I imagine it's safe to say that your typical Halloween haunted trail, no matter how elaborate—such as The Woods of Terror on Church Street, just north of Greensboro—is hardly the place your typical horror writer—such as I—might expect to autograph a passel of his scary books. Most of the attendees are there to get their pants scared off on the trail itself and aren't really seeking out the latest in literary horror cuisine. But much to my delight, it proved to an exceptional evening. Hung out in the "Horror Museum" for about four hours and devalued a regular crapload of books with my signature. Oh, these poor people; they have no idea....I didn't go out on the trail itself, not this time. However, the venue has been done up quite nicely since the last time I was out there—two years ago, I believe—and it really looks good. Before it's all over with, I might just have to pop out there again and see whether all those chainsaws really have been de-fanged. Some of the cute little teenage girls I encountered were horribly afraid they weren't.
I didn't have the heart to tell them they might actually escape unscathed. I mean, who wants to be a party pooper?
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