Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer, #33: The Horror Zine, "The Chamber"

I had published in The Horror Zine (an award-winning ezine I highly recommend) before (and I recommend that particular journal highly). I've said several times, I'm not real big on horror and find it difficult to write. I always stray into the habits of literary fiction—slow character development, more inner conflict, plot focused on philosophical or ethical questions—rather than following Stephen King's advice and writing on one of the three levels of horror:  mayhem, horror, and terror.  Now and then, however, a story is able to bridge the gap, and "The Chamber," with some editing help from the Horror Zine's editor, made it into this very fine, high-rated horror magazine.

If you haven't read King's formula, found in his book on horror writing, Danse Macabre, his sketch of what he believes are the different kinds of horror writing goes like this:  Level 1 is mayhem:  slasher stuff, blood and guts, people dismembered—well, you get the idea; Level 2 is horror:  something  or someone—a monster, a predatory animal, a serial killer—is chasing you—you know what is after you and it's something scary; Level 3 is terror:  something horrific is happening, something is trying to get you, but you're not sure what it is or what you can do to get away from it or what it will do to you, though you know it will not be pleasant.  In King's formulation, terror is the best kind of writing, followed by horror, then by mayhem. The final quote he gives on the topic is memorable:  “I recognize terror as the finest emotion and so I will try to terrorize the reader. But if I find that I cannot terrify, I will try to horrify, and if I find that I cannot horrify, I'll go for the gross-out. I'm not proud.”

The story I came up with for The Horror Zine was "The Chamber"—a bit more on the terror side, or at least I like to think so. Talaith, a girl living in rural ancient Greece is suffering, with her family and everyone else in her village, through a famine. Rain has not come and food is scarce. One day as she kneads bread, she remembers than in ancient times the villagers offered human sacrifices—usually an unmarried girl—to appease the gods and bring rain. She shudders at the thought. But even she contemplates this, a delegation from the village appears at the door of her family's house. She knows why they have come.

Talaith

Victims are killed by being sealed in what is called The Chamber, a room in the Temple of Artemis that, when wax is put around the edges of the door, is airtight. The sacrificial virgin suffocates.

Talaith is sullen and tells Modthryth, the priestess, who is preparing Talaith and enjoying her helplessness, that she doesn't want to die, the matter is not fair, and she thinks that if the goddess Artemis is above human beings and expects humans to behaved morally, the goddess would behave morally herself and not demand the life of an innocent girl. The priestess rebukes her and says she has absorbed heretical thoughts from Pythius, her brother, who has studied with the philosopher Heraclitus and has new ideas. Still, she is quiet. No use in fighting. No use in blaspheming or cursing the priestess. She is sealed in The Chamber.

She feels the air begin to thin and then feels her lungs ache as the oxygen in the room is used up. Just as she is about to die, she looks up at a thin ceramic portrait of the goddess. It is glowing. She fears at first, but then realizes it is glowing because the moon is shining through it. Just then it shatters. Pythius has come and broken the window at the deserted temple and saved his sister.

He wants them to run away, but Talaith has an idea. She tells him to leave, uses a shard of broken clay to cut her dress so it is above her knees, and unties her hair. She waits. As she waits, she hears the rain begin to fall.

When the villagers come to retrieve her body, she steps out of The Chamber. Her short skirt and loose hair make her look like the Goddess Artemis. Everyone, including Modthryth, gapes at her. She says the goddess appeared, spoke to her, and made her the new priestess of the temple. And Talaith has some plans and thinks of the changes she will make as the new priestess. She will stop the sacrifices and she will appoint her brother to teach the children of the village a new way of thinking.

Her ruse works. The people proclaim her Artemis's messenger. Even the sadistic priestess bows down to her. As the rain falls, she goes home with her family, the danger at an end, the prospect of change a certainty.

I hoped I at least achieved a bit of terror in this. The creepy idea of slowly suffocating, the fear that she might have blasphemed and Artemis might appear to drag her down to hell, go through the girl's mind as she waits to die. For all horror writers, terror is something to shoot for—or horror or mayhem. We're not proud.

You can read "The Chamber" by clicking here. The way the story is set up, you'll have to scroll down just a bit. The story was reprinted in the Horror Zine's 2011 anthology, What Fears Become (also highly recommended). 

For a Christmas gift for adult readers or fantasy lovers, get a copy of ShadowCity. For additional titles that will make great gifts for horror, fantasy, and paranormal readers, check out my Writer's Page.    

                         

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.