Dave's Anatomy #10: My History As A Writer: Soft and Dark Horror: "Bertha Todd"

One of the first stories I wrote, and the first story I wrote about my ongoing character, Sossity Chandler, was a horror story. But I don't like what is called "dark horror." Dark horror is where harrowing things happen to people and no one seems to be able to stop the monster, vampire, serial killer, or whatever it is wreaking havoc. Body count is high. In the end, the evil thing gets away and, you can be assured, will strike again soon.

The horror I write is what is called "soft horror," a kinder, gentler version of its wayward sister. There is something evil, it threatens and may destroy, but it is overcome in the end and, if not destroyed, at least contained. If we use Stephen King's work as an example, Pet Semitary is dark horror. Evil wins out and good can't survive. A lot of King's early horror was dark horror. Bag of Bones, on the other hand, is soft horror. A lot of scary things happens in the book, but ultimately the malevolent force is driven away and the main character, though shaken and bloodied by his encounter, will not only survive but thrive and get what he wants (in this case, adopt a young girl he has responsibilities toward).

Dark horror is based on the idea that evil is unstoppable—a thing I don't believe. It also suggests that the nature of things tends toward evil, not good. Again, I don't believe this. Like Saint Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, and C. S. Lewis, I believe that evil has no existence in and of itself but is only the twisting and perverting of good. Given this, it cannot have an ultimate power because it is a derivative phenomenon.

The second horror story I published, one with a new character,

was called "Bertha Todd." Like a lot of my characters, the protagonist is a musician. He seems to write his best songs in a house on a remote lake. The lake is ringed by summer houses and also by permanent residents. Like many summer homes, the cabin is named, Bertha Todd, after the woman who had it built.

To simplify the story, Larry finds that the ghost of Bertha Todd, a musician with a tragic past, haunts the place and helps him with his songwriting. He begins dating her granddaughter, Tess Bristow. He also notices that Mil (Millicent) Bristow, Tess's mother and, he later learns, the illegitimate child that ended Bertha Todd's career in the 1930s, drinks a lot—a while lot.

Without rehearsing too much of the plot, the actions of the ghost of Bertha Todd are threatening (when she thinks Larry plans to seduce Tess) but more often they are benevolent and positive. Bertha is not an evil ghost. She is attached to the house because of the sorrow of her life, but she does not exhibit evil behavior. In fact, her actions are rather moralistic. She wants to the best for her daughter and granddaughter. She wants Larry to do what she cannot do for them. She is willing to give him songs that will be hits if he is willing to help her daughter and grandchild. This is the sort of thing that is called soft horror. Evil doesn't have the upper hand. 

Mr. Hyde in foggy London Town

In film versions of Robert Lewis Stevenson's classic tale, "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," the evil persona, Hyde, is depicted as bigger than life, magnificent in his monstrosity, and possessing superhuman strength. If you've ever read the story, though, you know the opposite is true. Mr. Hyde is misshapen and ugly. He is not, as in the films, seven feet tall but is so short he has to roll up the legs of his trousers to walk. People laugh at him and mock his shrunken appearance. Yet something about him is repulsive. Evil, in Stevenson's story, is not magnificent but pathetic and ugly.

In the end, Larry is respectful of Tess and careful not to go too far with her. He also helps her mother, Mil, to recognize that she can no longer hide her alcoholism. The story ends on a positive note:

Larry went back to the house. He packed up his car to head south. He intended to drive down and stay with his parents a few days before the other band members came up to see him at Bertha Todd and to hear the new songs he had written. As he left, he felt a quiet serenity in the house. He turned by the door and spoke out loud.

“I understand. You’ve given me what you had to give. The songs I wrote made our group successful and gave me back my life. I’m in your debt.  I owe you a lot. Tess is a wonderful woman.  I will respect her convictions. We’ll see where things go. And Mil—well, you were there. I imagine you heard what she said.” He paused then grinned. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

The emanations in the room were of joy and, he strongly sensed, amusement. He turned, went outside, locked the door behind him, and climbed in his car to drive south.

Looking from my perspective today, I would say the story is overly moralistic and a little bit on the sentimental side. Still, it got published, was enjoyed by some readers, and, like all stories, was another rung on the ladder of learning how to write. I wouldn't disown it because of its flaws. It also showed me my ideas on the nature of horror writing. More soft horror would come, though I did now and then venture into the realm of darker horror—just for the sake of seeing that I could write it.

"Bertha Todd" was published in a journal that is no longer in print; no online copy is available.

But, you can get a copy of The Last Minstrel. You will encounter Celtic mythology, the evil Goddess Morrigan, and much more.  

 Or, if you prefer witches, sorcery, music of the early 1970s, and crazy love, take a look at Strange Brew. When a witch is in love with you, the magic can get serious.