Facing the unknown is less scary when you’re not alone. Just ask H.P. Lovecraft.

Come to think of it, unless you resemble one of the spooky, time-conquering characters in his stories, you probably can’t do that; he died in 1937. But based on his splendidly macabre writings in the 1920s and 30s, I think we can safely surmise he would agree. His protagonists usually confront otherworldly horrors – or more often, the even more provocative arcane lore surrounding such forces – in a sanity-snatching state of isolation. They are torn between wanting to hide terrible secrets to spare others from the nightmares and thinking, “if others only knew.”

My name is Brad Bolchunos, and I am a Lovecraft geek.

Admitting that is less scary than I thought it might have been. My weekend found me heartened in the knowledge that I am not alone. I attended the ninth annual Howard Phillips Lovecraft Film Festival in Portland, and discovered I am among flocks of fans, loads of Lovecraft lunatics.

This notion of the power of common interest manifests itself in monstrously many ways, even at the mouth of the Columbia. Every year on Washington’s Long Beach Peninsula, for example, people go goofy out of their gourds for garlic, brush aside any bashfulness about bad breath and celebrate the cloves in droves. They take a hiatus from harboring haunting hints of halitosis and revel in their collectivity.

My own daffiness about Lovecraftiness prompted me to contemplate the nature of fear, especially considering the time of year. With Halloween approaching frighteningly fast, I notice the return of plastic skeletons, fake spiders and other decor on the shelves of many a store. I like this holiday, so as long as I don’t trip on them, I welcome its trappings.

But why are some of us delighted by the dark? Why are we a bit kooky about things spooky?

To me, part of the allure stems from the qualities of mystery itself. Curiosity draws us, and draws us together. Submerged in questions, the unknown drips not only with danger but also with possibility. And by somehow penetrating darkness, we may shed light on our world, or ourselves.

Besides, sometimes getting scared out of our wits (as long as nobody is really hurt or totally undone) is just plain fun.

Lovecraft took his work seriously. He penned a vast and vivid mythos that readers would find compelling for decades. Disdainful of modern times, he preferred to live at night and venture onto the streets of his city, Providence, R.I., to the areas with 18th century architecture.

An article about him by writer Patti Smith in the recent film festival program, “The Daily Lurker,” a faux 1920s newspaper, reinforces bibliographical accounts. She describes him as “a noble eavesdropper.”

“He heard the whispering of the eaves. He perceived the triumphant gestures and unavailing supplications of man in the branches of mystical trees. No terrifying dimension was barred from him.”

Unfortunately, the penetrating, suspenseful effects in Lovecraft’s writing usually fail in attempts to adapt the work to film. The subtle psychological underpinnings that drive the stories often wind up lost in translation – and the results can be unintentionally hilarious. We might as well be probing the mysteries of Oregon Department of Transportation highway construction schedules in Seaside, or the arcane lore of Astoria City Council meetings.

Once in a while, a film captures something of the Lovecraftian tone, such as “The Last Wave,” a 1977 example of cosmic horror set in Sydney, Australia. Starring Richard Chamberlain and directed by Peter Weir (most recently known for “Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World”), the story hints at the mystifying premonitions of a tsunami to end all tsunamis.

Less successful from a serious standpoint was “The Resurrected,” inspired by Lovecraft’s novella, “The Case of Charles Dexter Ward.” While Christopher Sarandon was almost convincing as someone going mad, this 1992 effort was so schlocky, and the acting so poor, it was downright scary.

Nevertheless, we fans appreciated the attempt – and, laughing, we faced our fears together.

Brad Bolchunos enjoys walking at night and listening carefully to mysterious sounds. But he is convinced the noise of eaves dropping, like idle chattering, sometimes can be loud and clattering.