introduction by the admittedly niche actor who played Jordy Verrill in 1982’s Creepshow. You wanna go get it—don’t miss out on the good stuff.

Nat can sure write ‘em… but can he live through them?!? I got my doubts. Lube up the chainsaw—it’s time to let it rip.

Nat, thanks so much for talking to me. Let’s get right to it.

The Listener is less than 20 seconds behind you--a nine-foot tall ogre of a man with an ear growing out of the center of his forehead, a necklace of ears around his throat, and a pair of rusty hedge clippers that he means to use to add to his collection. Your car is broken down and there’s no cell phone reception here in Horror Movie land, but, good news! You’ve made it to the old, dilapidated barn. What do you do now? 20 seconds, that’s all you’ve got.

Oh, this one’s easy. I take a deep breath, summon up all my BFA classical acting training, and as soon as ugly ol’ Big Ear gets close enough I scream as loudly as I can into his massive auricular cavity. I conjure forth the spirits of all the loud, resonant hams who came before me. I “touch sound,” as my voice & movement teachers instructed. I sing out louder than any Louise has ever sung. I play to the back of the goddamn house, all in an attempt to rupture The Listener’s unholy, putrescent tympanic membrane. (I also promptly receive a hedge clipper to the throat, learning, like all people who major in the Fine Arts, that my degree will not save me.)

You’re in a lifeboat with your loved ones, out on the icy Atlantic, with the cargo ship sinking into the foaming waters behind you. So that’s fine, but unfortunately, you were bitten by one of the gray, rotting, former humans that escaped from the hold--just a little nibble down low on your calf, hardly broke the skin. Do you keep your injury to yourself or do you tell? What’s the plan? Before you rush to do the good and decent thing for the people you care about, keep in mind your chances of turning into one of the fiends is probably way less than 70%.

Man, I hate being in cold water more than pretty much anything, so, sorry, loved ones, we’re just gonna have to roll the dice together. Best I can offer is a good-faith attempt to make sure whenever I turn into a flesh nibbler myself, I’ll do so during a dramatically or comedically satisfying moment. Maybe after saying something like, “Is it me or is it totally dead out here?”

Do you try and make friends with the pulsing translucent blob in your basement? Although it dissolves all organic matter that touches it, so far it’s only eaten the neighbor’s extremely obnoxious dog (the one that starts barking at 5 in the morning), a few pigeons, and mmmmaybe one ICE agent (hard to be sure). Also it drew a picture of you and him and a big pink heart (the crayons are apparently indigestible). Can a man and a translucent blob ever really be friends?

Not only are we gonna be best friends, I’m gonna figure out a way to direct a whole ICE Agent conga line down into the basement so my new buddy never goes hungry again. Maybe I’ll post fliers around the neighborhood saying we’re giving out free American Flag Punisher tattoos, or hosting workshops on “how to cope with the withering stares your children will give you when they find out what you do for a living.” Soup’s on, my sweet, sweet blobbo.

Would you buy the famously haunted house on Ezekial Avenue--site of those terrible axe murders--IF it had four bedrooms, modern appliances, great bathrooms, and was located in a terrific school district, all while going for half of what comparable properties have been selling for? Keep in mind that, yes, an earlier resident is now in the insane asylum and no one knows what happened to his children, BUT on the other hand, the real estate market is brutal.

I’m afraid I’m going to need more information before I truly commit . . . First off, does at least one of those bathrooms have a jacuzzi tub? And, if so, second question: when’s the earliest move-in date? I’ve been dealing with NYC real estate for twenty years; this sounds like a dream.

Your new book has won an unusual literary award: an invitation to the Island of St. Apocrypha, where you will be the guest of honor, and ride at the head of their annual spring parade in a twelve-foot man made of wicker. You are promised a night of blazing excitement and your publisher says they’ll buy a thousand copies of the collection--they have some plan to use them in the celebration. Are you going, y/n? I don’t need to tell you how great it is to move 1,000 copies to one big buyer.

I mean, I’ve got a book to promote, it’d be reckless of me to turn down an opport--WAIT JUST A MINUTE. NUH-UH. I’m not falling for this one. No way. I’m a seasoned author, here. I’ve been around the block. I know WAY better than to agree to something like this. You’ve got to AT LEAST explicitly state that you’re covering travel and lodging first, too.

Nat, thanks so much for playing along…

I feel good about your answers, but my opinion isn’t the one that matters! I only administer the test. I’m afraid Escape Hatch readers are required to grade it! What do you think, gang? Is Nat Cassidy your new ride or die, or is it more like you’ll ride and he’ll die? Let us know in the comments—right after you pop over to your favorite bookseller to preorder I Know A Place: Rest Stop and Other Dark Detours.

Issue 74 • The Horror! The Horror!

Comments