I know I’m not alone in having been a child whose love of all things related to horror fiction was incomprehensible to the majority of people in their lives. If I had a dime for ever person who said, “I don’t know how you can like that stuff,” I’d be regarded as an independently wealthy eccentric with a passion for community involvement, instead of a mentally ill, subsisting individual with a troubling outlook on the world I live in.

Growing up, I always responded, “I just like it. I love the imagination and artistry that goes into it.” This was not a lie. I have always respected the artistry and…