Growing up in the suburbs, most of my summers were spent running around my neighborhood with my childhood best friend. We’d ride our bikes, eat honeysuckle out of our neighbor’s yard, and pretend to be Power Rangers. However, I’d have to find my own fun if my friend wasn’t available. But there’s only so much TV a kid can watch before getting bored, and only so many times I could dress up our elderly family poodle without him getting pissed at me.
One particular summer, I remember reading a book I had picked up from that school year’s scholastic book fair. This book was The Ghost’s Grave by Peg Kehret. It featured Josh, a kid spending the summer at his Aunt’s house in a small mining town where he had no friends (a relatable premise for a little young, bored me). Things get spooky when he discovers a treehouse in the woods, and a one-legged miner’s ghost appears to him, asking the boy to reunite his leg with the rest of his body. Once Josh gets up the courage to dig up the grave, he discovers a box of money buried along with the leg. A conspiracy unravels, and Josh finds that the money was meant for an animal shelter and was stolen by the manager of the town’s bank.
I think the intrigue of the conspiracy was very new and enticing to little Sebastian. As an avid true crime fanatic, I can see the threads of my obsession in The Ghost’s Grave. A decades-old crime solved by an unlikely hero, what could be more captivating for someone who went on to listen to every Buzzfeed Unsolved video ever to be released? The book also sets up the conflict in an easy way for a kid to understand: stealing from cute, defenseless animals is bad.
My memories of reading The Ghost’s Grave are also special because it was an excuse to snuggle with our old poodle. Most days, he slept in the warm sunbeam from our glass front door. I would bring most of the contents of my bed – my comforter, as many blankets as I could find, several pillows, and my favorite stuffed animal – and put them on the tile next to Napoleon to make a little nest to lay in while we hung out together. This was one of the few activities we did together that he tolerated because he was old and crotchety, and I was very annoying.
There is something special about a book you can’t put down, and The Ghost’s Grave is the one that stands out from my childhood. It was probably one of the first horror books I read on my own. I think I appreciated the freedom to read the book at my own pace and imagine what I might do if I had a friendly ghost friend. When I reflect on my younger self, I’m surprised at how much I loved horror books because I was also vehemently afraid of the dark and the concept of monsters in my closet or under my bed. Admittedly, I slept with a nightlight until halfway through high school.
The Ghost’s Grave was undoubtedly a step in turning me into the horror freak I am today. Some other steppingstones for me were R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps, and Neal Shusterman’s Unwind series. As a teenager, some of the first movies I tested my courage with were One Missed Call (yes, it was the shitty American version, and yes, I was still scared by it), Insidious, and whatever Paranormal Activity movie was currently showing at my local theater. As an adult, it’s much harder to find the time to read, and I spend much more time watching horror films than reading. But I envy the summers little Sebastian spent curled up in a nest in a sunbeam.