When I die and am admitted to Horror Heaven, I would not be surprised to see James Herbert sitting on a majestic throne, smiling benevolently at me. Even while he is scheming of new ways to scare the hell out of me.

Damn it, I don't see James Herbert getting the respect in the community that he deserves. This guy is a horror fiction industry unto himself. Maybe saying that he's God is an exaggeration, but it's not that much of one. Not to one such as myself who worships fiction of the macabre.

To put it into perspective, Herbert's debut novel, The Rats, was published in the same year that Stephen King's Carrie came out. I like them both, but The Rats has more energy, more gleeful carnage, and is more terrifying than King's story.

People think of James Herbert and a lot of times they think of Literary Nasties. Sort of a fictive

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