Archive for the ‘Scary Stuff’ Category

“Why Young Girls?”

Posted: December 19, 2013 in ideas, Living and Life, Reflections, Scary Stuff, Writing
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Yesterday I visited my advisor’s office in the English department and discussed doing my senior thesis in the fall. Normally I would talk to her about this after spring semester had started, but I wanted to get a jump on things before I was busy with homework from five different classes. Plus I had the day off yesterday so I thought to myself, why not?

During the course of our meeting, I was outlining what I’d like to do for my senior thesis, mainly to write a novel. For this novel, I chose five different ideas for stories from the list of novels I keep on my flash drive and gave a brief synopsis of each one to my advisor Ruth. Around the third idea, Ruth noticed a trend with two of the stories I’d mentioned: they both involved young girls as protagonists in the story (one was a story based on Alice in Wonderland, the other involved demons). She then asked me, “Why young girls? Why are they used so much in horror?” To my surprise, I realized I hadn’t thought of it much, and at that moment I didn’t have a very good answer for why, when children are used so much in scary stories, young girls are more dominant than young boys (notable exceptions include Danny Torrance from The Shining and six out of seven protagonists in Stephen King’s IT, the two boys from Monster House, and Hansel from Hansel and Gretel).

And guess what? The question’s been bugging me since that meeting yesterday. So between writing, work, applying for scholarships, and my household chores, I thought I’d take a moment to examine why young girls are more dominant in these sorts of stories. First, we need to examine why children in general are used so much in horror stories:

1. Children are very innocent creatures. It’s the most obvious reason, but it still needs to be stated. Children are very innocent human beings. They still believe that good usually wins against evil, that bad guys get beat up and thrown in jail by superheroes and cops, and the world is a safe place where they are loved and are protected from evil, at least until they’ve been warped by some of the harsh realities of the world. In horror stories, that innocence is tested and sometimes completely broken by the events of the story, whether it be monsters under the bed, abusive parents/teachers/bullies, or whatever else you may be using as the antagonist in a story.

Even the man/child/sponge has more imagination than most adults.

2. Let’s face it, kids are more imaginative. As we grow older, we tend to think less in terms of the fantastic and more in terms of what is real and reasonable. But as children, we really believe in Santa, the boogeyman, fairies, aliens and ghosts with little doubt that they are actual, concrete beings. This means that kids are usually the first to come to the realization that something evil is at work. They don’t realize it through any leap of logic or reason, but through gut feeling and belief. This is also usually why they are more likely to survive than that one guy in every horror film who insists with fatalistic stubbornness that there’s a logical reason for everything and then when they realize something’s up, they still insist on handling it themselves as men, even if it leads to their heads getting bitten off.

3. Kids are dependent on others. Until sometime between ten or twelve, children are dependent on adults for most of their basic needs, and even when they start to become independent, they still require a good portion of help from adults. When in a horror story, most likely a child can’t recieve help from an adult because they’re less likely to be believed by adults. This means they’re basically adrift in a metaphorical sea that wants to kill them painfully and mercilessly. How they survive without the security of an adult is something that keeps the reader drawn into the story.

4. Children are also not as resourceful. Or to be more specific, it’s rare for children to have access to the knowledge or tools they need to defeat the enemy of the story. They wouldn’t know how to set up a trap for a mutant monster, or how to draw a vampire into the sunlight without being totally obvious of their intentions, or even how to set a windigo on fire with nothing but a set of matches (which they shouldn’t be playing with anyway). If the characters are adult, all they need to do is get out their smartphone and Google “How to make a molotov cocktail” or “how to set up a tripwire alarm system”. Kids wouldn’t even have a smartphone, and even if they did they probably wouldn’t know what to Google. How do they survive with nothing to really help them? That is another draw of a horror story.

Look at that face! You know that hotel gave that kid some big therapy bills.

5. Children are easily influenced. Lastly, children are easy to influence, for better or for worse. Has anyone seen Friday the 13th Part IV? Right at the very end we see just how the events of being around Jason have influenced and hurt little Tommy, who will be dealing with his issues for the next two films. A horrific event can stay with a child for a very long time, corrupt their innocence or make them aware of their own abilities. Either way, the events of the story will stay with the child likely throughout their lives. From what I hear, the Overlook Hotel certainly stuck with Danny Torrance (I haven’t read Doctor Sleep yet, though it’s on my reading list).

Okay, so we’ve established why children in general are used so much in scary stories. But still the answer of why young girls are used in the stories has still to be answered. Often, like Carol Anne from Poltergeist, they are persecuted and kidnapped by beings we can’t really understand. Or, like Samara from The Ring, they are the stuff of our nightmares. And occasionally they are both (anyone watch The Exorcist recently?).

This morning I spent some time trying to figure out and I think a lot of it has to do with socialization and the roles we assign to the female gender. In other words, what we expect from young girls and how we believe they should act, behave, and think are why young girls are so popular in horror stories.

Please note that the suggestions I’ve listed below are for fictional girls and are just based on my own reading and viewing of many different horror novels, comics, TV shows, and movies. There may be several stories featuring girls that are the exact opposite of these reasons, I just have yet to be exposed to these stories. The reasons I’ve listed do not necessarily apply to real girls either, as I’ve made clear below. Here are the reasons I was able to come up with and which back up my beliefs on gender roles making female characters popular:

1. Fictional girls are more prone to sweetness, harmony, and nonviolence. Most boys when they’re young like to get wild, scrap a bit, use their fists and compete with each other through acts of physical prowess and aggression (when my cousin was younger, you could not stop him from acting like this). Young girls though are often portrayed as preferring to be friends rather than fight. They like doing cute stuff and they don’t like to get their hands dirty or do anything too wild. The only exceptions I can think of are Beverly Marsh from IT and my sisters, but then again my sisters are from my crazy family, so go figure. So since these fictional girls are less likely to use their fists and more likely to try to harmonize, they’re at more risk for whatever evil is after them in the story.

2. Young girls have yet to enter into the realm of maturity and sexuality. A lot of criticism with horror comes with how it sexualizes its female characters (please see my article Sex and Horror for more on this topic).However young girls have yet to reach that stage where people begin to see their sexuality. There’s an innocence in this lack of sexuality that young boys don’t get from their ignorance of sexuality, though that might have something to do with the fact that, like I said, a lot of women in horror are defined by their sexuality, whereas men don’t usually receive this sort of sexualized image no matter what age they are.

3. It’s adorable when young girls cry. Because of the pre-assigned roles that differentiate between boys and girls, at some point boys are taught that crying is not a manly thing to do, so they stop crying if they want to retain whatever form of manhood a young boy can have. On the other hand, it’s considered okay for girls to cry throughout their lives. And instead of pitying these girls or questioning their maturity like we would with boys, our hearts go out to the girls and make us want to hug them. This contributes to the popularity of young girls in horror stories.

And if these points haven’t hammered home my belief on gender roles playing a major role in the popularity of young girls in horror, here’s my final point:

In the end, the princess mentality takes a toll.

4. Young girls want to be princesses. It’s no understatement that plenty of girls in our Western society want to become princesses when they grow up and have a handsome prince rescue them from evil so they can live happily ever after, and our media perpetuates this to no end  (even Once Upon a Time and Frozen couldn’t leave this cliché out of their storylines, though they both do something rather original with the trope in each their own way). In horror stories, typically it’s up to a female character to either rescue herself from her predicament or to let a strapping young man save her and then sweep her off her feet. With young girls, that choice isn’t always available, and often the writer will write the story so that we wish for someone to come and save the little girl, while holding us with baited breath to see if she will be saved by a dashing prince…in the case of horror stories, most likely an older male relative with an axe or baseball bat.

So the reason why young girls are so popular in horror stories, as I’ve listed above, is that they fulfill certain gender roles that we’ve come to expect and work nicely into not just the plot of the story, but certain preconceived notions we unconsciously have in their minds. However, not all young girls fall into these roles. Beverly Marsh from IT plays a big part in stopping the demon clown when she’s a little girl by being the more aggressive fighter of the Losers Club. Coraline from the book of the same name is able to release the souls of the eaten children and save her parents all on her own. And even creepy Samara coming out of the TV is an exception, as she doesn’t fulfill any traditional roles, not even the one about needing saving. She’s the freaking villain!

Yeah, don’t mess with her.

So I think I’ve answered the question Ruth posed to me yesterday in her office. I’m not sure it’s the best answer or the right answer, but it’s what I was able to come up with. If you have any ideas about why young female characters are so popular, examples of girls who buck the trend, or any other points relevant to the discussion, please let me know.

Also, in a somewhat related note to children and horror, I finally watched the film version of Battle Royale. It was actually much better than I expected, almost as good as the novel. However there were a couple of creative choices I disagreed with, and that’s why it’s not on equal footing with the book. I also won’t see the sequel, because apparently it’s not based on the original story, its anti-American message goes beyond criticism of America to full-on attack mode, and nearly every reviewer who’s seen it has hated it, apparently.

All for now. Write on you later, Followers of Fear.

The Quiet Game: My Seventh Review

Posted: December 12, 2013 in Review, Scary Stuff, short story, Writing
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tqg cover

They say that 7 is a very lucky number, and I have no doubt about that right now. I just got my 7th review on my collection of short stories, The Quiet Game: Five Tales To Chill Your Bones. This review comes from A. Frankel, which stands for Amy Novak Frankel, my third cousin and a dear friend., and she gave it five stars. In a review titled A really good book from a new author, Amy says this:

“I thoroughly enjoyed each of the short stories in this book and look forward to reading more from this author.”

Well if I remember Amy, you said that you bought all my books (which is just the two), so I can’t wait to hear what you have to say about Reborn City. I spent four years bringing that to the printed page, so I’d love your opinion on it. And thanks for the review once again. I’m averaging about 4.3 out of 5 on Amazon now.

If you’re interested in reading The Quiet Game, it’s available in both e-book and print paperback from Amazon and Smashwords. I hope you enjoy reading it and whatever you think, please don’t hesitate to leave a review. I’m always happy for feedback, positive or negative.

Weekly Exercise #15 (11/26/13)

Posted: November 26, 2013 in Scary Stuff, Weekly Exercises, Writing
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Time again for my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are part chance to practice my craft, part chance to hear feedback from readers, and part shameless plug to get you interested in my published fiction. Remember, the Weekly Exercises are dependent on your feedback, so if you like what you’re reading or absolutely hate it, please let me know. Also, if you have an idea for a Weekly Exercise, let me know. You may see your name and idea here on this blog. And finally, if you wish to read any more Weekly Exercises, they can all be found on their own page.

This week’s exercise is in memory of all teens who have been or are currently being cyber-bullied. What you are going through is horrible and you do not deserve it. Be strong. Trust me, it gets better.

~~~

Amber found Edna’s Facebook profile and laughed. There was a picture of the fat bitch with a dog and her younger brother. Well, she wasn’t really fat, she was just a bit rounder than the other girls. But she was still a bitch. A fat, ugly bitch who listened to weird music and sat in front of her computer all day and had flirted with Amber’s boyfriend. Didn’t matter if they were going through a rough patch, the bitch still had to pay for breaking the rules!

On Edna’s status, she’d written the words “Enemies Beware. Be Kind To Others Even If You Don’t Like Them.” What the hell did that mean? Didn’t matter. The bitch was going to get what she deserved. Clicking on the comment space, Amber wrote “Ur a fat, ugly pig. Why don’t u go sterilize urself. Cow.” Amber clicked Enter.

Nothing happened. Confused, Amber clicked Enter again. Still nothing. Now Amber was pissed. How come the damn comment wasn’t showing up? She groaned and tried to refresh. Now she’d have to write the comment all over again.

She clicked the Refresh button and suddenly Edna appeared on the screen. Amber’s eyes widened as Edna waved at her. “Were you planning on doing something?” she asked, glaring at Amber through the screen triumphantly. “Not going to work.”

Amber felt her anger flare. “What the hell are you doing there?” she hissed. “You’re not supposed to be on my computer—”

Suddenly Amber was unable to speak. She felt overwhelming despair come over her, like she’d suddenly been told that everybody hated her. In fact, she was sure that they did. Everybody hated her. She didn’t have a single friend in the world. But just as surely as the feeling had suddenly come, now it was gone. Why had it come? And where had it gone?

Edna only laughed. “Now you know how it feels.” she said. “Don’t do it again if you don’t want to feel it again. That’s the curse I cat: anyone who tries to bully me feels what it’s like to be bullied. Not very fun, is it?”

Edna disappeared. And Amber, for the first time since she was a little girl, cried in shame.

The 5 Beauties of Horror

Posted: November 24, 2013 in Reflections, Scary Stuff, Writing
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The final article in my series of the various common themes (aka “beauties”) found in science fiction, fantasy, and horror. What started as a discussion in class led to these three posts: The 7 Beauties of Science Fiction, The 7 Beauties of Fantasy, and now the 5 Beauties of Horror.

Now, as to why there are only five beauties in horror, I have an explanation for that: simply, horror often crosses genre. When it features supernatural creatures or monsters from another planet or realm, it’s horror crossing over into fantasy or science fiction. When the story features more human monsters and less of a supernatural aspect, it tends to cross over into the suspense and thriller genres. In that sense, it’s very difficult to get into pure horror, because that’s so difficult to define. So instead, I opted to go into some general themes you find in all forms of horror, no matter what genre they cross over into.

If you have any ideas on how these could be expanded, please let me know. I’d love your opinion on these beauties, since I came up with them on my own (not a lot of horror fans in my science-fiction lit class sadly, or at least not any fans who are as into it as I am).

1. The antagonist–the starting point of the story. Often you can define a horror story by its antagonist. because that’s often what comes first in planning a story and what you use to describe the story: “it’s a story about a murderous ghost”, “it’s a vampire novel”, “there’s a serial killer terrorizing this small farming town”, etc. And in this capacity, I’d like to mention that the antagonist can count as something else if there’s no real human antagonist. For example, in my short story “Addict”, there wasn’t a human or demon up against the narrator. Instead his own addictions were the antagonists of the story. So the antagonist would be more like the evil in the story that wants to do the characters harm or is already doing them harm, I guess.

2. Characters and setting. Usually after I’ve come up with the villain of a story, I start to create the other characters and the setting. The latter can also be a character, such as a haunted house or a forest (if you have trouble believing me on that watch the first season of American Horror Story to see what I’m talking about). I ask myself, who are the characters? Why are they opposite or beside the antagonist? Where is this all happening? What is each character like? All important questions that the author goes into in creating the story.

3. Conflict–there’s going to be one. If there’s a vampire in town, there’s either a vampire hunter or some townsfolk who are going to try and kill the vampire. If someone’s girlfriend has been kidnapped, expect someone’s going to try and get her back. If there’s an evil ghost trying to claim the lives of a family, there might be an exorcist or a paranormal investigator or a really angry mom trying to keep the kids safe from whatever is menacing her family. That conflict is the driving point of the story, and it sets up for the next beauty.

4. Fear. This one seems obvious, but it needs stating anyway. In a horror story, the point is to get the reader or viewer scared silly by telling a story and using the various elements within to terrify. Whether it’s a feeling of being watched, of something out fo the corner of our eyes, of something jumping out, or something just damn strange that we can’t put our fingers on, the whole point of the story is to scare, to create that fear, and it’s up to the storyteller to figure out how to do that and do it well. Otherwise the storyteller has to rely on silly gimmicks like sex or too much blood or watching teens get drunk, stoned, and naked.

5. Rules–there is an MO to what’s happening. Vampires can’t walk in the sun, the killer only goes after people who enter his father’s old prison, the ghost tries to take the souls of children from their parents. There are rules to how the antagonist operates and how it can be taken down. And for the most part, those rules are concrete, or else the story makes no sense and the reader/viewer will lose interest due to disorientation and confusion.

I hope you found these helpful. And once again, if you have any suggestions on how to improve this list, let me know. I do better on this sort of stuff in a group setting sometimes.

Weekly Exercise #14 (11/19/13)

Posted: November 19, 2013 in Scary Stuff, Weekly Exercises, Writing
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Time again for my Weekly Exercises! These flash-fiction pieces are part chance for me to practice my craft, part chance for the readers of my blog to let me know how I’m doing as a writer, and part shameless plug to get people interested in my published fiction. Remember that the Weekly Exercises are dependent on reader feedback, so if you have any thoughts, let me know.

If you would like to check out other Weekly Exercises, please check out their page. And if you have an idea for a Weekly Exercise, let me know. You might see one based on your idea here with your name on it.

That’s all right now. Enjoy.

~~~

Josef Mengele woke up with a start. He was strapped down to a metal chair in his kitchen and someone had placed a gag in his mouth. He tried to call out, but a voice said in his ear, “Nobody’s coming to save you.” From behind him appeared two men and a woman. Mengele didn’t recognize either of them.

“We’ve been looking a very long time for you, Josef Mengele.” said the woman, speaking German with a Polish accent tinged with some American. “Almost ten years, in fact.”

“Do you know who we are?” asked one of the men, whose voice sounded like the one Mengele had heard only a moment before. He was dark-eyed and he had a long, scraggly beard. Mengele shook his head, which made all three intruders smile humorlessly. “We guess you wouldn’t. After all, you caused so much pain for so many. How can you expect to remember three prisoners?”

Mengele’s eyes widened. His three captors pulled up their shirt-sleeves, revealing strings of numbers appearing on their arms. Survivors of the camps, and they had him tied up and at their mercy! How did this happen?

“We’ve been tracking you for a while, Mengele.” said the second man, young and curly-haired. “We and so many of your former patients. We formed a little group after the war, you know. All to find the killers who had escaped justice. You’re the latest find out of twenty-three former Nazis. Yes, twenty-three. We made sure they suffered before they all died too.”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” said the bearded man, removing the gag from Mengele’s mouth.

Mengele coughed and spluttered before speaking. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he said. “I was an innocent lamb. I had no idea what I was doing, I was just following orders—!”

The woman slapped him. “No lies!” she hissed, her eyes ablaze with anger. “No more lies! You separated me from my husband and son! They died in the gas chambers and never received a grave. And you put me through hell, making me work and then cutting me open and then sewing me back up. And you had no problem with your lab assistants having fun with me! Don’t claim that you’re a little lamb! My husband and son were lambs! You’re a wolf!”

“The courts will vindicate me.” said Mengele. “You’ll be punished for this ludicrous behavior. But if you untie me now, I’ll forget this ever happened—”

The three captors laughed, shocking Mengele into silence. “You think we’ll give you to the courts?” said the curly-haired youth. “That’ll take too long. You’ll commit suicide before anyone can punish you. No, we’ve got something better planned for you.”

Suddenly a black shape appeared in the kitchen, floating just above the kitchen table. Mengele stared as a monstrous face emerged from the black shape, its eyes fiery red like hot coals. “What is that?” asked Mengele, terrified.

“The Angel of Death.” said the bearded man. “You know, the namesake for your nickname? He decided to help us punish the Nazis we track down. He gets your soul while you’re still alive, and we give him ourselves over to him ten years early.”

“You’d make such a deal?” said Mengele, not taking his eyes off the Angel of Death. “Why would you give up your lives after surviving the camps?”

“Because it’s worth it.” said the woman. “I’ve been only living a half-life since I left the camp anyways. Giving myself over to Death early makes the nightmares quiet, because I know I’m getting the retribution I seek. And whatever’s on the other side, it’s better than what you’ll ever get, even if I never see my husband and son again.

“Have fun in Hell.” said the bearded man. “It’s your turn to feel unending misery and terror.”

Mengele screamed as the Angel of Death wrapped itself around him. Then he was falling through a tunnel, before crashing on the shore of a sea of fire. In the sea of flames, being poked with pitchforks by ghastly monsters were Nazis of all ranks and branches and ages. Some of them Mengele even recognized. There was Goebbels and his wife, and there was his assistant at Auschwitz, and there was a corporal he’d known in Berlin, and—was that the Fuhrer being ripped apart by hooks in his skin as demons tried to reel him in from all sides like a fish?

Before he could even process that the same fate awaited him, something kicked him into the sea of flames.

A “Phantom” of an Idea

Posted: November 19, 2013 in ideas, Novel, Scary Stuff, Writing
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As you will see, there’s a really bad pun in the title of this post.

You ever have that song stuck in your head, and you can’t get it out of your head but you really don’t want it to become unstuck? And for those writers out there, do you ever wish that you could find some way to connect that song to your writing? Both happened to me today. And here’s the kicker: the songs in my head were from the musical The Phantom of the Opera, based on the novel by Gaston Leroux (you see why I said there was a bad pun in the title?). What’s worse was that I wanted to write a story written around The Phantom of the Opera.

Sometimes ideas come to me quickly when the inspiration strikes. Today it didn’t. I had to actually spend all day thinking about this story before I came up with something. The story for it was there, I just couldn’t get quite the grasp on it. And it wasn’t until I read some poetry by a friend and stepped out of the shower this evening that this idea for a POTO-based story came to me. I literally started jumping up and down in the bathroom with excitement. I was so happy to have this idea before I went to bed.

Now I’ve written the idea down and I’m writing it here because I wanted to share it with you. It just seemed like the sort of story in my life that I wanted to share here on my blog. The idea involves magic, some familiar characters from the novel and the musical, and a supernatural war playing out in Ohio, New York, Washington DC and Paris, all in the course of at least three books (I love how my mind works. It just comes up with the strangest elements to add to my stories). There’s darkness, there’s intrigue, there’s even a little forbidden love involved. If I ever get the chance to write it, it’ll be awesome.

Of course, I’ve got a pretty full schedule, so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to write it. Hopefully some time soon, right?

Well, I’m going to sign off now (first time I’ve ever said “signed off” in over two years of blogging. How’s that for random?). It’s late, and who knows? I’ve gotten some great ideas from sleeping and dreaming. If anything comes up, I might just let you know. So goodnight, Followers of Fear. See you in the morning.

Weekly Exercise #13 (11/10/13)

Posted: November 10, 2013 in Living and Life, Scary Stuff, Weekly Exercises, Writing
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Time for my Weekly Exercises (and a day earlier than promised). These flash fiction pieces are a chance to practice my craft, as well as get feedback from readers, and to possibly get them interested in my published work. Remember, the Weekly Exercises are for the readers, so if you like what you read, let me know.

This week’s Exercise is a special one, and not just because it’s the thirteenth. I’ve included a little section after the Exercise to explain why this one’s special. I’d suggest for you to wait until after you’ve read the Exercise to read that explanation, but scroll down if you want to. Just recognize it’s a much more impactful story if you read the additional stuff afterwards.

For more Weekly Exercises, please follow the link here. And if you have an idea for a Weekly Exercise, let me know. You may see your name and idea in a future Weekly Exercise.

~~~

Mark pulled the Toyota Sequoia into his usual parking spot and got out, sweaty and close to puking. Still he managed to keep his stomach down and went to inspect the front of the car. When he saw the blood, he actually did throw up.

He couldn’t believe it had happened. He’d been driving home from a party at his friend’s frat house after a few hours of boozing and a comfortable three-quarter hour with a lovely coed. He was slightly buzzed, but not enough that he thought it’d be a problem to drive. Besides, what did he care? He was doing well in his classes, he’d probably ace his exams, and he was graduating a semester early with a 3.7 GPA. What could go wrong with his life?

He’d been a block away from the intersection at Fifteenth and High, and the light turned green. He’d stepped on it, not even bothering to slow his speed or put on his turn signal as he went into the turn. It was then he’d first seen the pedestrian, a guy in a navy-blue coat and a wool hat crossing High Street. Mark saw him, but didn’t react. Neither did the pedestrian, who had just seemed to notice that a big white car was heading for him at nearly forty miles an hour.

There was a sickening crunching noise as the car’s nose hit the pedestrian head-on. He flipped -over onto the hood, rolled up to the windshield, bounced off the glass, and then off the car and onto the street. Mark hit his brakes, skidding to a stop in the left-hand lane. He looked behind him, seeing a crowd of people gathering from the nearest bar and from the street corners to see what had happened. The pedestrian lay on the ground unmoving, while people took photos with their phones and pointed. Still the pedestrian didn’t move.

Mark didn’t know how long he looked out the back of his car, but then he noticed people pointing at his car and he’d snapped back to life. He’d pressed down the gas pedal and bolted before anyone could stop him or call the cops. Mark didn’t stop driving until he was far from Fifteenth and High, and only then did he slow down enough to make it home in the narrow streets in his neighborhood without hitting anyone or anything else.

He’d killed that guy. He was sure of it. The amount of blood his car had brought with them, the poor bastard couldn’t have survived. Perhaps Mark should turn himself in—no, he couldn’t. He was going to graduate in a few weeks, and he had an interview with Safe Auto tomorrow afternoon. If he was even charged with killing someone, he could kiss his chances of graduating and employment away.

He’d have to get rid of the evidence. The window wasn’t cracked and the hood was only a little bent out of shape. If he could get the blood off his white car, nobody would know the difference. Mark turned to get a bucket and a sponge from his apartment, but standing in his way was a person. Except the person was covered in blood, his jaw nearly torn off, and his arm was bent at a weird angle. He couldn’t be a real person, could he?

Mark stepped back as the monstrous man limped towards him. It was then that Mark noticed the guy was wearing a navy-blue coat and a wool hat. It was the pedestrian he’d hit. “Hey dude.” said the pedestrian, looking at him through broken glasses. “You know, that was kind of dickish back there. I mean, you just left me in the street so that people could take photographs of me and post them to Facebook! What was up with that?”

“Stay away from me!” shouted Mark, but the ghostly vision came closer. Then it extended his good arm and pushed Mark into the front of his car. Mark felt the blood against his back, and he screamed.

“You didn’t care, did you?” shouted the spirit. “You just ran off to preserve your perfect life! My life’s gone now, it’s all over the ground and your car and your back.”  Mark stared in horror as the spirit started to fade in front of his eyes. “Well, guess what? Karma’s a bitch.”

The spirit disappeared. For a second, Mark thought he’d imagined the whole thing, but then his car roared to life behind him. He turned around and saw the pedestrian’s ghost in the front seat of his car. “Hey, I never got my license.” shouted the spirit, leaning his head out the window. Do you think I can still drive this and kill you?”

Mark screamed and ran. The car followed, its demonic driver laughing maniacally. He ran, dodging the car every time the engine gunned and it tried to hit him. At some point Mark realized that the ghost in the front seat was pushing him back towards High Street. But why? Did he want him to die like he’d died, on the very same street as he did?

Finally he broke onto the open lane of High Street, not seven blocks from where Mark had hit the pedestrian. The car chased him towards Fifteenth, a chase in the middle of the busy street. People watched as Mark ran, chased by his own car. Finally between Fourteenth and Fifteenth, the car’s engine died and the car rolled to a stop in front of a closed bookstore. Mark stopped running, unable to believe he was still alive.

“Excuse me sir?” said a voice. Mark turned and saw two cops coming his way from a sea of police cars surrounding the crosswalk where Mark had hit the pedestrian. And there, unnoticed by anyone, was the pedestrian’s ghost, sitting on top of one car. He waved as the police inspected him and his car.

Now Mark’s life was over too. The spirit disappeared.

~~~

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this on this blog, but back in February of this year I was hit by a car on the way to class. Luckily I got off with only a few bruised ribs and a scrape or two, but I was pissed, especially when the driver only waited for me to get up and start swearing before she tried to drive off. She didn’t get very far though, because the street we were on was not only full of cars and pedestrian traffic, but a construction site was nearby. She was arrested twenty feet from where she’d hit me!

Ever since that day though, I’ve been weary of getting hit again, and every time I cross a street, I’m watching twice as hard for anything that might hit me. Good thing I’ve been so vigilant, because last night as I was walking back from seeing the new Thor movie, I was crossing the street and a car nearly ran me over. And yes, it was a white Toyota Sequoia. If I’d taken a second longer to react, I might be a pancake in the road. And the way the driver reacted–actually, how he didn’t react at all to nearly hitting a pedestrian while driving too fast in a turn.–let me know that he would’ve just driven away as well if he’d hit me.

So as part therapy, part fun of writing, part warning to anyone who reads this blog and drives, and part imagining what might happen if he’d actually hit me and I could come back as a ghost, I dedicated a whole Weekly Exercise to what’d nearly happened to me. And now that I’ve written this out, I can say I can continue on with my life with just as much enjoyment and energy as usual.

Well, maybe with a bit more confidence and pride that my hyper-vigilance around traffic isn’t out of just paranoia and it’s actual useful. Good night everybody!

Weekly Exercise #12 (11/5/13)

Posted: November 5, 2013 in Scary Stuff, Weekly Exercises, Writing
Tags: , , , ,
6

It’s time again for one of my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are my chance to practice my craft, as well as receive feedback from my readers and possibly get them interested in my published work. Remember, the Weekly Exercises are dependent on reader feedback, so whatever you think, please let me know in a comment if you have the time.

Also, if you’re interested in reading the other Weekly Exercise, just follow the link here.

~~~

Daddy always said that Mommy had disappeared and that they didn’t need her because she was a whore and a bitch and they didn’t need that kind of woman in the house. Sometimes Devin thought otherwise, because surely Mommy was nicer than Daddy no matter what she was. Daddy was always angry about something, and he was angrier when he drank. One time Devin tried to ask Daddy not to drink because it only made him angry. Daddy punished Devin by making him wear a dirty diaper he’d stolen from the neighbor’s trash can and stand in the dark closet with the rats.

But now Devin wasn’t so sure that things were better with Mommy. Because Mommy had come back. At first Devin was glad to see Mommy again, but then Mommy had pulled out a knife. Daddy had been sleeping on the couch, burping and farting in his sleep. Mommy had stabbed Daddy while Devin watched. There was a lot of blood, and some of it got on Devin. She stabbed him again and again. And Devin could only watch and cry.

At some point Mommy stopped stabbing Daddy and looked at Devin. It was like she’d never noticed him standing there till now, judging by the look of surprise on her face. “Devin!” she said. “What’s the matter?”

Devin could only cry harder as he tried to speak to his mother. “Why-why did you stab Daddy?” he hiccupped. “Why?”

Mommy smiled, and her pearly-white teeth scared Devin because they looked like rat teeth. “Because I’ve always wanted to.” she said. “And because I can.”

My Scary Scene Might Just Be Okay

Posted: November 3, 2013 in Living and Life, Novel, Reflections, Scary Stuff, Writing
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0

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post about the scariest scene I’d ever written in my career. It was a pretty intense sexual assault scene, so bad that I had to go out shopping in the middle of a downpour just to find my center and write about it in a blog post (it was that bad). Two of the concerns I had with the scene was if it would deliver the emotional effect I was looking for, and was it well written?

Well, I can’t really testify as to the former question. Only readers of the story could tell me, and that novel is still in its first draft. But for the latter, I might have an answer.

The book I’m reading for class right now.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m taking a literature class that covers science-fiction literature (and a couple movies). One of the books we’re reading is called The Windup Girl by Paolo Baciagalupi, and early on it has a pretty terrifying rape scene. I found myself reading it on my couch, putting a hand over my mouth as it ended. I was thinking about it the whole rest of the day and well into the evening, trying to wrap my head around it.

And then I realized something. I felt these same emotions writing my own rape scene. Not at the same intensity, but close to it. And it was written in a similar way to my own scene as well. In fact, I thought to myself, “There are many similarities between the scene in Baciagalupi’s novel and my own draft for Laura Horn.” Now I’m not saying I’m on par with a novelist who’s won the Hugo and Nebula Awards (and besides, his scene had some sci-fi twists, making it very different from mine), but the similarities really sprung out at me, especially the emotional similarities. It made me realize that wondering whether it’s well-written–whether I included the right words, whether I was describing anything right–was the wrong thing to worry about.

Instead, I should be worrying about delivering the emotional impact that you’d expect from a rape scene. The terror, the humiliation, the pain, the anger, the crushing despair. I should be more focused on those aspects of the writing when I write those sort of scenes. If I do that, the well-written part will somehow weave itself into the scene.

So now that I’ve figured that out, I think I’ll approach those scenes very differently in the future, should I decide to do one again. In the meantime though, I think I’ll go to bed, as it’s getting quite late. Goodnight, my dear Followers of Fear (that’s what I’ve started calling people who read this blog regularly, along with those on my Facebook page and Twitter feed. Do you like the nickname?).

Oh, and for those of you who are wondering when I’m going to end this self-imposed hiatus on my writing (if anyone’s wondering that at all. I’m sure most of my readers have more important things to think about, but you never know), I promise you it’ll be as soon as my workload clears up a bit. That might not be till after final exams, when all I have is work at my job and whatever’s on TV or whatever I’m reading at the moment, but on the plus side, exams are in four or five weeks, so it’ll be soon. And then I plan on writing up a mean storm of fiction! It’ll make up for all I’ve missed during NaNoWriMo!

Weekly Exercise #11 (10/29/13)

Posted: October 29, 2013 in Scary Stuff, Weekly Exercises, Writing
Tags: , , , ,
2

It’s time for my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are part chance to practice my craft, part sounding board to see what works with readers and what doesn’t, and part shameless plug to get people interested in my published work.

If you like or hate this week’s Exercise, please let me know. I appreciate feedback, positive or negative. And if you want to read past Weekly Exercises, please click here.

~~~

Darla led her cousin Will through the fields behind her Daddy’s farm, pulling on his hand as she led him through the tall stalks of corn. She giggled and he laughed, letting himself be pulled along. Overhead, the country moon shown bright above them as they raced for the woods behind Old Man Keller’s house, where they would have some alone time.

Will had come to stay with them this summer because Darla’s Uncle Pete thought that Will’s city friends were bad news, and he wanted Will somewhere away from that sort of environment. Darla didn’t mind at all. She and Will hadn’t seen each other at all since they were both four years old, and in that time Will had gone from a cute little boy to just plain cute. Plus he had that big-city swagger and confidence and that dialect you only heard in the city and in the blockbusters they showed at the theater in town. It made Will that much cooler, and if he didn’t mind, Darla wouldn’t mind herself if they were kissing cousins for the summer.

“So what was your Dad talking about earlier?” asked Will when they reached the woods. “That Owl-Man thing he mentioned?”

Darla groaned; her father had probably figured out that she planned to take Will out to the woods and had tried to make her reconsider by mentioning sightings of the Owl-Man in the woods and in the fields.

“It’s just an old urban legend.” said Darla. “That the guy who owned Keller’s woods before he did was into black magic and one day he cursed himself with an owl’s head, so now he lives in the woods pecking the eyes out of anyone who crosses into his woods and sees him so he can keep his secret. It’s just meant to keep kids from making out in the woods. The real reason why nobody should go in is because Old Man Keller has a gun.”

“Then why are we going in?” asked Will.

“Because it’s the only place nobody goes to make out.” said Darla with a wink. “We’ll have the whole place to ourselves.” Will grinned as they ran into the trees. When they were a ways in, they stopped and Will pulled out two of Daddy’s beer cans from inside his jacket. They were about to take a long deep drink when they heard a branch break. Both froze, looking around in case someone had followed them in. There was no way around.

Shrugging, they toasted each other with the beer cans and took a long gulp. The beer tasted dark and full of teenage rebellion. Darla wiped her mouth and looked at Will. She wondered if this was a good time to see if he wanted to kiss when there was another cracking noise. Will stood up, looking around. “Somebody there?” he shouted.

“Oh, sit down.” said Darla. “It’s probably somebody who had the same idea as us. And if Old Man Keller hears you, he’ll shoot you—Eek!”

A man emerged from the dark, holding a rifle in his hands. Darla couldn’t make out his face very well, but from the smell of tobacco and his girth she was pretty sure that it was Old Man Keller.

“Oh, hi Mr. Keller.” she said. “Um…we were just leaving. So if you don’t mind telling my Daddy about this, that would be great. ‘Kay?”

All Old Man Keller did was fall over onto his belly. Darla jumped away, spilling beer all over her shirt. Why was he so big? And why did he fall down? He had nearly crushed her!

Will turned over Old Man Keller, asking him if he was okay. The next moment he jumped away, his face suddenly green. Darla looked at Old Man Keller and saw that his eyes were missing from their sockets. Darla screamed, dropping her beer can in fright. She must’ve stood there screaming for half a minute before Will pulled her away. They were running away at top speed, heading through the cornfields and back to Darla’s house. When they got there, they stood bent over their knees, breathing hard.

“What was that?” asked Will. “Why were his eyes–?”

“Didn’t I tell you kids not to go out to Old Man Keller’s woods?” said a voice, Darla’s Daddy’s voice. Darla and Will jumped, looking around for Darla’s dad. “Owl Man’s watching for anybody who goes into his woods at night who shouldn’t be there. That includes his own family.”

They looked up and saw a man in a T-shirt and overalls standing on the roof. At first Darla recognized her father and was glad he was there. But then feathers sprouted from his face. And then to her horror he jumped down, his beak clicking loudly for eyeballs to eat.

She screamed until her own throat was torn out.

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