Real Tales of Gothic Creep into Eric Rickstad's Writing

HALLIE EPHRON: Settling in to read one of Eric Rickstad’s Canaan Crime series novels is like accepting an invitation to listen to a scary tale, told as the embers of a campfire fade. Reviewers have called his novels “diabolical," "haunting," and (my favorite) "creepy." They're also praised as literary page turners.

Even the title of his brand new series novel, What Remains of Her,  and the cover with its cottage surrounded by dark woods and shadow, conjure ghost-like apparitions. Today Eric talks about where his inspiration comes from.

GATHER 'ROUND THE CAMPFIRE...

 

ERIC RICKSTAD: I’m often asked what inspires me to write crime and suspense novels so steeped in elements of the Gothic and horror traditions. Why do my books possess the haunting and claustrophobic atmosphere of isolated woods, fog, snow and rain, of derelict cabins and farms, cobwebbed attics and dirt cellars?

It is true that as a boy, I devoured the dark tales of Poe, King, Jackson, Hawthorne, Irving, and so many others. Who of us does not love a good old macabre tale of murder and terror set in the woods or an isolated town on the edge of the woods? These books influenced me, but it was an actual place that most spurs me. Since grade school, when the writing fever first infected me, I’ve written about these themes because of one locale.

Growing up in Vermont, I was drawn—one might even say lured—to the desolate and bucolic woods of the Northeast Kingdom. The Kingdom is the northeastern most region of the state, a remote area with Canada as its northern border, and the Connecticut River and New Hampshire as its eastern border. A region with town populations of 62 and 24 and 106. A place that, even today, may not have cell phone service for a 500 square miles. A place where if one gets in trouble, help is not coming for a long time, and perhaps far too late.

As a boy, I explored the Kingdom’s woods and its abandoned farms and mills, its hidden streams and crumbling stone walls. Up there, even on the sunniest days, the woods could remain in a perpetual dusk, their ancient cedar, spruce and hemlock trees blotting out the sunlight.

The Kingdom was a place of mystery and tranquility; a place where I believed nothing bad could befall me. This was a naïve notion, of course. Nature itself can offer up its dose of danger. In an instant, a calm sunny day turns fierce, the temperature plummets, a lacerating wind drives rain or snow sideways, a fog settles in, and a person is left at the mercy of now deadly elements on what was supposed to be an ideal day for a nice hike. And, of course, wherever people reside, danger lurks; as remote as the Kingdom is, it has its share of people who have committed heinous crimes.

Even as that naïve boy exploring The Kingdom, I could sense, as dusk fell on the Kingdom or the skies blackened with storm clouds, that the woods changed when shadows fell across the land. The beauty of the woods was overtaken by an ominous and haunted air. I would feel as if I were being watched and followed, as if something awful was always just about to happen to me. Within the pastoral woods, there now lurked potential violence, even death. 

This is an old story, perhaps the oldest. The woods have always frightened us. And that fear triggers two other elemental and primal fears:  fear of the dark,  and fear of the unknown. Put all three together and…what dark tales can unfold. From classics such as Hansel and Gretel, Red Riding Hood, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, to In the Woods and In a Dark, Dark Wood, we’ve told stories of the woods and our fear of it and the unknown. At times, we also seem to revel in that fear of what perils the woods may hold for us, whether it be another human, a beast, or a legendary ghoul of our collective imagination. We understand that no place, however beautiful, is safe.

In The Silent Girls I wrote:  

Violence lurked here as it did the world over... [Rath] had always wondered why people in rural areas, when interviewed after horrific violence, said, "This isn't supposed to happen here." As if violence had forgotten to keep itself within some prescribed geographic boundary.

This unpleasant truth, that acts of malevolence and violence can strike any of us, anywhere, at anytime, even in the most idyll settings, allows me to examine the nature of good and evil, of suspense and dread and tension, all of which are at the heart of crime novels, as well as  horror and Gothic novels.

I don’t go about the writing of my books with a genre in mind, I don’t even agree with the concept or definition of “genre.” Far too many wonderful books overlap. What I write are dark, gritty, realistic tales set in or near the woods, hopefully with original prose and twists, and with characters to whom readers can relate.

As a reader, I’ve always loved staying up late at night, immersed in novels that scare me and make me wonder what caused that creak on the stairs and if I left a window open. It harkens back to those nights I camped with friends in the woods of the Northeast Kingdom.
Of all the stories we could tell in the dark night of the woods, stories to calm our nerves out there in the dark woods, we chose scary stories. We told and listened to ghost tales and gruesome horror stories around the campfire, our faces carved into macabre masks by the flames’ light and the night’s shadows, our spines stiffening at a crack of the branch.

We loved telling those tales. I still love telling them. How, as a writer, could I possibly resist writing about all of this rich terrain I adore and know so well?

HALLIE: Yikes. Just reading this in broad daylight had me spooked.  

I vividly remember ghost stories told around a campfire Anyone else know the one that ends,"Bring me back my bones!"

What's really scary is when a truly spooky tale feels as if it could happen, which are the kind of tales that Eric tells. 

Today we're sharing memories of tales told around a campfire, and what spooks us most.