There's something in human nature that says we need to have at least one symbolic place where chaos and dark desires can live.

I enjoy a special collegiality among other writers in the thriller community. They call me 'Canada's scariest writer,' and I love that.

There are things in this world most of us never see,” I find myself saying. “We’ve trained ourselves not to see them, or try to pretend we didn’t if we do. But there’s a reason why, no matter how sophisticated or primitive, every religion has demons.

Some call it prayer. And as with all prayers, it comes down to either asking someone else to fight for you, or asking yourself to fight.

Cancer is a kind of possession, too. And like a demon, before it claims you, it nibbles away at who you are, erases the face you have always presented to the world to show the unwanted thing inside.

But they are only the faces of the dead. Coming into detail as we hurtle toward them. They see us, too. Fingers scratching at the ice’s rough underside, desperate to be the first to pull us down.

How do I shoot?” “Your finger through there. Feel that? But you only pull if you’re sure that everything’s right.” “Why?” “Because you can’t take it back.” She.

Darkness isn’t the matter from which the Antichrist was formed, but intelligence. Foreknowledge.

I am well and truly messed up.

There’s no reality but versions of reality.