Caskets, hearses, blood-stained books the norm for owner of Other Skies Weird Fiction

At Other Skies Weird Fiction in West St. Paul, an open casket at the back of the store presents the rarest tomes to any customers who wander into the gothic bookstore.

There’s nothing kept behind glass or locked in cabinets. There’s not much organization at all — a book priced at $5 next to another worth $1,250. And shoppers might even encounter a hearse parked outside, owner Josh Hames’ car.

“I live it,” Hames said. “You’ve got to have fun with it.”

The 33-year-old opened his bookstore in 2022 after his personal collection grew too big not to share. That penchant for collecting he likely inherited from his grandfather, who had a four-paperbacks-deep bookshelf in his basement.

Hames remembered poring through books by the long-dormant fireplace and faux coat of arms on the wall, heeding his grandpa’s warning to “be careful, there’s goblins down there.” His love of weird fiction — supernatural sci-fi, fantasy and especially horror stories — began there.

“It makes the world bigger and us smaller in it,” Hames said.

Now, in addition to running the store, Hames attends local pop-up markets and expos to sell books from a second casket, and frequently hosts horror movie watch parties at the shop. In an interview edited for clarity and length, Hames shared what it’s like to be in his shoes.

Being largely alone on these shifts when I’m open, I make sure everyone that comes here gets talked to, that there’s at least some type of conversation. I get to learn a little bit about what they’re looking for and what got them to come out of their way to West St. Paul and walk in the door.

I’ve joked that it takes four days to find the books and three days to sell them. The majority of my time outside the store is spent researching books, searching for more inventory and buying it when it becomes available.

It’s derived from the first thing I read from H.P. Lovecraft, which is his poem “To a Dreamer.” I loved the focus on dreams in horror, sort of the illusory, unknowable space. In this poem, I was so moved by the imagery that he painted. “Old visions wake — thine op’ning eyes/gleam black with clouds of other skies/and as from demoniac sight/I flee into the haunted night."

The imagery of those two words bound together, it’s just implying a space different than ours. Other skies, what does that mean? It’s a strange place that has its own atmosphere. Those two words are the best way to describe a parallel, unnerving dimension.

“The King in Yellow,” which is in the casket. It’s a first-edition copy, stained in the tuberculoid-enriched blood of an inmate of the Eloise Asylum for the criminally insane in West Detroit, signed by Robert W. Chambers, the author, to the asylum’s head librarian.

Much of what I have here, you can’t find on Amazon. Most horror sections in other stores are only one or two shelves, and mostly in the Ks: [Dean] Koontz and [Stephen] King. I have only four shelves of science fiction fantasy; the rest is all supernatural horror fiction, and most of it is older editions.

The tactility of a hand-drawn cover, an older book, there’s not an alternative for that today. Now, everything is mass produced and designed to look like the same genre. It’s weird. Nothing screams that it’s a horror book. You need something that has a tactility to it, a nostalgia to it. There’s a human need for this type of content that is presented this way.

In the case of rare books, which is mostly what I have, it’s important to put those in someone’s hand and to trust them, tell them, “No, this is meant to be read.” You can’t limit what people want to read by how expensive it is. You can justify the price by telling them what matters about it, why it’s so hotly desired and why it’s so limited in quantity. There’s a niche element in finding something new. That’s how we compete.

There is no place in the world like the Twin Cities when it comes to our used bookstores, and it’s not close. We are so lucky with what we have here. We work together in a non-competitive way, where we’re really open with each other.

There are multiple stores that deal in this material. If I don’t have something, I’ll tell people to check out a place like DreamHaven Books. I’ll send people their way just because it connects them with a larger network that, as a kid, I needed to build the collection that ended up starting this store.

For my first car, I really wanted a hearse. My dad wanted me to get one, too, and we found one on Craigslist when I was 16. I had lined it up, but my mom was like, “You’re not parking that thing in my driveway.”

I finally got one in October of last year. As I’ve moved books around, it’s also the perfect book-mobile. It can handle tremendous amounts of weight, and it’s secure in there. It’s a really convenient way to move my second casket, which is part of my booth for shows: It’s literally designed to move that thing. It’s like a mobile advertisement for the store.

Evan Pederson is a University of Minnesota student reporter on assignment for the Minnesota Star Tribune.