Answer this one question and you can write a nerve-racking horror story.

Sometimes it just takes the question of a child to figure out how to come up with ideas as an author.

My wife and I have no children of our own, but we love the children of our friends.

Parents often have a hard time finding time for themselves. Evening invitations to friends they often can’t perceive together, because the children are still too small to stay at home alone.

In such cases, my wife and I like to step in. It was the same some time ago when we got a call from a good friend. She and her husband were invited to a birthday party, but the party didn’t start until seven in the evening.

They asked us if we could stay with their son until eleven and send him to bed on time.

Of course, we said yes. We really like the little one. He’s funny, clever and full of ideas. And the best thing is: He likes us too.

One week later, we rang the bell at our friends. It was the evening of the party, and they thanked us exuberantly before they left.

Finally, our friend whispered something to me: “We told him you were writing books. He’s writing now, too, and I think he has a question for you.”

I smiled and nodded: “He can ask me anything,” I said. I was curious about what he wanted to know from me.

The boy immediately took us under his wing. First, he showed us his newest toys. Then he asked me if I knew Minecraft, and when I said no, he took out the tablet and a thick book to teach me. He hadn’t said a word about his writing yet.

Maybe he’s too shy, I thought and decided to address the subject myself.

“I heard you are writing a book,” I said to him.

He looked at me with big eyes. “How do you know that,” he asked me.

“Your mama told me,” I replied. “It was all right, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Should I read something to you,” he offered, and we agreed enthusiastically. So he got a big notebook and opened it. With a grave face, he explained:

“This is a creepy story.”

Then he read aloud. It was unbelievably sweet and intelligent. My wife and I had to laugh heartily in many places because his imagination was great. After a few minutes, he came to a passage where one of the children from the story went into an empty classroom because he thought he had seen someone go in there. But the room was empty.

We waited anxiously to see how it would go on. But the boy let the book sink and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not further yet,” he said regretfully.

“And how should it go on,” my wife asked eagerly.

“Well, now something creepy is supposed to happen,” he said uncertainly. “But I don’t know what.

“Hmmm’, I did. “Don’t you have any idea?”

He shook his head. Then he looked at me hopefully. “May I ask you something?”

Of course, he was allowed. That’s what I had been waiting for the whole evening.

“How do you even write something creepy?” he wanted to know about my surprise. “You’ve written creepy things before. How did you know that they were scary?

I had to laugh. I didn’t expect this question, but it was good. How did I know that what I wrote was creepy? I had never consciously thought about it before. But now there was my darling child and expected an answer. A small, aspiring author of the next generation needed my help.

So I thought about it for a few moments. Of course, I knew the answer. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to write two horror novels and over twenty bloody thrillers. I just had never formulated it because I had never had to explain it to anyone.

Finally, I remembered the answer. I formulated it as child-friendly as possible and replied: “Actually, you only have to ask yourself what you are most afraid of yourself. And then you write about how exactly that happens to someone else. If you do that, it’s creepy for the readers, too.”

His eyes grew big, and a bright smile spread across his face.

“That’s great,” he shouted and immediately grabbed the pen. “Now I know how to go on.”

“And? I asked amusedly. “How does it go on?

“A zombie is coming right now,” he replied utterly seriously. “I am terrified of zombies.

Then he set to work eagerly.

How it went on afterward

Soon it was time for me to start my next book. It was about a serial killer again, and I thought about what specialty the killer should have this time.

Then I remembered the advice I had given the son of our friends and asked myself: “What am I most afraid of myself?

I didn’t think about what I was most afraid of in life in general, but about what kind of death I found most terrible.

I didn’t have to think long because there was something I had to think about compulsively for many years: How terrible would it be to burn?

With that, I had my subject. Two months later, I brought my thriller onto the market. It’s about a serial killer who burns his victims at the stake.

The reactions of my readers tell me that the advice I gave the little boy worked. They agreed that it was the most oppressive book they had ever read of me.

I had taken my fears and worst nightmares, made them come true on paper and got so involved in the worst scenes that I suffered physically.

I wrote an excellent book. My fear is still there, but since I wrote it down to the last, it no longer torments me with nightmares.

My readers have them now. I don’t want them back.

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