My dad picked up comics from the newsstand and kept them hidden until they were revealed on Summer Vacation.  The comics were provided to keep my brother and I silent during some grueling drives across the nation.  The vacations themselves have faded largely from memory,  but the comics,  read and reread and read yet again started to tattoo my brain.  My older brother was taken by the superheroes,  I was enchanted by the large goofy monsters,  the ridiculous names of the creatures and frequently heavy-handed morality lessons laid out.  It was in these monster books  I started to notice certain names associated with them:  Stan Lee,  Jack Kirby,  Steve Ditko. 

Marvel clearly had the better monsters with DC being aimed for a slightly older audience they were actually spookier stories.  Already hooked on the Saturday Afternoon Horror Show on TV,  I was delighted that Boris Karloff had his own comic book series as well.  

The impression was long lasting.  The picture shows the very comics I read as a child while driving cross country.  The copies my dad bought long shredded by time and reading,  but these I remember fondly.   Taboo being a particular favorite and a rare monster who appeared again in a later issue.  The bait was set and hook was in the form of the monster called The Thing, a member of the Fantastic Four.  I had found myself,  unwittingly, sucked into the universe of superheroes. 

Now, decades later,  I find myself bored with superheroes.  The love for horror comics has not faded.   Not nearly as impressed as I once was with giant talking piles of mud,  sinister trees with designs for conquest or alien ants eight stories tall,  I do like a good solid ghost story.  A haunting.  A mystery.  How about you?