I used to think I was a horror fan, even though I never went into horror expecting to be scared. Nope. I went in expecting to be in awe of the (dark) magic, ambiguity, and mystery. Slashers were the ultimate borefest for me. Oh, look. A scary murderer chasing some helpless idiots. When will the scary murderer face someone or something scarier than themselves? Now that would be fun.
We kind of got that with Freddy vs. Jason, but I only watched it for Freddy. I was a fan of A Nightmare on Elm Street, especially Dream Warriors. Dreams and the idea of manipulating them fascinated me as a kid. I wasn’t scared of Freddy, though. Freddy was a childhood friend of mine. No, really. I was twelve when I made him my grandpa, and he was a riot the few times he visited me in my dreams.
There were other instances where I connected with things that would unnerve other people. Whenever my mom took little-me to the mall, I’d always check out the mannequins and wonder when they’d start moving or talking. I remember asking a cashier where and how they were made, as if the cashier possessed arcane knowledge of mannequin-making. I’ve always loved dolls too. I have a collection of dolls today, and one of them is a toddler-sized porcelain doll who sits in the corner of my living room. I inherited her from my deceased grandmother.
I’m still trying to figure out how to bring my dolls to life. I will not let you down, little-me.
I also loved the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark book series. Everyone in my age range loved the illustrations, but everyone loved being scared. Instead of the art inducing terror that kept me awake at night, it induced a feeling of kinship, a homely warmth. I felt as if I had lived in similar places before, spooky places not of this world.
“Sounds” was one story in which I would imagine myself. It’s about three fishermen who seek shelter from a storm and find an old house. The house, however, does not want them there, a feeling I relate to now as a grumpy, solitude-loving adult. It even rains blood and gives them an annoyed look at the end. This house was way more polite than I would’ve been in getting some strangers to fuck off.
I didn’t imagine myself inside such a house because I was a holed-up curmudgeon, though. I was too young to understand why old people told you to get off their lawn. Or maybe I wasn’t? I felt “understood” somehow, as if that place were reserved for me. It was like a safe space or something.
So, yeah. I’m weird.
Why Fear When You Can Conquer?
When you peel away the frills and trimmings of horror, you find common human fears—the dark, ghosts, clowns, aging, death, losing a loved one, etc—and it’s just, duh? No shit? Wow, we’re scared of all the things that remind us of our mortality. How original and totally not cheap. I am shitting existential amounts of bricks. (Except clowns are cool. I love clowns. Sorry not sorry for being weird again).
Why cry about all these bricks I’m shitting, though? I’d rather do something useful and build myself my very own backrooms.
And that’s how I feel about horror.
I’m not interested in feeling small or powerless. (I’m a woman, c’mon now. That shit is old.) I don’t need the universe to care about me. I even wrote a fairy tale addressing how much that would probably actually suck. I am not fearless (as that would be a death sentence), but I prefer to fill my time with wonder, knowledge, and creation. I don’t need horror when I’d rather face ugly truths head-on.
I do like horror when it’s combined with other genres, such as fantasy and psychological thriller. Dolls (1987) and The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell are respective (and relevant) examples. It’s rare that I spend time with pure horror for the sake of it, but I did enjoy Hell House LLC. And by enjoy I mean, “Wow I love this friend group, I hope it survives and stays—oh my god fuck you forever.” I was actually depressed after watching it. A horror movie that can be both deliciously eerie (no jump scares!) and have likable characters is a whole other level.
Horror that makes you use your brain is my favorite, though. Like… uhh… hey, does anyone remember I Spy: Spooky Mansion?
Little-me played this game for hours. It felt like another home. The study was my favorite room in the house because you could craft your own scenes. I put together a doll band while listening to “Meet Virginia” on the radio. Once again, I was a weird kid.
I also stole the book from the chest:
The book celebrates Jewish family life and resilience during a vulnerable time period. I remember wishing I could read it. I didn’t think it actually existed until curiosity struck me years later and I found a copy on Etsy. I thought it was an odd choice to place in a Halloween-themed game before I did some research. The producer and executive producer for I Spy: Spooky Mansion (along with I Spy: Fantasy, I Spy: Mystery, and I Spy: Challenger) was Matthew Schlanger. He’s a Jewish media artist, and he was responsible for the art direction and videography of the Museum of Jewish Heritage’s Video History Project. So, the book’s presence in the game probably wasn’t a coincidence!
Moral of story: knowledge is power. And if the knowledge drives you to the brink of madness? Then you need more knowledge!
Why Fear When You Can Laugh?
H.P. Lovecraft is hilarious. I read about him and some of his works. To me, he’s more of a master of comedy than horror. His over-the-top writing style is just too full of itself for me to take seriously. Don’t get me wrong, I love the occult themes, mysterious lore, and the maddening dangers of magic (or knowledge/power) on a human psyche that isn’t ripe enough to deal with them.
But the existence of alien squid gods just wouldn’t break my worldview. They can exist as long as they leave me alone in peace. Solicitors are annoying, be they human or eldritch. The way I see it, if some ancient monster emerges from the ocean, it doesn’t have to be a theological crisis or a threat to sanity; it’s just a large, dangerous creature requiring a practical response, like in Independence Day (1996).
No, I wouldn’t lose my mind if Azathoth were discovered. In fact, I’d believe that should drive us as a species to work harder to better the world, because that might mean more pleasant dreams for the big guy who’s keeping us alive!
Purists think cosmic horror is true horror, but they assume that all humans naturally crave divine order and significance. I mean, sure, many humans believe humanity is the crown jewel of the universe, but there are some of us who prefer living in a universe that minds its own business. I don’t want to be a part of any “divine” plan. I don’t want to have to choose between sterile “paradise” or never-ending torture, or reincarnating as a soulless billionaire or a cockroach. Those things are infinitely more horrifying to me. Why isn’t there more horror that explores these actually existentially terrifying topics?
But I laugh about them anyway—because they’re ridiculous. The idea of a big old angry god threatening you, a puny-ass mortal, with eternal hell if you don’t do exactly as he says is absurd. Talk about needing a better hobby. Personally, I’d be off doing a bunch of other more important and interesting stuff. You know, I think the deists might be on to something…
And the idea of reincarnating for “spiritual” growth is equally ridiculous and morally questionable. Ethical issues aside, why would the universe care so much about humanity’s “spiritual” growth, and how can you grow when you’re born with amnesia? What even constitutes spiritual growth or proper spirituality and why? Wait, there’s an alien race that’s overseeing our “spiritual” evolution? Those blonde, blue-eyed and light-skinned aliens that for sure weren’t inspired by 19th-century racial mythologies?
Present historical facts and ethical concerns to any passionate believer and their flaming sword of righteousness will burn brighter. Dogma isn’t exclusive to fundamentalist Christians, and I’m tired of horror that focuses on Bible-thumping zealotry. There are many other breeds of zealots out there, and if you’re imaginative enough, they could be far scarier.
Conclusion?
When you’re a horror yourself, the genre is like another uneventful stroll in the park. Sometimes you spot an interesting bird or are surprised by a person who was pretending to be a statue, but it’s like revisiting your old stomping grounds that haven’t changed in years.