Folklore is the wellspring from which almost all horror derives. Many of the genre’s most familiar stock figures evolved directly from those superstitious yarns of old, passed down by our primitive ancestors as warnings about the dangers lurking in the dark bowers of man’s domain.

Often unfairly maligned as overwrought, melodramatic, and campy, what we now refer to as Gothic literature began in 1764 with the publication of Horace Walpole’s seminal novel, The Castle of Otranto. Wildly popular with 18th-century audiences, the book created many of the conventions still associated with t

Love. It’s the one thing nearly all of us strive for, more than any personal achievement or career ambition.

All fictional works are voyages of discovery. The audience embarks upon imaginary worlds, eager yet unknowing where its creators will lead them.

In an unstable and chaotic universe, the only constant is change. From the collapse of galaxies to the passing of seasons, the mutation of bacteria and the splitting of atoms, cycles of birth, death, and renewal envelop us.

Transformation. In many ways it’s the theme common to all horror tales. Through film and the printed page, the human body—nude, dead, mutilated or deformed—has evolved into the oft-fetishized narrative centerpiece, whether it be a lycanthrope’s bestial metamorphosis, Dr. Jekyll becoming Mr.

Rising from the coastal plains of the American Eastern seaboard, the Appalachians are made up of a broken chain of peaks, ridges and dissected plateaus extending from Newfoundland to Alabama.

Dan·dy (dan’dē), n, pl. -dies, adj. -di·er, -diest. —n. 1. a person excessively concerned about their clothes and appearance; fop. 2. something or someone of exceptional quality. —adj. 3. characteristic of a dandy; foppish.

Poetry is the music of the written word.

Ah, the travails of post-adolescent youth. Graduating high school, (hopefully) moving out of your parent’s home and spreading those metaphorical wings to soar freely on your own.