Esau C. Helbelcher, the even more enigmatic author-illustrator extraordinaire, has an even more remarkable ability to craft stories that verge upon the edge of the surreal, the haunting, and the utterly spine-chilling. He attributes much of his interest in storytelling to his quirky aunt who wove many a bedtime tale of intergalactic naval officers who hunted down renegade moon-pirates; the ways to trick garden gnomes into menacing the boy across the street who did that mean thing to him that one time; and how there’s no such thing as alien ambassadors, and anyone who says otherwise is off their crock, because aliens communicate exclusively through mime performances, obviously. Unbeknown to most, he is well-trained in the ancient art of semi-colons and isn’t afraid to use them. And as for marshmallows, he still eats them no matter what certain uninformed individuals might tell you about their origins. His work is sure to outlive and outshine the work of those who would claim to be his peers, like The Decay of Green House or The Tale of the Boegrush by Achelles Ubreech. And he’s sure to leave an even more indelible mark on the worlds he’s touched.
