The five spice levels of horror, according to KUOW's Katie Campbell

Seattle horror author Isabel Cañas recently dropped some spooky wisdom on me while we talked about her new book, "The Possession of Alba Díaz."

"There are entry points [to horror] that are softer," she said. "When you're eating Mexican food or Thai food or Indian food and you're new to the cuisine, you don't pick spice level five when you're ordering."

As an avid horror reader who has worked hard to get more people reading the genre, this got me thinking: How can I use this spice-level system to help scaredy cats ease into the dark depths of literature?

It just so happens, Cañas' work might be a good starting point — for some people.

"Scary is different for everyone, and this is something that I found really interesting as somebody who publishes horror novels who is a big, scaredy cat," she said.

If you're a scaredy cat like Cañas, I've worked up a little literary menu to help guide your entry into the world of horror. Level one is low to no spice, and level five is for the bravest among you.

In the words of children's horror writer R.L. Stine (who deserves a lot of credit for my love of the genre), "Reader beware, you're in for a scare!"

We want to know what you readers think, too. What’s your spice level for horror? Send an email to meetmehere@kuow.org, and let me know how much horror you can handle!

Level 1: Bell Peppers and Poblanos

By Cañas' own calculations, her novels offer some lower-level scares, scares that may only sting a little.

First up, her second novel, "Vampires of El Norte."

Though Cañas is a Seattle resident, the titular vampires are nothing like the sparkly, charming sort Washington state is more often associated with. If Edward of "Twilight" met one of these baddies, he'd be doomed.

I personally don't find vampires all that scary, but Cañas' bloodsuckers did unsettle me, especially when you find out the real reason they're clashing with our heroes, Nena and Néstor, during the Mexican–American War. Plus, there's a steamy romance that dulls the terror ever so sweetly.

If vampires aren't your vibe, or you find them scarier than I do, there are still plenty of low-spice scares out there to choose from.

My personal favorite is "Horrorstör" by Grady Hendrix, a master of camp who can scare you and make you laugh at the same time. The premise: haunted IKEA. For this one, I highly recommend the audiobook. Each chapter begins with an ad for (increasingly weird/alarming) things you can buy at the giant furniture story, and the narrator who reads these ads dialed up the infomercial vibes to max, lending them an absurdly horrific air.

If you've ever been vaguely terrified by the malaise of retail work or felt trapped by consumerism, this might be the scare for you to get started with.

Just don't wander off next time you're at IKEA. You might not like what you find.

RELATED: Witchcraft and reproductive rights: The horror of Grady Hendrix's latest novel

Level 2: Jalapeños and Serranos

Cañas' first book, "The Hacienda," has more classic horror spice.

It's her spin on the haunted house, set in the aftermath of the Mexican War of Independence. With a background in history, Cañas is adept at weaving real horrors into her novels. She captures loss and grief people suffered during this time, and adds a supernatural twist. The result feels all too real.

In this case, the grieving Beatriz must unravel the dark mystery of the hacienda alongside Padre Andrés before it's too late — for both of them.

Not into haunted houses? Not a problem.

"Confessions" by Kanae Minato may not be your standard horror fare, but the tension Minato creates is so visceral, I think it deserves a mention. It's about a teacher, Yuko Moriguchi, whose daughter was murdered by her pupils. Yuko wants revenge, and she'll go to extreme lengths to get it.

The book unwinds in painfully, deliberately slow detail, until the reader wants a resolution as badly as Yuko's students — no matter what that resolution might bring.

The horror behind "Confessions" is unique — and spicy — because of its lack of the supernatural or a masked killer or any of the other elements we've come to expect from the genre. It's just achingly suspenseful, drawing the reader into Yuko's pain and her students' terror.

Maybe skip this one, or save it for later in your horror journey, if you already have a negative association with the classroom.

Level 3: Thai Chilis and Habaneros

In my professional opinion, Cañas' latest novel, "The Possession of Alba Díaz," is her scariest yet. It won't be available to y'all until Aug. 19, but I got a sneak preview. No spoilers, I promise.

Here's the situation: There's a plague in Zacatecas, Mexico, circa 1765, sending Alba, her betrothed, and their families fleeing to a secondary home at an isolated silver mine. But something doesn't want Alba there, something that seems to know her all too well. Meanwhile, the alchemist Elías is trying to escape his family's debts, even if that means poisoning his body with the mercury needed to make his fortune.

There are so many levels of spooky to this book, and I loved every blood-curdling bit. If the idea of demonic possession freaks you out, this will surely give you goosebumps.

Possession isn't for everyone, especially if you don't believe in demons — or believe too much to want to get involved in any capacity.

If you're looking for other kinds of mid-level horror, try "The Vegetarian" by Han Kang.

Like "Confessions," the horror of "The Vegetarian" is in the deep tension and sense that something is just not right here. And our main character, Yeong-hye, knows it.

When Yeong-hye begins to have nightmares of blood and brutality, she gives up eating meat. What may seem like a pretty normal decision to you and me, reader, is taken as a subversive, even disturbing, and bizarre choice in her Korean family. As Yeong-hye grows more strict with her diet, the decision has serious ripple effects in her life. Those ripple effects culminate into a fever dream of an ending that will leave your mouth agape.

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Level 4: Ghost Peppers

I love a horror anthology. These loosely connected collections are like tasting menus of horror writers I should be reading. "Never Whistle at Night" is one of the best anthologies out there.

Indigenous horror just hits different, and the writers in this collection take it to a new level — level four, in fact. Each individual story may not be a level four on its own, but taken together, "Never Whistle at Night" offers about two dozen fresh takes on fear. At their core is a belief held by Native peoples from Hawaii to Mexico and beyond: whistling at night is an invitation to evil spirits.

If you want to take this terror up another notch, follow my disturbed example and read the anthology while camping. Alone. In the woods. I double-dog-dare you.

Now, if you're ready for something truly menacing, try "Just Like Home" by Sarah Gailey.

Gailey's book is straight up unsettling. Serious content warning for familial trauma of a few wildly different varieties. There's bad blood between mother and daughter, Vera, and complicated blood between father and daughter — because father is a killer.

That's not much of a spoiler; it's core to the rest of the book.

When adult Vera returns to her childhood home, she must grapple with the terrible things her father did and the legacy he left in the house, and maybe in her.

TLDR: This book is disturbing.

And while it feels weird to say, I loved it so much that I read it twice in a row. I'm weird, I know. Stop judging and give it a shot if you're not too chicken.

Level 5: Carolina Reapers

Because I read so much horror, I'm tough to scare. But when I read Stephen Graham Jones' "The Only Good Indians," I felt genuine terror. Like, I was looking over my shoulder, feeling eyes on me, the whole nine yards.

The short version is an entity seeks revenge on four Blackfeet men for a crime they committed as youth. The entity stalks them systematically, striking them psychologically before ever harming them physically. And it's not just the men's lives at stake; their loved ones are fair game, according to this entity's calculus.

The thing about this novel is it plays on the reader's sense of guilt. There's a sense that Native traditions and ways of life have been so diminished, so bastardized that the natural world itself has become corrupted. The entity, while vicious and uncaring about the innocents it hurts in its quest for revenge, seems justified.

And the ending? It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever read, in the horror genre or otherwise.

The rest of this list features books from the last decade or so, because horror has seriously evolved in recent years. But my last recommendation is a classic: the 1975 hit "The Auctioneer" by Joan Samson.

Take the tensions of all the books in levels one to three and ratchet it up a few more degrees. Samson makes it clear the town in "The Auctioneer" is in a bad situation that's only getting worse, but that's for the reader to know and the townsfolk to find out, piece by agonizing piece.

As the people give over their possessions to the titular auctioneer, they slowly lose their hold on their livelihoods, their sense of self, and, ultimately, their lives. It's both a story of terrible greed and terrible desperation that will leave you feeling empty. How fun.

You can get even more recommendations and hear more from Isabel Cañas on KUOW's "Meet Me Here," or by playing the interview embedded above. And we want to know what you think about this, too. What’s your spice level for horror? Send an email to meetmehere@kuow.org, and let us know how much horror you can handle!