Aidan wanted a scary book. Which was fine with us; I loved scary books as a kid, too. And, frankly, asking for a scary book is quite possibly the least disturbing thing Aidan has said or done in the last week.
So we ran a search on the library website:
Which returned the following:
Huh. Clearly, a more specific search string is needed.
So I tried again:
Poems. I asked for “ghost stories” and the library gave me poems.
Now, listen. It’s really not my thing to say anything that begins with, “When I was your age…”
When I was a kid and wanted a scary book, I, too, went to my library. The elementary school library, in fact, which was hosting a book sale. With dollar bills crunched into my sweaty little hand, I marched myself into the library and with the blessing of the librarian purchased this book:
Look at that book. Just look at it. The cover alone had me shitting my pants.
That’s a scary book.
May also involve shitting in one’s pants, but scary it is not.