When horror writer Grady Hendrix and his wife, Amanda, moved into their new apartment in Manhattan last year, Hendrix was excited for the extra space and city views—until the day, this past March, in a twist worthy of one of his novels, he discovered a termite nest in the living room floor. “We walked in, and the floor was blanketed in dead termites,” Hendrix recalls over Zoom from his home office, which became a storage closet for the living room furniture while the floor was repaired. “There were thousands of them, corpses everywhere. I was repulsed. Then I realized the termites weren’t all dead. There were more, and they were crawling around. It was horrible.”
When Hendrix speaks the word horrible, he does it with a twinkle in his eye. A master of the horror novel with heart, he’s written about everything from high school demonic possession to evil puppets, and done it with wit and emotional depth. He’s the author of six novels—including Horrorstör, his 2014 debut; The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires; and How to Sell a Haunted House—and Paperbacks from Hell, a Bram Stoker Award–winning history of 1970s and ’80s horror fiction. Hendrix’s books have sold more than two million copies, according to his publisher, Berkley, and have been translated into 23 languages.
Hendrix’s latest, Witchcraft for Wayward Girls, out in January, is an occult horror story set in 1970 Florida at a home for unwed mothers—a place where teenage girls are sent to give birth and afterward are forced to give their babies up for adoption. The novel, loosely inspired by Rosemary’s Baby, centers on 15-year-old Fern, who, upon arriving at the home, meets other pregnant girls, including Rose, a hippie determined to keep her baby, and Zinnia, who longs to marry her baby’s father. The girls are powerless and under the thumb of a staff that controls their schedules and diets, until a mysterious librarian gives Fern a book on witchcraft, which the girls put to use with violent results as they fight for independence. But when they discover what may be a real coven of witches, Fern has to choose between the human world and a supernatural world that is far more sinister.
Hendrix was inspired to write the novel after learning that two of his relatives were sent to homes for unwed mothers when they were teenagers—a revelation that prompted a deep dive into the history of such homes in the U.S., where, Hendrix notes, 1.5 million girls were sent in the 1970s. “I wondered what it must be like to have a child and be told to never talk about them again,” he says. “It made me angry, and I decided to write a book about it.”
While Hendrix was working on Witchcraft for Wayward Girls in 2023 and 2024, his father and mother-in-law died. “There were days when I didn’t get out of bed,” he says. “The writing kept me going.”
For the book, he interviewed mothers and doctors to learn about pregnancy and childbirth, and completed a few drafts before he got the idea to introduce witches into the story. “Once I hit that piñata, the candy kept coming out,” he says. “Witches are always associated with children. There’s ‘Hansel and Gretel’ with the witch eating the children, and Malleus Maleficarum, which is about witches interfering with birth. I love taking tropes that are played out and knocking the rust off of them and figuring out what was there originally that made it sparkle.”
Born in 1972 in Charleston, S.C., Hendrix—nicknamed Sunshine as a kid—was a terrible student who enjoyed listening in on conversations at family parties. In 1992, he moved to New York City to attend the NYU Gallatin School of Individualized Study, where he focused on audio engineering, philosophy, and history. While there, he met his wife (now a Manhattan chef), and the two got married on a whim (Hendrix was 20, she 19) when they were just friends. “Our awkward first kiss was at City Hall,” Hendrix recalls. “We hooked up weeks later.”
After college, Hendrix lived in Hong Kong and Los Angeles, then moved back to New York City and worked as an office manager at the American Society for Psychical Research, which investigates paranormal phenomena. “People called to discuss time slips and ghosts sightings,” he says. “My favorite mode of communication is the monologue, and that job taught me to listen, and not be dismissive.”
In 2009, Hendrix enrolled in the six-week Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers’ Workshop, and credits the program with helping him write his debut and develop his style. “I like my metaphors to be literal,” he says. “If someone’s angry, I don’t want them to cry. I went them to turn into a werewolf, damn it.” Along the way, he discovered that he prefers writing female protagonists. “Having a character who’s not like me lets me be more personal. It gives me camo for revealing intimate stuff.”
Brainy and fast-talking, Hendrix is something of a horror and pop culture polymath. He once devoted five years to reading all of Stephen King’s books to figure out what makes them tick. Jessica Wade, his editor, describes him as “a writer with the soul of a showman” whose dynamic book events (he dresses up and sings!) draw lines out the door. “He’s the most fascinating lunch date you could have.”
The author’s cinematic flair (he also writes screenplays) has made him a voice in horror in Hollywood, notes Adam Goldworm, president of Aperture Entertainment and Hendrix’s manager and producing partner. All but one of his books have been optioned, including The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires, currently in development at HBO. “Grady has an innate knack for high-concept ideas and knows how to tell humorous and humanistic stories despite the outlandishness of the seemingly incongruous worlds he’s blending together,” Goldworm says. “He’s the hardest-working person I’ve ever met.”
And Hendrix has introduced horror to readers who didn’t know they liked the genre. (His How to Sell a Haunted House was an answer on Jeopardy! in 2023.) “Horror is a vibe more than anything,” he says. “It can be funny and heartfelt, not just scary.”
Joshua Bilmes, Hendrix’s agent, agrees. “Grady’s books, however supernatural, are relatable. Witchcraft for Wayward Girls is such an achievement because of the empathy it brings to the characters.”
“I’ve never articulated this,” Hendrix says, “but my books are the best part of me. They let me take the messy crap of life and turn it into something that has meaning and purpose.”
With the termites finally dead and gone, he’s looking ahead to his next scary novel. “We got a clean bill of health, the exterminator promises,” he says shaking his head. “It was awful. I wouldn’t wish termites on my worst enemy.” Though, who knows, he may unleash them on an unsuspecting character or two in the future.
Elaine Szewczyk’s writing has appeared in McSweeney’s and other publications. She’s the author of the novel I’m with Stupid.
