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Eliza O’Donnell, Loyola University

This essay examines how the themes 

of domesticity, gender, and the function of 

bodies within the horrific realms of haunted 

domiciles function in three of comic and 

graphic novel author Emily Carroll’s short 

graphic horror stories. The essay discusses 

the short digital horror comic “All Along 

the Wall” (2014), as well as the short horror 

comics “A Lady’s Hands are Cold” and “The 

Nesting Place,” both published in Carroll’s 

2014 collection Through the Woods. Each 

of these stories presents the reader with a 

ghost and/or haunting that has an uncon-

ventional relationship to corporeality, as well 

as with a female protagonist who is preyed 

upon in a domestic setting.

Hauntings of Bodies, Selves, 
and Houses: 
A Comparative Reading of 
Three of Emily Carroll’s Short 
Horror Comic Stories

Definitions of ghosts vary widely across cul-

tures, epochs, and scholastic theorizations, 

but the basis of these definitions and the 

pursuits of categorization they entail identify 

that ghosts are entities without bodies, and 

moreover, that ghosts often covet a corporeal 

form in some way. The severing of the connec-

tion between the spirit and the flesh begets 

ghosts—but what comes about when that 

connection is not quietly severed by death, 

but is instead shaped and consumed by desire 

and monstrosity? Comic artist and graph-

ic novelist Emily Carroll explores the ghastly 

possibilities of corporeal existence for ghosts in 

many of her comics, in both digital and print 

media. Her 2014 digital horror comic “All Along 

the Wall” presents a metanarrative of an ado-

lescent girl telling a child a scary story with an 

unsatisfying (but implicitly sinister) ending while they both hide away from a Christmas party in 

the adolescent’s English country home. The story and characters in this short story comic 



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precede those of the final comic in Carroll’s original short horror comic collection Through the 

Woods (2014), titled “The Nesting Place.” “The Nesting Place” follows a teenage girl who, shortly af-

ter her mother’s death, visits her older brother in his fiancée’s country home and quickly becomes 

embroiled in a game of cat and mouse with an eldritch body-snatching parasite. The themes of 

preyed-upon bodies and the ghosts of the past selves they produce also direct the plot of anoth-

er story in Through the Woods, “A Lady’s Hands are Cold.” Carroll’s aptitude for troping fairy tale 

motifs shines in this story of a young aristocratic woman whose male-dictated marriage to a rich 

widower leads to a deadly discovery when she acts upon the pleas of the mournful song that she 

hears from the walls of her new home each night. Here I argue that each of these works presents 

the reader with a haunting by a ghost defined not by a broken connection to body and place, 

but by a corrupting usurpation of that connection by predatory forces that share a home with 

the ghost in bodily and architectural domiciles. Carroll’s use of domesticity guides this predatory, 

corrupted ghostliness, and also makes space in her stories’ houses for a transformative character-

istic of ephemerality present in not only the ghostly subject of each of the three stories’ hauntings, 

but also the object(s) of the hauntings—which, of course, share domestic space with that which 

haunts them. 

 Understanding the nature and function of the type of ghosts that define the hauntings in 

these three stories prompts an exploration of the presence of more traditionally defined ghosts, 

as well as how each of them expresses and incorporates the quality of ephemerality. Ghosts that 

are spirits dispossessed of bodies come up explicitly only in “All Along the Wall,” wherein a child 

frames the metanarrative by asking for a ghost story and noting the distinct absence of ghosts in 

the story told to her. While the other two stories do not outright mention or depict ghosts of this 

type, both contain qualities of haunting and spiritual presences. “The Nesting Place” brings in a 

variety of supernatural and/or paranormal creatures, the most relevant of which certainly possess 

haunting qualities and distinctly bring up the question of how spirits or souls figure into their ex-

istence. The feature creature of “A Lady’s Hands are Cold” seems at first to be a ghostly presence, 

and although the twist reveal of the story complicates that, the creature and the girl it desires 

both retain a certain ghostly ephemerality. While identifying the presence of more conventional 

ghosts in these stories is a complex endeavor, each story plays upon aspects and ideas central to 

ghosts and ghostliness in order to present its own ideas on hauntings and monstrosity. 

 With “All Along the Wall,” Carroll constructs a textual entry point for these three stories of 

domestically twisted hauntings, succinctly tying her ghostly monster to the characters’ domestic 

interior. The three-page digital comic follows Lottie, a child of about ten, as she sneaks upstairs 



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from a Christmas party hosted in a lavish countryside house. She steps curiously into a darkened 

bedroom, and its owner—Rebecca, the young teenage daughter of the party’s hostess—soon 

discovers her. Lottie promptly requests a ghost story, a Christmas Eve tradition, and Rebecca 

gladly tells her a “just like you/[…] just like this one” story of a girl in a house frightened at night by 

a crawling, scuttling creature that creeps along her bedroom walls, ending with the reveal that 

the creature took over the girl’s body from right under her mother’s nose (1-2). The story dissat-

isfies Lottie, who says it was not truly scary and asks, “Where was the ghost?” to which Rebecca 

calmly replies, “There was no ghost” (3). Both girls are correct in the absence of the traditional type 

of ghost Lottie visualizes, but as Lottie tells Rebecca that she knows she went missing last sum-

mer, getting lost in a cave in the nearby woods for three days—“YOUR mother told [my mother] 

ALL about it”—Carroll makes only the reader aware that the enfleshed, ephemeral being from 

Rebecca’s story took over her body (3). Rebecca is the girl who has been preyed upon in her own 

bedroom, under her mother’s not-watchful-enough eye, but what made Rebecca’s body its home 

is not even human. Moreover, the way Carroll depicts this creature unfurling and arching over 

Lottie’s cross-legged form in a stretching web of red threads indicates its predatory intentions, 

showing that it now wants to extend that home into another girl’s body (3). The presentation of 

the scary story narrative and its metanarrative twin, the twist reveal of what truly happened to Re-

becca, both integrate an element of domestic horror, tinged with simultaneous ephemerality and 

ghastly realness, into the story. 

 As with all three of these stories, this first of two narratives to feature the creature to which 

Carroll gives no name but which can accurately be called the “red-thread creature” contains nu-

merous layers of domestic, feminized, bodily, and ghostly horror. Each of these elements operates 

with a strength of its own in “All Along the Wall,” but they are all contained within, and therefore 

tie in with and play into, the horror of the domestic sphere. The narrative and illustrations do not 

demarcate a specific time setting for this story, but, judging from the domestic trappings and the 

characters’ dress, it is within a decade or two of the turn of the twentieth century that Lottie has 

this near-fateful visit during a Christmas celebration. Writing on the use of the emblematic haunt-

ed house in media, Elizabeth Wilson finds that “fear has a location and, in a newly urban society, 

fear migrated to the built environment” (113). Though this story exists far from a city environment, 

the active horror that takes place within it is contained neatly within the bedroom walls of a state-

ly country manor—a place of safety for the preyed-upon human inhabitants and domestic guests, 

as well as the creature trying to establish its existence in its own carved-out space. 

 In line with the expectations and potential subversions of her genre, Carroll chooses well 



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in selecting a young adolescent girl as the avatar that the red-thread creature uses to create its 

own domicile within its prey’s domicile. In Jeffrey Andrew Weinstock’s extensive analysis of how 

and why women tell and continue telling ghost stories, he notes that 19th-century Gothic women’s 

ghost stories attribute a transgressive function to “what gets ‘ghosted’—what tries to present itself 

but can only achieve a half-life existence” (138). In constructing the human-housed monster that 

drives the plot of “All Along the Wall,” Carroll doubly ghosts Rebecca and the red-thread creature 

that made a home of her body. It is pertinent to note, though, that this ghosting does not denote 

loss of material power, at least for the red-thread creature. Weinstock extends his notion of “ghost-

ing” with Terry Castle’s queered analysis of the storytelling strategy, which, when lesbian and 

queer writers use it, becomes “the very trope that evaporates [… that] can also solidify” (Castle qtd. 

in Weinstock 139). Though Carroll has not publicly disclosed her exact sexuality1, her marriage with 

a woman proves that she is certainly queer. 

 Carroll’s perspective as a queer woman is accordingly present throughout her work, partic-

ularly here, wherein she employs the twin ghosting of Rebecca and the red-thread creature as a 

force that simultaneously manifests ephemerality and materiality. While Rebecca’s body is intact, 

able to be rapidly de- and reconstructed at the red-thread creature’s whim, Rebecca’s spirit is no 

longer intact, if it remains at all. Her positioning as a teenage girl is also pertinent here: particular-

ly in her early-twentieth-century hetero-patriarchal family home, Rebecca’s body and existence 

are caught between girlhood and womanhood, rendering her a uniquely existentially uncertain 

status as a household member, and as a horror character archetype. The vitality and shifting 

existence of young women have long been vilified and feared, and Carroll is drawing that out in 

Rebecca as a perversion of in-between states in young women. As for the red-thread creature, its 

existence falls right on the mark of Weinstock’s notion of “half-life existence”: for whatever bodi-

ly vitality it may possess, the creature cannot fully exist socially or, arguably, even domestically. 

Revealing itself would mean loss of its domesticated human flesh and human house, not to men-

tion that these constructed domiciles have necessitated its move away from its original home 

in the cave where Rebecca’s body was lost for three days and where her spirit was likely lost for 

good. Carroll even textually constructs a half-life for the creature’s origins: the panel in which the 

creature enters and teems within Rebecca’s limp body, her face hollowed, eyeless and blue, from 

a pool of underground standing water is only visible when the reader mouses over the panel in 

which Lottie asks if Rebecca was mute for a week after returning home from the woods “because 

you saw something very frightening?” (3). These varied and interconnected layers of half-alive 

ephemerality ultimately function as a critique of how hetero-patriarchal domestic spheres twist 

1  At least, not in any sources that can be readily found on the Internet in a diligent search. 



Digital Literature Review 5
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and use female bodies. 

 Carroll extends and multiplies the horrors of the red-thread creature and its carving out 

of feminine domiciles in her longer-form short comic story, “The Nesting Place.” In “The Nesting 

Place,” Carroll reopens the door to the country house that the red-thread creature occupies the 

human inhabitant of—but now, Rebecca’s rehomed body is the head of the household, with a 

fiancé who brings his sullen teenage sister home to the rural estate on her summer holiday from 

boarding school. The story is the longest one in Through the Woods, and Carroll’s narrative once 

again follows a young, dark-haired girl who contemptuously wanders off from most social con-

ventions. This time, the new player in the domicile is an adolescent, Bell, whose storyline is not 

marked by curiosity and ignorance but by grief, resentment, and the ultimate horrifying discovery 

of what she actually shares domestic space with. As she is leaving her boarding school to meet 

her brother, Clarence, Bell recalls the stories of monsters that her recently deceased mother al-

ways asserted the existence of, particularly “the BURROWING KIND. The sort that crawled into you 

and made a home there. […] The monster that ate you alive from the inside out” (Loc. 70, Panel 2). 

Not long into her stay at Rebecca’s house, Bell has her disbelief in these stories turned on its head. 

About a week of increasingly strange and unsettling occurrences around the house passes—Re-

becca’s teeth clicking and wiggling in her mouth while she eats dinner; the housekeeper, Ma-

dame Beauchamp, ominously warning Bell against venturing into the woods as Rebecca did sev-

eral years before; Mme. Beauchamp disappearing after behaving strangely that evening and late 

that night; and all the while, Clarence acting cheerful and flippant as ever, with Rebecca mirroring 

his attitude and trying to engage Bell in gender normative activities that she is patently uninter-

ested in, such as makeup and shopping. The day after Mme. Beauchamp supposedly voluntarily 

leaves the house, Bell spends an idyllic day in the woods before falling into the cave just as Rebec-

ca had, and discovering that it was not Rebecca that had come out of the cave, but the red-thread 

creature wearing her skin. Bell wakes up in the house, having been rescued from the cave, and 

the red-thread creature reveals its methods and intentions to her: it has babies in the pool in the 

cave, and Bell’s skin will be perfect for them. Bell manages to convince the creature that its plan of 

taking her skin and going to London with its babies and Clarence will ultimately thwart the crea-

ture’s reproductive aims because of London’s hostile, polluted environment, after which Clarence 

arrives to take Bell to the doctor, which makes “Rebecca” happy. As the siblings drive into the 

open countryside, Bell hands Clarence an apple—and his teeth click and wiggle against it. Bell’s 

eyes open wide in horror as she realizes she is in a car, alone, with more of the red threads wearing 

her brother’s skin. Carroll closes the story there. 



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 This longer-form narrative of the domestic horrors of girlhood and ghosts housed in cor-

rupted flesh and convention extends many of the themes of “All Along the Wall,” while also draw-

ing upon new ones borne from the connections and growth of those themes. Carroll’s work with 

the conventions of her genre once again comes out here in modes that critique gender, social, 

and familial norms as they manifest in the domicile. Queer literature scholar Ardel Haefele-Thom-

as comments on the phenomenon of the Gothic genre as “a proverbial safe space” for women 

writers, and especially queer women writers, who find that “writing within a liminal genre like 

Gothic has enabled them to more honestly and thoroughly critique restrictive social and cultural 

conventions such as,” in the case of Carroll’s writing of Bell, how young women ought to handle 

themselves and their emotions socially, as well as how non-normative female bodies signify so-

cially (169). Bell’s health status as a depressed, stocky teenage girl who wears a leg brace and often 

uses a cane sets her apart from her peers and family at best; at worst, the red-thread creature 

pathologizes her body’s build and capability. The creature rebuts Bell’s protests that someone at 

school or in her family would notice if the creature expelled her spirit from her body by pointing 

out that Clarence would “be so thrilled you’re no longer sullen and depressed he’ll never question 

the change!” and also targets Bell’s body with an assertion that her peers “will much prefer you 

once my babies stretch you into something tall, slim, and pretty” as the red threads have with Re-

becca’s figure, which is unnaturally lithe and rosy throughout the story (Loc. 94, Panels 1, 2). While 

horrifying in a uniquely gendered way, Carroll plays this dynamic as a subversion of the usual han-

dling of disability in not only horror but also in comics. 

 Aidan Diamond and Lauren Poharec write on how comics present and perpetuate othered 

bodies and othering of various kinds, specifically exploring stereotypes of characters and bodies 

with disabilities and/or medicalized conditions. Carroll’s characterization of Bell and of her ene-

my as explicitly trying to form her into a normalized social body directly subverts the trope in the 

comic genre of making “stereotypical representations [of disabled people that] respond to and 

reinforce an ideology of ability: the essentialist assumption that able-bodiedness must be pre-

ferred in all circumstances,” even the circumstance of a predatory parasitic creature supplanting a 

spirit from a body, which Bell’s peers and social circles would gladly, if unknowingly, accept (406). 

Setting this interaction between Bell and the red-thread creature, and their conversation’s under-

lying implications, in a simultaneously domestic and alienating physical space—a guest bedroom 

of an estate house whose mistress has been made herself a home for a predatory, ghostly and 

ghosting being—keeps this horror of hetero-patriarchal standards firmly housed within the horror 

of the domestic. 



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 Adding to the horror and corrupting, haunting force of the red-thread creature is its sta-

tus as mother. Female characters and figures drive the plots of both “The Nesting Place” and “All 

Along the Wall,” whose protagonists have relationships with their respective mothers that, while 

complex, are not particularly unexpected for children of their ages carrying out a relationship with 

a mother who shares and perpetuates hetero-patriarchal domestic space and norms with her 

daughter. Mothers and motherhood make for arguably Freudian horror material, as Gina Wisker 

discusses in her analytical review of horror stories and tropes with a focus on domestic horror. 

“Mothers in horror are often engulfing and entrapping” to their children, especially their female 

ones, and “monstrous and surrogate mothers [who] desire to kill off children to preserve them-

selves and their own offspring” are a particular kind of threat that Carroll, with her penchant for 

folklore and fairytale, creates in her red-thread Rebecca (5). Carroll tropes domestic horror to have 

the red threads puppet Rebecca’s skin to be kind and nurturing to the red-thread babies, and 

extend her maternal engulfing entrapment to Bell, whose personage and personhood it hopes to 

supplant for its babies’ sake. The ghostly creature’s folkloric attributes extend further in that the 

red-thread creature’s motherhood comes to narratively function as both its seeming downfall and 

its greatest strength: Bell seems to wrest power for herself in pointing out red-thread Rebecca’s 

vulnerability as a mother. “You claim to be such a GOOD MOTHER,” Bell accuses the creature with 

regard to her babies’ probable fate in London, “but what kind of heartless BEAST would chance 

their lives like this?” (Loc. 97, Panel 3). Whatever red-thread Rebecca’s true feelings are, Bell’s 

argument seems to have cowed her into submission, and Bell is free and safe—until the reveal 

that red-thread Rebecca’s maternal workings have long since hollowed her brother’s skin to make 

room for a paternal, monstrous counterpart. Red-thread Rebecca’s motherhood has proven to be 

truly horrifying, operating in these manners and corrupting living beings into half-existent ghosts 

within its appropriated domiciles. 

 Carroll continues to trope folklore archetypes with similar effectiveness and to the ends of 

critiquing hetero-patriarchal norms in a domestic horror setting in her fairytale-style narrative, “A 

Lady’s Hands are Cold.” “A Lady’s Hands are Cold” is not connected to “All Along the Wall” and “The 

Nesting Place” by recurring characters or settings, but it undoubtedly exists on the same the-

matic axis as these two stories: namely, if there is an archetypal “haunted house” story in Through 

the Woods, it is this one. Folklore scholar Christina Dokou describes Through the Woods as a 

collection that epitomizes the “fruitful threesome” of the Gothic, the fairy tale, and comic books. 

Dokou further characterizes “Carroll’s gothic play with tradition [… as] a palimpsestic reading that 

shows traces of the text that her own piece of literature has devoured to sustain itself,” an analysis 



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that serves as both an apt description of this story and an uncanny precursor to how ghosts and 

haunting function within it (572, 576). 

 The horror of “A Lady’s Hands are Cold” is put front and center from the outset, with the 

first page featuring the eerily short and apt lyrical description of the heteronormative patriarchal 

workings that shape the frame of this story and its characters. “There was a girl,” Carroll begins 

this lurid tale, “& there was a man/and there was the girl’s father/who said, ‘you will marry this 

man,’” utilizing the narration to frame illustrations of said girl and man in profile, casting their 

relationship, individual selves, and wedding with airs of half-alive material ephemerality, as well as 

menace and suffering (Loc. 21, Panels 1-3). The narration follows the newly wed girl as she travels 

through the woods from her father’s house to her new husband’s manor. In this new domicile, 

she leads an existence evidently so bereft of her husband’s presence that he becomes something 

of a menacing ghostly presence himself, particularly during the lavish dinners they are seated 

at together each night, where his predatory air intensifies. Rather than her husband having her 

share a marriage bed with him, the girl sleeps alone in her own bedroom, where each night she 

begins to hear a song seeping mournfully out from the very walls of the house, sung as follows: 

I married my love in the springtime, 

but by summer he’d locked me away. 

He’d murdered me dead by the autumn, & by winter I was naught but decay. 

It’s cold where I am and so lonely, but in loneliness will I remain, 

unloved, unavenged, & forgotten, until I am whole once again. (Loc. 25, Panels 1-5). 

After many nights of this, the girl’s husband leaves for a hunting trip. Now the sole living being 

in the manor who holds domestic power, the girl dismisses the maids and uses a hatchet to cut 

open the wall, where she finds a shriveled pair of hands. The girl moves throughout the house, 

chopping and digging until she finds the entirety of her husband’s murdered first wife, dismem-

bered and scattered throughout, her ghostly white head singing its song once more to the girl 

when she discovers it. The girl gathers up the desiccated corpse pieces, brings them to her mur-

derous husband’s bedroom, and reassembles her predecessor’s body on the floor, tying the en-

fleshed wraith together with bits of red ribbon. The corpse reanimates—and vows to rip the girl 

to pieces for having usurped her role as lady of the manor. The girl flees the bedroom, then the 

manor altogether as her husband returns from his hunt, and continues running until she finds 

herself deep into the woods. 

 Of the three stories discussed in this essay, “A Lady’s Hands are Cold” is the one whose 

function and actors of the domestic horror are the most emblematic of the notion of the ghost-



Digital Literature Review 9
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liness of these stories as predatory corruption of the body-spirit connection. In examining queer 

Gothicism, Haefele-Thomas observes, “as a genre, Gothic thrives on complications and constantly 

throws what we think we know and believe into confusion, often with subversive and disturbing 

results,” and Carroll creates some truly viscerally disturbing results in her formulation of the being 

that haunts this story’s protagonist and massive manor home (170). With regards to the husband’s 

first wife, the original mistress of the manor, the narrative sets up key expectations for the read-

er and for the protagonist within the framing of the story and the house it takes place in, only to 

devastatingly complicate and subvert them. The dead wife’s song emanates from varying places 

throughout the manor as “a low keening that SEEPED […] FROM the HOUSE’S VERY BONES,” very 

much in the manner of a ghost of the type that is simply spirit bereft of body (Loc. 25, Panels 5, 

13). This typical ghostliness extends into the song’s almost possessive influence on the living wife, 

even as her maids, more fixtures of the house than people, tell her not to worry about the ballad 

that has “settled into HER bones […] until the girl’s insides [became] clotted with HEARTACHE” as, 

night after night, she is forced to lay and listen to a song that seems almost to exist only to her 

(Loc. 28, Panel 1). With this seemingly traditional haunting as disturbing as it already is, Carroll 

then hacks into and takes apart the protagonist’s and the reader’s presumptions of what haunt-

ing being occupies this house with the reveal of the desiccated body parts spread throughout the 

house. The girl finds her predecessor’s hands, arms, legs, feet, torso, and head in all of the places 

from which she heard the song originate, thus attributing the dead wife’s body, not her spirit, with 

the ethereal power to have sung this song (Loc. 30-32). This wrathful, decaying wraith is all but 

impossible to definitively classify as a being who haunts within the bounds of horror tradition: she 

could possibly be called a ghoul, but to do so would deny her the totality of her spiritual power. 

This elision of classification is clearly in line with what queer women do with horror, per the writ-

ings of the scholars discussed throughout this essay, as well as exemplifying the true nature and 

horror of this story as one of a house haunted by the subduing and murder of women in domestic 

space and convention. 

 The themes present in “A Lady’s Hands” continue to spin off of and multiply upon them-

selves as discourse goes on, but the most pertinent aspect of this story’s domestic, ghostly horror 

is its sharp critique of how women’s bodies and agency function within the domiciles that house 

the hetero-patriarchal system of marriage. This manor house is not haunted only by the wraith 

wife’s song of her demise; her husband’s ruthlessly hungry predation upon each wife, as well as 

the selves, lives and bodies each wife has lost, also haunt the enormous white manor and its sur-

rounding lurid red gardens. The forces that operate within and through the physicality of the 



Digital Literature Review 10
22

manor work well in the terms of Wilson’s citation of Vidler’s notion of seeing Romantically sublime 

buildings “as objectifying the various states of the body, physical and mental,” which Wilson ties 

to her observation that “it is invariably women who activate the fear and the malice of the dwell-

ing or who project it onto the house” (118). Both the wraith wife and the girl wife are activators and 

objects of this house and its malice, which is really the husband’s hungering malice that has de-

stroyed both his wives. Herein also lies Carroll’s final subversion: in her fairy tale, a genre wherein 

the woods are where women are eaten, the girl wife must flee to the woods to escape being rent 

and consumed by either one of the manor’s occupants: a lavish mansion has become and has 

always been more terrifying and threatening than any wild place.

  Carroll makes all sorts of disturbing twists in these three stories to draw out the horror of 

being female in domestic spaces; her complex formulations of hauntings and troping of ghost 

and haunted house folklore serve only to produce more ghosts. The corrupted, ghostly predators 

of each story ultimately narratively consume the objects of their respective hauntings. Each one 

ends up transformed and ephemeral on the same level as that which plagues her, confined in 

domesticity: Lottie is left alone and confused in a dark bedroom that is not hers; Bell is trapped in 

a small space with something hungry that wears her brother’s skin; and the girl is utterly wrecked, 

her eyes nothing but hollow blackness, looking as dead as the wraith wife that chased her from 

the house. The comic homes of Carroll’s richly woven stories are replete with the terror of occupy-

ing a domestic space, especially as a non-normative girl or woman. Naturally, they all must occupy 

such a space, because per the title of Through the Woods, it is unwise to linger in a space outside 

of a domicile—not that residing within one bodes well either. 



Digital Literature Review 11
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Works Cited

Carroll, Emily. “All Along the Wall.” Digital comic. emcarroll.com, 2014. 

“A Lady’s Hands are Cold.” Through the Woods, Margaret K. McElderry Books. Loc. 20-38 in Kindle 

Digital Edition. 2014, New York. 

 “The Nesting Place.” Through the Woods, Margaret K. McElderry Books, Loc. 68-99 in Kindle 

Digital Edition. 2014, New York. 

Diamond, Aidan, and Lauren Poharec. “Introduction: freaked and othered bodies in comics.” Jour-

nal of Graphic Novels and Comics, vol. 8, no. 5, 2017, pp. 402-16. 

Dokou, Christina. “Un(th)inkable tales: unimaginable folklore horror in Emily Carroll’s Through the 

Woods.” Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics, vol. 8, no. 6, 2017, pp. 527-87. 

Haefele-Thomas, Ardel. “Queering the Female Gothic.” Women and the Gothic, edited by Avril 

Horner and Sue Zlosnik. Edinburgh University Press, 2017, pp. 169-83. 

Weinstock, Jeffrey Andrew. “Ghosts of Desire: Rose Terry Cooke, Alice Brown, Elizabeth Stuart 

Phelps, and Helen Hull.” Scare Tactics: Supernatural Fiction by American Women. Fordham 

University Press, 2008, pp. 136-71. 

Wilson, Elizabeth. “Haunted Houses.” AA Files, No. 67, 2013, pp. 113-118. 

Wisker, Gina. “‘Honey, I’m home!’ Splintering the Fabrication in Domestic Horror.” Femspec, vol. 4, 

no. 1, 2002, p. 108.

 


