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This week on The Scariest Part, my guest is Scott A. Lerner, whose latest novel is The Fraternity of the Soul Eater. Here’s the publisher’s description:

It’s been a while since Samuel Roberts was called upon to save mankind, and he’s getting restless. His girlfriend Susan thinks he’s a danger junkie, and he’s worried he has a hero complex. He’s back to his usual small-town lawyerly duties in Champaign-Urbana, handling divorces and helping people beat DUI raps. But then a young fraternity pledge calls. During an initiation ceremony he witnessed the live sacrifice of a young woman, but he had so much alcohol in his system that no one believes him. Except Sam. Lately Egyptian lore has been creeping into his life, his dreams, and his movie preferences, and he’s pretty sure he knows why. Evil is knocking on his door again.

Is the call welcome? Why can’t Sam be satisfied with his comfortable legal practice and gorgeous redheaded girlfriend? Maybe it’s because he knows that, as inadequate as he may feel to the task, he and his friend Bob may be humanity’s only hope against ancient supernatural forces combined with modern genetic engineering. Come hell or high water. Or in this case, the underworld or subterranean pyramids.

The Fraternity of the Soul Eater is the third book in the Samuel Roberts thriller series, which began with Cocaine Zombies and continued with Ruler of Demons.

And now, let’s hear what the scariest part was for Scott A. Lerner:

The Fraternity of the Soul Eater takes place on the campus of a major research university in the Midwest. It involves a campus fraternity who murders and then provides the souls of innocent co-eds as a sacrifice to an ancient Egyptian deity. The Soul Eater, also known as Ammit, was a nightmarish beast from Egyptian mythology. The creature had a body that was part lion, hippopotamus and crocodile — all scary creatures of their own right. Ammit would devour the undeserving souls whose hearts weighed more than a feather.

I do fear many mythological characters, not just Egyptian Gods. In this book confronting ancient evil is not the scariest part. The scariest part is the total disregard for humanity demonstrated by this group, who are modifying human DNA by combining it with animal DNA with no regard for suffering or the law of unintended consequences.

In some ways, my story could be from the pages of The New York Times. Scientists are working to modify human DNA. How can we as a society turn our back on the possibility of curing genetic disease? How can we resist the opportunity to make our children smarter, stronger or more attractive? Once we cross that line, where do we stop?

There is one particular scene in my book that is particularly disturbing. The main character views an evil experiment on video. A young woman is impregnated with a less than human fetus and the creature claws its way out of her uterus. The juxtaposition of the sterile environment with an abomination that is born, only to die soon after, is ghastly. That this is not the first or the last time this nightmare is replayed makes it far worse.

The Fraternity of the Soul Eater is a book of fiction. Even if it might cause you to sleep with the lights on, it remains fantasy. Yet, the ideas within its pages are possible. People are willing to sacrifice one another for power and greed. It does not take great imagination to figure out that if something can be done, even something horrifying, it likely will be done.

Sam, the protagonist, must face his own demons. Can he kill in order to save the life of the woman he loves? Does he remain on the side of the angels even after he has blood on his hands? Do the ends justify the means?

There is potential for evil in all of us. I can’t think of anything scarier.

Scott A. Lerner: Website / Facebook / Twitter

The Fraternity of the Soul Eater: Amazon / Barnes & Noble / IndieBound / Smashwords

Author and attorney Scott A. Lerner resides in Champaign, Illinois. He obtained his undergraduate degree in psychology from the University of Wisconsin in Madison and went on to obtain his Juris Doctor degree from the University of Illinois in Urbana Champaign. He is currently a sole practitioner in Champaign, Illinois. The majority of his law practice focuses on the fields of criminal law and family law. Lerner’s first novel and the first Samuel Roberts thriller, Cocaine Zombies, won a bronze medal in the mystery/cozy/noir category of the 2013 Independent Publisher (IPPY) Awards. The second book in the series is Ruler of Demons. The Fraternity of the Soul Eater is book 3. Book 4, The Wiccan Witch of the Midwest, will be released on Halloween, 2015.

This week on The Scariest Part, my guest is Kevin Lucia, whose latest book is the story collection Through a Mirror, Darkly. Here’s the publisher’s description:

Arcane Delights. Clifton Heights’ premier rare and used bookstore. In it, new owner Kevin Ellison has inherited far more than a family legacy, for inside are tales that will amaze, astound, thrill…and terrify.

An ancient evil thirsty for lost souls. A very different kind of taxi service with destinations not on any known map. Three coins that grant the bearer’s fondest wishes, and a father whose crippling grief gives birth to something dark and hungry.

Every town harbors secrets; Kevin Ellison is about to discover those that lurk in the shadows of Clifton Heights.

And now, let’s hear what the scariest part was for Kevin Lucia:

The scariest part of Through A Mirror, Darkly, actually came several years prior, when I first wrote my new collection’s concluding novella “And I Watered It, With Tears” for Lamplight Magazine. The reason for this is very simple: it was the first time I’d dared write about something very personal, a frightening incident involving my son and I.

Until then I had written a lot of “surface stories.” Maybe they’d been inspired by things I’d seen and heard in life, so they had some originality to them, but up until that point I hadn’t tapped into anything as personal as I did with that novella. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say I hadn’t successfully tapped into anything personal.

I had tried, certainly. See, when he was two years old, my son was diagnosed as severely autistic. At that moment, everything in our lives changed forever. He’s since been downgraded to moderately/mildly autistic and the future looks much brighter than it did six years ago. Even so, our lives will never be the same. Our perspectives have required a shift of global proportions. We’ve had to change our way of life, have had to alter our approach to even the smallest family ventures.

And I tried to convey this in fiction. I wrote a short novel for my MA Thesis about a father grieving the death of his autistic son. I tried to write stories about parents dealing with autism. Every one of them fell flat, largely because — I suspect — I was too close to the subject. They read less like works of fiction and more like case studies. So, when I realized “And I Watered It, With Tears” was veering toward this territory, I felt very unsure. Could I mine this personal experience and turn it into compelling fiction?

The one thing I had in my favor, I think, was using a personal event — a near tragic accident, quite frankly — as inspiration for part of the story, instead of writing a story about autism. And, also working in my favor, the story — about six people mysteriously trapped in a building during a rainstorm — wasn’t about this incident. Instead, as I wrote the novella, I began to realize how this event could be used…

And that terrified me.

For a variety of reasons. First, I’d tried to use personal events in fiction before, with dubious results. Like the stories about autism, they’d come off stilted, and, ironically, unrealistic. And, even as I tinkered and found that if I nudged a few details, I could make the event fit the story, the question still remained: should I write about this personal event?

After all — without spoiling the story — this was an incident in which I’d shown an incredible lack of judgement. I put myself and my autistic son at risk, because I didn’t calculate the risks involved. I wanted to be (subconsciously) the father of a “normal” kid, for a moment not taking my son’s autism into account. And the result was near disaster. Even to this day, when I remember the incident, I get short of breath thinking of all the ways that day could’ve turned into the worst day of our lives. And there I was, planning on taking that memory and twisting it to its worst possible conclusion.

As I worked on “And I Watered It,” this scene loomed. During all the drafts, when I reached the point for this scene, I skipped over it, leaving a placeholder instead of actually writing it. In fact, I left this scene as the very last thing to write; perhaps sensing how emotionally draining it was going to be. And as I began writing the scene, my pace — which had chugged along well until that point — slowed to a crawl. A very real worry wormed its way into my thoughts; that I wouldn’t be able to write this scene, after all.

I somehow managed my way through the first draft, and subsequent drafts. By the time I fought my way through that scene (my worst nightmare as a parent, brought to life) for the last time, I felt exhausted. And I would love to offer the cliché sentiment that writing this scene brought a sense of closure, robbing this memory of its terror. I would love to say that. But I can’t.

Because it would be a lie.

But I saw how powerful a story I’d created by channeling something so personal. There’s a desperate rawness to this novella’s conclusion that I don’t think would be there, had I wimped out and opted for a “safer” end, emotionally.

This has changed the way I think about writing horror. I’m not necessarily looking to turn every traumatic life event into a story, but I’ve felt how much emotional power can be harnessed channeling personal matters, and am less afraid of doing so, in the future.

Not unafraid, mind you. Because if I’m not afraid…what are the chances you will be?

Kevin Lucia: Website / Facebook / Twitter

Through a Mirror, Darkly: Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Books-A-Million

Kevin Lucia is the Review Editor for Cemetery Dance Magazine. His short fiction has appeared in several anthologies. He’s currently finishing his Creative Writing Masters Degree at Binghamton University, he teaches high school English and lives in Castle Creek, New York with his wife and children. He is the author of Hiram Grange & The Chosen One, Book Four of The Hiram Grange Chronicles. His first collection of Clifton Heights Tales, Things Slip Through, was published November 2013, followed by his novella duet, Devourer of Souls, in June 2014. He’s currently working on his first novel.

This week on The Scariest Part, my guest is Aviva Bel’Harold, whose latest novel is Blood Matters. Here’s the publisher’s description:

Grief changes people.

Brittany used to be a normal teen. She ate like one, slept like one, and had typical teenage mood swings. But after she found her best friend dead, everything changed.

Grief might explain her loss of appetite and her lack of sleep. It might even explain why she sees her dead friend everywhere she goes. But it certainly won’t explain why everyone she touches develops bruises or why she’s attracted to the smell of blood.

And, she’s pretty sure grief doesn’t make you want to rip apart your boyfriend just to get closer to his beating heart.

But what happens when it’s the choices we make, not the creature inside, that proves the monster is in us all?

And now, let’s hear what the scariest part was for Aviva Bel’Harold:

I was 35 before I even considered calling myself an author, but that wasn’t for lack of trying.

If I were to be honest, I was a storyteller first and I’ve been a storyteller for as far back as I can remember. When I was nine, ten, eleven and all the way up to grade twelve I would walk to school completely oblivious of anything going on around me. Cars, dogs, other pedestrians and even trees would be missed because I was too busy telling myself stories more interesting than what the real world could offer. That is until I walked into what I missed.

Thankfully I survived this mostly unscathed.

I am told that in grade three my teacher took my mother aside and told her I had the skills to become a good author. My teacher said, “If you can ignore the spelling, just read out the words the way they sound. If you can get past that you’ll see that your daughter has written a complete, complex story with a proper beginning, an interesting middle and an amazing end.”

If you can ignore the spelling.

And therein lie all my problems.

At nine it might have been cute, too outright adorable, that I spelt every word phonetically (in other words — WRONG), but by grade twelve it was nothing short of embarrassing. My spelling hadn’t improved much in the 7 years it took me to get there (nor the decades since).

My teachers, my mom, EVERYONE tried to help me with this. But I was a lost cause, because I’m dyslexic.

I’m dyslexic. This means I can’t spell to save my life.

It isn’t anyone’s fault. Not mine because I did try to learn spelling. It isn’t the teachers, they tried to teach me. It wasn’t my mom’s, she tried too. If I could blame anything it would be bad genes or pick of the draw, but it’s not something I can change.

It is simply a reality. And it sucks.

I graduated sure that any job that required writing, or numbers, was out of the question for me. So I never dreamed of being an author. Never in a million years!

No, that’s not true…I actually did want to write my stories out, secretly, but I was too terrified!

Or, as I might spell it, TERRORFIED.

My biggest fear wasn’t of being rejected. It wasn’t “what if I can’t do this”. I never worried about character development, scene structure, tension, world building. I wasn’t concerned about any of that (because I felt fairly confident I knew what I was doing there). No, my biggest fear was that I would spell something wrong and the reader would laugh at me. Or worse — reject me because of this.

Story rejection is one thing, but personal rejection is too much. I’d had enough of that all through my school experience.

I never wanted to put myself in a place where I could be picked on, put down, made fun of, outcast or denied because I can’t spell (or I confuse words…really simple words like “chores and choir” or “angle and angel” and many more).

So, even though I dreamed about writing my stories, and even though I tried to write them out on a few occasions, I was never going to put too much stock into being an author. Instead being an author just became one of the stories I’d tell myself. In fact, I spent many hour amusing myself with the idea of spontaneous authorism: being discovered without actually having to put myself out there…because I was never going to put myself out there. I was the daydreamer and the storyteller — someone good to invite to a party because I always have some fun antidote…er…anecdote to tell.

That’s all I might have ever been if I hadn’t been challenged. By my oldest child, no less.

She wanted me to write out the story I’d told her, and, because I didn’t want to model cowardice, I had to do it.

Writing it was easy enough. Letting her (16 at the time) read it was almost as easy, she couldn’t spell much better than I could (poor thing inherited my dyslexia). Then she challenged me to get it published.

That’s when I had to face my biggest fear head on. I wish I could wrap this up with a cheerful announcement that I’m past this fear. Or even that I could say it’s gotten easer…

I can’t.

I won’t.

I don’t lie.

I am still afraid.

I’m terrified of someone pointing out my spelling mistakes. I hate seeing the squiggly red lines under words I haven’t spelt correctly. I get flustered when I can’t figure out how to spell it right to make the line disappear. I still have to brace myself against my fear of being “made fun of” for STILL getting words wrong (suit and suite/beer and bear/ bowl and bowel /thrown and throne…the list is very long and my editors can find my mistakes giggle-worthy at times).

Signings, when I want to put a heartfelt inscription into a book…what if I spell a word wrong there? Will the buyer want their money back? Will they hate the book because I don’t know the correct way to spell “nice to meat you” (or is it meet…Ugh!). Oh, and don’t get me started on spelling people’s names right! A nightmare.

I live with my scariest part every day, however, what I can say is that I’m happy with these things:

I like calling myself an author.

I like it even more that other people call me this.

Having my books published is worth the discomfort.

Having my books in readers’ hands makes up for all the terrors.

Hearing that I’ve gained a new fan, made an impression, inspired someone else more than makes up for everything I’ve had to go through to get here.

Aviva Bel’Harold: Website / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads

Blood Matters: Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Powell’s / IndieBound / Books-A-Million / Book Depository / iTunes / Kobo

Aviva Bel’Harold writes young adult fiction: Horror, Science Fiction, ­Urban Fantasy, etc. — as long as the characters are young, full of life, and out for adventure. When she’s writing, you’ll find her curled up on a sofa with a pen and a pad of paper, surrounded by her adorable puppies. Born in Winnipeg and raised in Vancouver, Aviva Bel’Harold ­currently resides in Calgary with her husband, four children, and six dachshunds.

This week on The Scariest Part, my guest is Nathan Ballingrud, who, for my money, is one of the best writers currently working in the short form of horror, fantasy, and the weird. His multiple award-nominated 2013 collection North American Lake Monsters is a must-read. His latest publication is a novella called The Visible Filth. Here’s the publisher’s description:

“Inside it’s all just worms.”

When Will discovers a cell phone after a violent brawl his life descends into a nightmare.
Affable, charismatic and a little shallow, he’s been skating across the surface of life in a state of carefully maintained contentment. He decides to keep the cell phone just until the owner returns and everything changes. Then the messages begin.

Will’s discovered something unspeakable and it’s crawling slowly into the light.

And now, let’s hear what the scariest part was for Nathan Ballingrud:

When I come to a horror story as a reader, I’m hoping to satisfy one of two cravings. One is aesthetic. If I can get a good rendering of some of the traditional trappings of the genre, I will leave sated and happy. These range anywhere from the brooding atmospherics of Stoker and his Carpathian vampire, to the Mi-Gos and their brain cylinders hiding out in Lovecraft’s rural countryside, to the baroque flourishes of Clive Barker and his Cenobites. Horror draws from a very deep well, and the possibilities here are all but inexhaustible. The other is psychological. This is the kind of horror that feels like a welcome attack, and leaves me feeling blighted and raw. The Appalachian dooms of Cormac McCarthy. The psychological vivisections of Joyce Carol Oates. This is a tougher target to hit. It’s a sniper shot versus the strafing of a machine gun. Sometimes you’re lucky and you get both, as you do in Peter Straub’s Ghost Story, or in Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House (which is, for my money, the greatest horror novel yet written).

There are a lot of elements of aesthetic horror in The Visible Filth. You get your monsters crawling out of people’s broken heads. You get your cryptic messages from beyond. You get your cockroach swarms. I include that stuff because I love it. It satisfies the enthusiast in me, the part that would happily live in Transylvania or in Arkham, eager for a lifetime of bright, beautiful terrors. But ultimately, that’s all window dressing. For me, the real horror is psychological. Because these are the mundane horrors that we’re all subject to. They don’t carry the awful glamor of the Gothic or the surreal. They don’t leave us prostrate with holy fear. They just chew away at us with a vicious, microbial tenacity. We think we’re fine until we’re crumbling in upon ourselves.

There’s a scene in The Visible Filth, near the end, in which Will, our protagonist, is trying to break things off with Carrie, his girlfriend. (This is kind of a spoiler, I guess, but not a very serious one. It’s okay to keep reading; any story that’s worth a damn is not going to be ruined by minor spoilers.) He’s got it all planned out. He thinks he’s about to step into a wider, better life. But it doesn’t go the way he expects it to. Carrie is her own person, it turns out, and she has some ideas of her own. Nothing scary happens in this scene, other than the end of a relationship that leaves both parties wounded and a little self-hating. It’s my favorite scene in the novella, because I’ve been on both sides of that talk, and it’s awful either way. The story doesn’t end there — the big, set-piece horror ending is right around the corner — but for me, it’s the emotional heart of the story. It’s the real horror.

I’m not scared by the monsters. I’m comforted by them. Each genre offers its readers the consolations of the familiar; in horror fiction, that often means monsters, atmosphere, and threat. I’m scared by the human. I’m scared by the part of me that can’t bridge the chasm between myself and the person sitting across the table from me, who’s wondering who I am, wondering what thing it is inside me that causes me to do the things I do. As I wonder the same thing about her. I’m scared of what’s hiding in my own skull, and what might be hiding in yours.

Nathan Ballingrud: Facebook / Twitter

The Visible Filth: This Is Horror / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Powell’s

Nathan Ballingrud is the author of North American Lake Monsters: Stories, from Small Beer Press; and The Visible Filth, a novella from This Is Horror. His work has appeared in numerous Year’s Best anthologies, and he has twice won the Shirley Jackson Award. He lives with his daughter in Asheville, NC.