The most deliciously dark horror novels that are more sad than scary

I have never encountered a story that depicts the dread and heartbreak of growing up more authentically than Black has done in the pages of this Newberry-awarded novel for children.

It is both as brutal and as delicate as the creepy antique doll (which may or may not be haunted) at the center of the story. Three kids head out on their own, determined to lay the spirit trapped within the doll to rest while the all-to-real fears and quiet dangers of their regular lives snap at their heels.

It is a book of loss, acceptance, and courage that will remain nestled in my heart for life. I am literally tearing up right now as I think of it.

Neil Gaiman has probably had more of an impact on my brain and my writing than any other author. Selecting just one of his many incredible "dark and sad" books was a real challenge for me.

I settled on this one, in part because it is the perfect bookend to my previous recommendation, Doll Bones, in that it eloquently expresses the quiet joys, fears, and sorrows of childhood, as seen through the eyes of an adult who knows full well the meaning of loss, and the cost of things we can barely recognize, much less understand, when we are young.

Like the narrator of the book, I feel the ever-widening gulf between myself and my own memories. I also see it beginning for my offspring, who have both recently entered adulthood, and my heart breaks for all three of us.

I found this story collection by Machado to be not only dark and sad, but wickedly funny. How often does our laughter turn to tears, or vice versa? These things are not mutually exclusive, and Machado lives within that uncomfortably liminal space with obvious relish.

I also appreciate it's unabashed feminism. So much of the horror genre is seen through a male lens that leaves me feeling cold and left out. In Machado's writing, I feel not only seen but celebrated, and I will happily live within her ferociously accepting stories of darkness as many times as she offers them.

I really don't know how Catriona Ward manages to balance the languid sadness and unrelenting tension so well.

Ward's profound empathy for every single character, no matter how flawed, is what twists your heart. At the same time, you feel as though you're on a roller coaster barreling at breakneck speed through pitch-black tunnels.

I wasn't always sure I understood what was going on from moment to moment, and that seems very much by design because, wow, what a twist! And the deeply felt depiction of the characters never made me feel like I was truly lost. I will indulge a great deal of mystery as long as it is presented by such a steady and skillful hand.

I wanted to put a graphic novel on this list because gosh do I love 'em! In fact, it was tough to narrow it down to just one. And in the interest of full disclosure, I should probably say that Stephanie Hans also did an incredible cover for one of my GI Joe novels. I hasten to add, however, that this happened after I had already fallen head over heels for this series.

Gillen described this series as "Goth Jumanji," and I get why he chose such a pithy, clever pitch. It gives you a really hooky snapshot of the vibe. But it really doesn't do justice to the sublime, brutal sadness of this work. It is stunningly ambitious yet deeply human. The art is utterly gorgeous, even when it is also distressingly grotesque.

On a more personal note, I found the depiction of Ash, the primary protagonist who is wrestling with questions of gender identity throughout the series, to be exquisitely rendered in all its complexity and vulnerability.