Driving home after seeing Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, I called my dad.
I asked about his day. He asked about mine. Then, as I drove through the night with a prickly awareness of my vacant backseat and my high beams lighting the road, we spoke of the stories.
In many ways, the nightmarish chronicles of Alvin Schwartz’s three-part book series feel inscrutably entangled with my dad, who would read them aloud to my sister and me. Tales of vengeful scarecrows, corpses refusing to rest, and calls coming from inside the house were staple celebrations of our household Halloweens.
Watching André Øvredal’s adaption, I was reminded of the many times I’d heard these stories before. Read more…
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