While probably a quarter of what I read these days is labeled as a “young adult novel”, I hate to admit that I have not picked up a children’s book in quite some time. I remember back in second grade when I first became obsessed with reading, and readily found myself volunteering to read stories to kindergarten students, or taking over the responsibility of reading a bedtime story to my little brother instead of my parents. I am glad that the habit has stuck, and while I might not be a particularly fast reader, I find myself engrossed in various novels many times every week. Thinking back to those grade school years and when I first became an avid reader I can remember one author in particular whose work I found myself strangely addicted to: Roald Dahl. Dahl is afterall quite a bizarre writer, whose novels are classified as children’s stories yet have something sinister, terrifying, and electrifying in their pages that warrants this post being classified a horror of horrors. Read on as Lilith reminisces and pays homage to one of her favorite childhood horror authors the infamous Roald Dahl.

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