"She could have told me the truth, that the paint was graffiti. Instead, she told me the rocks were a species of monster called bloodsuckers, and that at night they came alive to eat children who were foolish enough to stray outside after dark. I believed her with all my heart. Why wouldn't I? She was my nan!"
"On the drive home, I asked my mum if bloodsuckers were real. Not only were they real, she told me, but she'd been attacked by one when she was a little girl and only narrowly escaped. My mum and nan knew what all parents eventually learn: traumatising kids can be fun. Mum had her own share of tall tales as well. She liked the kind where the car breaks down on a lonely forest road late at night; there's a mysterious sound outside and a maniac waiting just beyond the trees."
"My wife's childhood was filled with scares as well. Her father, Everett De Roche, was a screenwriter who made a career out of writing horror movies such as Razorback, Patrick and Long Weekend. Once, he secretly took a picture from the wall, scanned it, added red eyes and fangs, and hung it back up. He waited weeks for someone to notice and was delighted when the house erupted in screams."
One earliest memory involves standing in a Preston playground at about four years old, staring at three rocks splattered with red spray paint. A grandmother claimed the rocks were a species of monster called bloodsuckers that came alive at night to eat children who strayed outside after dark, prompting wholehearted belief. A mother reinforced the fear with a tale of a childhood attack, and both parents used frightening tales for amusement. Those stories made the ordinary feel magical, taught that shadows can be explored if one knows the way back, and encouraged a taste for scary storytelling. A wife's father wrote horror films and staged pranks with altered photographs to frighten the household.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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