The American cultural juggernaut continues to dominate much of global culture especially the Anglosphere. Many non-Americans know all about the traditions which accompany certain holidays celebrated in the United States (US), such as the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving.

But an American holiday export which is becoming firmly implanted in the South African psyche is Halloween, celebrated at the end of this month. October is now, for many Americans: “Spooky Season,” where people look to be frightened and unnerved, whether through movies, television shows, or books.

And if you are of a similar bent here are five novels to get you into the mood of your own South African: “Spooky Season”.

Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House remains a masterclass in dread that rises like damp and gets into the bones. The famous line: “Whatever walked there, walked alone,” lands like a cold draught and Jackson never raises her literary voice, she simply tightens the screws around guilt, longing, and suggestion. The result is terror without theatrics, a reminder that the scariest rooms are expertly furnished with your own thoughts. While it is now rightfully a classic Jackson’s take on the haunted house story cliché still feels fresh today.

Bram Stoker’s Dracula still feels unnervingly modern because it feeds on letters, diaries, and clippings, the very stuff of daily life. “Listen to them, the children of the night,” the Count whispers, and suddenly wind, wolves, and superstition fuse into a single living menace. Read today, it doubles as a parable about the way fear travels across borders and into bedrooms, the importance of love, and about the strength that ordinary people find when they stand together. It is no wonder that Dracula remains one of horror’s enduring villains.

Stephen King’s Pet Sematary is a novel about grief and the fears every parent has wearing a monster mask. “Sometimes dead is better,” warns the old neighbour of the protagonists, and the book proceeds to test how far love will go when it refuses to accept limits. King’s gift is to make the supernatural feel domestic, so the creak on the stairs and the tiny shoe on the mat become unbearable. It is heartbreaking, disturbing, and unforgettable because it understands that loss can make good people do terrible things.

John Langan’s The Fisherman hooks you with grief and reels you into something ancient and tidal. Two widowers find solace in early mornings and long casts, bonding over fishing, having both lost their wives and families. They follow a rumour to Dutchman’s Creek, a legendary fishing stream which is said to bring back lost loved ones. The novel braids campfire legend with cosmic unease until the river feels bottomless, and it asks what we risk when we try to bargain with loss. If you finish this book without feeling unsettled you probably do not have a soul.

Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s Mexican Gothic refreshes the haunted-house novel with a distinctly Mexican setting. Noemí Taboada travels to a crumbling hilltop mansion to check on her cousin, and meets a family steeped in secrecy and control. The walls seem damp and listening, dreams sour into waking visions, and the décor carries a sickly bloom of mould. The result is stylish and unsettling, a story where a sharp young woman holds her nerve and pushes back.

These books earn their place because they haunt the mind with ideas as much as images, and because they leave you slightly changed, strangely steadier, when you emerge from the dark.