horror novels – Lee Duigon

I read Dracula every few years. In fact, for my money, none of the many Dracula movies quite measures up to the book–although Christopher Lee’s portrayals of the monster will go down in history.

Dracula Revisited

The last time I read Dracula, I was amazed by the things author Bram Stoker can get away with. Great heaping dollops of Victorian schmaltz. It should be unreadable, but it isn’t. In fact, the somewhat strange literary style adds, rather than detracts, to a sensation of being in the attic of a deserted house, all dry and musty, and suddenly thinking you hear someone else, who’s not supposed to be there, coming up the stairs…

Image result for images of the exorcist book cover

So here it is in the early 70s, I’m all alone in the house tonight, ’cause I’m gonna stay in and real The Exorcist. It’s supposed to be one of the scariest horror novels ever written, and I want to savor the full effect of it.

I go down to our finished basement to read. Nobody here but me and my iguana, and the latter is asleep in his cage after gobbling up the nice salad that my mother made him for his supper.

I settle down in my favorite chair, right under the floor lamp, with my back just a few inches from the lizard cage. I start reading. I keep reading–because, say hey, this book really is scary! It’s sucking me into it: I couldn’t stop reading if I wanted to.

At that moment the great big iguana wakes from his nap and decides to jump off his perch onto the screen three inches from the back of my neck–yow! Through the ceiling! Out of the chair! Book goes flying! Iguana looks at me quizzically, wondering why I’m acting up. I’ve got to catch my breath. I am afraid a harsh word or two escapes my lips.

Image result for images of happy iguana