If I had to choose a single film whose impact was the most potent and defining influence on me as an author and film director, I wouldn't have to think twice. There could be no debate: it was David Lynch's Mulholland Drive.


Having been a fan of Lynch since Twin Peaks made its television debut in 1990, I knew very well that he was capable of conjuring terrifying spectacles. But while Twin Peaks only scratched the surface of something in me which I longed to know better, Mulholland Drive tickled that very same elusive thing on a much deeper spiritual level. 


How could something so seemingly nonsensical and esoteric be so profoundly unnerving? I'm hard pressed to think of a scene in any other film more visceral and frightening than the Winkie's Diner scene from Mulholland Drive, the analysis of which has inspired prolific internet speculation and yet, to defy definition, Lynch clearly had tapped into something both sinister and meaningful beyond words.


My first introduction to a non-linear narrative was Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five, and I've favored the storytelling device in books and films ever since. In Mulholland Drive, Lynch (a master of meditation and metaphysics) takes non-linear to the next level, giving rise to the extra-dimensional. The layers unfold into intangible realms, obscure places that feelings call home. At first viewing, I couldn't begin to guess how he was able to achieve that, but wanting to learn and master the technique became my grail.


Many other directors inspire me in the art of abstraction – Jordan Peele, Terry Gilliam, Christopher Nolan, to name a few. But for me, Lynch is king of his craft, in a way that none others can approximate. And yes, I’ve seen Lost Highway, but maybe by way of its anima, its feminine touch, for me Mulholland Drive takes the cake.

Are some beliefs worth the risk of losing it all? How far can you go before there's no turning back? Special Agent Rochelle Roy must confront skepticism and family tensions when four sex trafficking victims claim to be the reincarnated souls of women who died during the Salem witch trials. A paranormal drama, featuring a diverse cast, which takes place in the aftermath of human trafficking, touching how it impacts both victims and law enforcement, and feeds into cycles of trauma, addiction, spiritual crisis and transcendence.


Excerpt from Prologue:


I had met Ms. Titi Beaumond and her cousin Ms. Rochelle Roy more than a decade ago, when I was studying journalism at the University of New Orleans. Back when we met, she was known locally as Madame T, which was the name of her Voodoo/Hoodoo practice on Bourbon Street for readings, rootwork and spells. Many years after we had become good friends, and knowing me to be a writer, she asked me to put together a complete accounting of some paranormal events she and Rochelle had experienced which took place in the fall of 2016, two months before the United States of America would hold a historic election between the first female candidate for president in U.S. history and the first male candidate for president in U.S. history to run without any prior political experience.

I like to be scared. I’m not alone in this, not by a long shot. A 2019 survey by the market research company OnePoll showed sixty-two percent of the population enjoys frights, thrills, and chills. Some people satisfy this need for terror through rollercoasters, or rock climbing, or becoming a parent. Being a parent, I should know. I’m not a potential bodily-harm thrill seeker; I look for my horror in books, movies, television, and hanging out in cemeteries (nice places, and quite peaceful).


However, there wasn’t just one bit of media that pushed me into becoming a horror writer—the horror genre came at me from many directions: Kaiju monsters, the classic Universal monsters, the Mugato from the original Star Trek series episode A Private Little War, and newspaper accounts of Bigfoot. Yes, in the early 1970s, the United States press printed serious newspaper articles about sightings of Sasquatch. I wish it still did.


As much as I enjoyed them all, none of the movies, TV shows, or Bigfoot reports caused fear, that deep, primal terror that makes the heart pound and the bladder weak. Enter the 1973 made-for-television movie Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark (called Nightmare in Europe).


The movie stars Kim Darby as Sally Farnham and Jim Hutton as her husband Alex. The couple inherits, and begins to restore, a Victorian mansion, when Sally discovers a locked door. After unlocking the door, the Farnhams find a fireplace sealed by brickwork. When Sally receives subtle hints (high, whispering voices imploring “Sally, set us free”), she has the fireplace opened, which releases small demonic entities that terrorize the couple. I won’t go into any more of the movie. Sure, it’s forty-nine years old, but Jason is always one-hundred percent spoiler-free.


Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark did what Godzilla, Frankenstein, and The Wolf Man couldn’t. It scared the hell out of me—and I wanted more. (What were my parents thinking, letting an eight-year-old watch that kind of movie? Eh. I’m happy they did.)


For years after, I devoured all the Lovecraft, Howard, Jackson, Mathewson, and King I could, piling on my horror needs with the movies of Carpenter, Craven, Hitchcock, Romero, Cronenberg, Scott, etc. So, it wasn’t just one catalyst, it was many. However, I credit Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark with showing me how fun horror can be.


This all led me to where I am, writing about the unknown, the creepy, the sinister. I’m so happy to share my stories with you. Happy reading.


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Beware of what lurks in the corn.
Fairies don’t exist. At least that’s what Thomas Cavanaugh’s parents say. But the events of that one night, when he follows a fairy into the cornfield on his parents’ farm, prove them wrong. What seems like a destructive explosion was, Thomas knows, an encounter with Dauðr, a force that threatens to destroy the fairy’s world and his sanity.

Years later, after a troubled childhood and a series of dead-end jobs, he is still haunted by what he saw that night. One day he crosses paths with a beautiful young woman and a troubled young man, soon realizing that he first met them as a kid while under psychiatric care after his encounters in the cornfield. Has fate brought them together? Are they meant to join forces to save the fairy’s world and their own? Or is one of them not who they claim to be?

[An] unholy mash-up of creepy, high-body-count paranormal thrills. —Publishers Weekly
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[A] haunting, unsettling, gripping novel [with] such original, disturbing beasts—I was hypnotized by their presence on the page.—Richard Thomas, Bram Stoker and Shirley Jackson nominee
Norse mythology gives this story . . . a unique touch [with] an exhilarating conclusion.—Booklist

BIO
Jason Offutt grew up in a haunted farmhouse in rural Missouri. Not that the rest of the family knew (or would admit) the ghost of a little boy haunted the house; he was the only one who saw the full-bodied apparition, after all. Over the years Jason’s fascination grew for horror and dark fantasy where things never are what they seem. The Girl in the Corn is Jason’s first horror/dark fantasy novel. He is best known for science fiction, such as So You Had to Build a Time Machine, Bad Day for the Apocalypse, and How to Kill Monsters Using Common Household Objects. Jason teaches university journalism and cooks for his family.