Welcome to Dead House

A.J. Pallante
Prof. Boland
English 329
27 January 2009
Autobiographical Essay # 2
In general, books affect me in the same manner as pharmaceutical medications do. Before opening a book, I experience mild mood swings, questioning the reasons behind why the selected text is imperative to my education. After I reconcile this with myself, I begin reading, still enraged over the justification. Depending on the dryness of the text, moments into this now enduring endeavor, I experience a slight headache accompanied by the need to curse the author of the book. Not too long after this point, it is unsafe for me to operate any machinery, as I become quite drowsy. In most cases, this is the relationship I have with literature. However, the first book that ever affected me in a way that did not contain these expected side effects of marked drowsiness and suicidal abandon was Welcome to Dead House by R.L. Stein. This book was the first book of his Goosebumps series.
I will never forget third grade for this reason. Until I was introduced to the Goosebumps series, I had no interest in reading. I had low reading comprehension scores, and was not interested in improving them. I hated reading. This was because everything I was forced to read was terribly boring to me. I neither cared, nor wanted to read about, anything that did not include some element of horror. Noticing this, my third grade teacher informed me about this “new book series” entitled Goosebumps. The very next week, I somehow got a hold of Welcome to Dead House, the first book in the series. I remember very little about the first few chapters. However, from the chapter about zombies eating the family that moved into the house by the cemetery on, I was hooked. Even today, I have a major zombie fetish. I will never forget the way I felt, as a child reading about things I could only draw in secret. I had finally found something that interested me that did not involve routine and curricular standards.
At this point, I could not read enough. From third grade through fifth grade, I read all sixty books in the original series. Religiously, each month, I would buy the newest book on the day it came out. This is where family was a big help. I would do chores throughout the month, and my allowance would come in the form of the new book every month. This minor obsession became quite problematic when it came to school. I would spend so much time reading these that I would neglect my school work. Eventually, once the series came to a conclusion, I lost interest in reading. I could not seem to find anything that satisfied my need for gore. I made my way through the typical Hot Topic authors of the genre: Rice, King and Barker. None of them quite interested me. I read “creepy” tales in elementary school. I did not want “creepy.” I wanted something ominous and brutal, something that would keep me awake at night. It was not until my freshman year in high school I found it.
I would not have survived high school if it were not for two things: music and H.P. Lovecraft. Throughout high school, hardcore bands gave me the strength to stand up straight when everyone else cowered behind false personas and hidden agendas. However, hardcore and what it means for me is a different topic completely. It was the literature of H.P. Lovecraft sparked my interest outside of concert venues. His descriptions and subject matter was the chilling intoxicant I had been searching for. Throughout high school, I could not get enough of his writings. I began listening to bands that were heavily influenced by his work. H.P. Lovecraft had become my new Goosebumps.
Unfortunately, that is where it ended. Once I began college, I was forced once again to read meaningless and boring literature. I quickly lost all interest in reading, and have not looked back. It is quite humorous to me now when people criticize me for not enjoying reading and writing. I cannot help but feel sorry for those who have simply accepted what has been forced upon them. It has helped me to identify how far individuals will go to convince themselves that they are actually happy with what they have been given, how far certain people will go to convince themselves that this is truly what they enjoy.