Historically I love Halloween. It’s the combination of lore, atmosphere, candy, and scaring the crap out of little kids that has wormed its way into my heart. Mostly the terrifying kids part. I am enamored with having this day, a day when the spirits are praised. Where it is said the barrier between worlds is thinnest, that the dead shall return to earth if for only a day. Where both kind and malevolent creatures once more prowl the streets. This is a day that was made for me and my ability to be just plain wrong.
Though I am not feeling it this year. I can’t be bothered to dress up as I have no idea what I would even want to be. I’ll also be damned if I go out that evening, as I have a very deep seeded hatred for large groups of people. From what I have been told there will be visitors on their way down that weekend, and if history dictates the future they will want to end up in a bar and will probably end up in a club. And the best case scenario with me ending up in a club is it burning down and me standing with a tank of gas with a broad smile on my lips.
But I have a plan. A small and eagerly delightful plan. A strange and wonderful plan. Ghost stories, spirits, and Cthulhu. Oh yes. There shall be a Cthulhu adventure this weekend.
If you recall from our last disastrous adventure the brave and noble Chuck Norris had fallen in a hail of gun fire from some cultists; and Atticus Finch, having revived Chuck as a zombie, went completely mad. I have also learned that the Doctor shall not be partaking in this latest sojourn into the despair filled pits of the unknown. So there shall be the return of Doctor Junior Jones and Dana Scully as they and their new comrades look into the latest ominous signs to plague Arkham.
The plot shall take place on the days leading up to and on Halloween. Disappearances and gore filled crime scenes mark the past; clues and warnings that those who have yet to witness true horror will dismiss. Sacrifices, ghosts, murder, and danger await the investigators as they attempt to stop the past from happening again. Will they succeed? Or will they perish where so many other lives had been lost before? The time draws near, the full moon rises, and as the veil weakens the spirits call out for blood.
Alas I have been neglecting my sad blog that has no other purpose than for me to rant and rave like a lunatic. And lo and behold it happens to be mid-October now. Funny how time flies when you are doing not a whole hell of a lot. With a little less than three weeks until I hold Dragon Age in my hands there has been a tingle in the back of my mind. A dark and often forgotten urge that courses through my brain at this time of the year. I have the urge to write something horrifying.
Now I have said in the past that I get fits and urges to write at seemingly random times. And this is accurate, and often at the most inappropriate times. It is a little difficult to expound on the finer points of a story when I am, in fact, looking at spreadsheets and determining what software is installed on what machine. So I have to admit the story that I hope to have written by the end of the month is something that gets me giddy. It has everything that I love in horror: the psychological effects of despair and horror as things outside our grasp of reality break through and the gruesomely disturbing deaths that follow.
There is something almost primal about writing something horror themed. Where you tap into one of the most visceral feelings that anyone can experience. And when I write these stories it isn’t out of some sick sadistic urge. I write these stories because everyone can relate to it on some level. To have them get caught up in the suspense of who will live or what will happen. To hopefully unease them, to make them squeamish, and more often than not scare them. That is the entire point to horror. To elicit that pure sensation of fear and dread.
Movies like Saw or Hostel don’t understand what true horror is. Yes, mutilations and torture porn is unsettling but there is never anything more behind those movies. A truly good horror story is often dependent on the psychological assault; watching as the protagonist is slowly overwhelmed by what they face. To have them come to grips and either succeed or fail against what is out there. To face the unknown and either live or die but to have at least tried. Without that drive, to face that unknown threat, there is nothing substantial to the story. There is just blood and gore and death just for the sake of it. And I find that very sad for some reason.