“The Girls That Follow” is filled with love, hate, a desperate need, and most of all fear—for the girls, the creature, and most of all, the main character. You manage to blend everything together in a short, sweet moment that burns even as it soothes. What inspired this dark dance?

This idea came to me very suddenly and all at once. It was mid-week, mid-afternoon, and I was mid-laying in my bed when a vision flooded my mind. A basement. Chains. Love. Addiction. A dark corner on a sunny day. I drafted it on my phone that very minute. As I’ve done with most of my writing, I built this story from the middle out. All that being said, I am partial to shapeshifters and had recently read something about Bonnie and Clyde, so I’m sure those factors came into play.

You manage to overlay the supernatural with the real-life horror of an abusive relationship. I wanted to identify with the main character even as I felt the curdling dread build. Do you find that blending the supernatural and the mundane adds to the horror? Would the story have been as successful if the supernatural elements hadn’t been present, and the beast had instead been a man?

I wrote this using whatever came to mind at that moment, and that happened to include the supernatural. For me, it would’ve required a much more analytical approach if I made the beast a man. Instead, this story relies heavily on emotions, ambiance, and senses.

I loved the sing-song nature of the prose. The short sentences fixated on the Stockholm Syndrome nature of the relationship and the longer, more lyrical sentences seemed realizations of the horrors insinuating themselves into the main character’s psyche. Throughout the story, we see the progression of doubts and fear, and then the debilitating “A chance to reset. To rest.” What is it about the voice of a story, the nature of the writing, that drives the story, particularly in horror?

The best horror stories are a gateway to another world, another life. You are no longer just reading, but feeling that dread alongside the main character. Your skin is crawling, your chest feels tight. The short sentences, the raw interiority, and even the way certain words look on the page all contribute to that entanglement of reader and character, especially in horror, which is such a visceral genre.

The main character killed the beast’s father and then is horrified at the thought that the beast might, indeed, eat his father. Why is that? Is it one horror too many?

There is always a moment when the veil is lifted and the hum of reality hits—even if that moment is fleeting. When she experiences this, she starts to digest what horrors she has partaken in and the depravity of the monster before her. But just as soon as her head breaks through the surface, she is submerged back into the depths of toxic love.

You know your way around horror, in particular, stories geared towards middle-grade readers. Do you have any tips or recommendations for the adults who worry that the kids might not be ready for the chill of a darker story late at night?

Kids love to be scared, so let them experience the thrill! Horror doesn’t need to include extreme violence or topics that aren’t age-appropriate. It can help kids feel brave. Good horror comes with many layers of feelings that kids can begin to explore within the curated context of a story.

What’s next from J. Choe? What’s waiting in the wings for eager readers?

I’m in the process of writing my second novel, which also blends fantasy and real-life elements with a psychological twist.