Fueled by fond library memories of my childhood perusing the shelves and grabbing the most intensely-shaded books with the brightest titles, I was thinking about the Ghosts of Fear Street series this morning. I read all of R. L. Stine's stuff throughout my childhood, stopping with a Nightmare Room book before I finally felt I'd outgrown his stuff. Goosebumps, Fear Street, Ghosts of Fear Street - - I loved them all. Why? Because they were mostly kids books that rarely had a happy ending, and it just felt scarier that way.
Some day I might revisit all of his books, though it'd be a monumental task. Whether they're easy 1-day reads or not, there are a lot of them. However, this one was one of my favorites. A kid has a creepy substitute teacher who has a particular fondness for him. Nostalgia is the main operator here, because I don't remember much. Except the chills that ran down my spine whenever the substitute teacher was described, and when her true identity was revealed in all it's - - gory. (Get it? Gory? Glory?)
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