I never met Charles L. Grant, but that never kept me from knowing him. Such is the way with writers.
I can’t remember just when it was that I heard about Grant’s work, but I distinctly recall the feeling of immense bonding that overcame me when I did. Having begun my journey out of the juvenile jungle populated by terrormeisters like R. L. Stine and Bruce Coville, I started breaching the territory of Grown-Up Horror in my young adulthood, first meeting the field’s most prominent generals like King and Koontz before finding out about other commanders of noble and dubious rank like Rice, Laymon, Straub, Saul, Brite, and Barker. Somewhere in that heady mix of invigorating discovery came Charles L. Grant.