Horror isn’t always what you think it is—it comes in many shapes and colours, and often when we least expect it. I hopped on a plane to Transylvania, over 5,000 miles away, to teach a horror writing workshop in the shadow of Dracula’s castle. It was nine and a half hours from Chicago to Dusseldorf, then a few more hours to Bucharest, followed by a three hour drive to Bran, out into the country—hills and trees surrounding our hotel. I remember standing at baggage claim, not sure if I should step outside the security to find my friends, my ride, my phone not working right. I asked a man who spoke little English, if I could get back inside if I went outside to look, and he said, “No.”