Love Crafting Horror from the Cosmos?

“What the howling depths below keep concealed

Should never, to living mortals be revealed.”

– “Der Taucher” (Friedrich Schiller, 1797)

David B. Gosselin Translation (2018)

^{photo by Mathias Reding}

Fear of the unknown is deeply imbued into the human condition. Some of the best horror comes from stories with vague evils and mysterious entities; this is what allows movies like Bird Box to become so popular. Not all horror is like this, certainly not! We tend to be drawn to horror due to fear surrounding something we don’t understand: aliens, murderous zombies, demons, so on and so forth; however, in those stories, the evil is definite. We see the xenomorphs in Alien. Jason and Freddy Krueger are shown on screen. We see the possessed doll in Annabelle… yet we never see what plagues those in Bird Box. A part of us wants to see what it is, because at least then, we know what to fear.

What if we don’t know what to fear? What if some terror originates from our insignificance to the cosmos? Or, worse, what if what we’re supposed to fear is so beyond our imaging that it makes us go mad from knowledge?

This kind of horror tends to be known as “cosmic horror;” however, it is often used interchangeably with “Lovecraftian horror.”

H.P. Lovecraft liked to make monsters and deities. My favorite work of his is At The Mountains of Madness, and, though the terror is somewhat known, the story is still deeply intriguing and simultaneously off-putting. It’s truly enjoyable, and I would recommend giving it a read if you haven’t already. To me, though, Lovecraft’s insistence on putting even a vague face on his horror separates his brand of cosmic horror into his own subgenre of Lovecraftian horror.

To reuse an old mantra: All Lovecraftian horror is cosmic horror, but not all cosmic horror is Lovecraftian. Unfortunately, genre separation isn’t that simple, and one Google search of “cosmic horror” will lead you to the Wikipedia article for Lovecraftian horror as its first result.

To me, cosmic horror is simply horror that stems simultaneously from something unknowable and the growing realization of the insignificance of our individuality and entire species in the greater scheme of things. Religion in general doesn’t necessarily have to be part of the “something unknowable,” though the way Lovecraft’s pantheon has stuck with us for nearly a century shows the power of using our concept of deities against us; however, he certainly wasn’t the first to do this.

“Der Tacuher,” the poem quoted at the beginning of this post, was written in 1797 and is about a squire who jumps into the churning ocean to retrieve the king’s goblet. The ocean comes alive as its own terrifying entity, “It whirls and bubbles and foams and blends / As when water with fire collides” and “Gapes wide open, and then makes it hellish foray / To the cold depths of the infernal waters.” When the squire jumps into the ocean, its “gaping mouth closes over the swimmer.”

As a person who can’t swim, the ocean is scary. The ocean is scary even in concept, since, even in modern day, we are still discovering new flora and fauna that call the ocean home. Even on our own planet, the ocean may as well be as vast and misunderstood as the cosmos – and the squire in this poem only survives diving to the depths for his king’s goblet from a miracle from his God. In his victory speech, he describes this, and then also says:

“‘Let man never tempt the Godly might,

Never longing, and never hoping to see

What Gods veil with fright and terror graciously.'”

Creepy! He even describes nearly being killed by something only described as, “Limbs of every sort coming into motion”—an interesting parallel to some of Lovecraft’s deities. Even though this limbed thing is not described as any sort of god, religion is still paramount to the narrative since the squire is saved due to his God intervening. Unfortunately, when he is asked to dive into the water again, he is lost to sea.

I’m sure there is an interesting and lengthy analysis that could be made here; however, when it comes to the discussion of cosmic horror and Lovecraftian horror, it’s important to understand that this genre has existed prior to Lovecraft. His work has just popularized it, thus why the terms are often used interchangeably. I definitely think there is a difference between the two, but works like Stephen King’s From A Buick 8 and Mark Danielewski’s House of Leaves do complicate the line that could exist between the genres.

Cosmic horror is a fear of the unknowable coupled with existential dread. In “Der Taucher,” the sea is a frightening and unknowable entity of endless depths, but something that we have to confront to move forward while also understanding that it swallows us whole – even the most charitable and kind of people. Over a century later, At The Mountains of Madness showcases a horrifying creature unearthed from the depths, and an indescribable abandoned place that makes one question not only their own sanity, but their place in the universe. And, nearly a century later, House of Leaves echoes the ideas written in “The Garden of Forking Paths” by Jorge Luis Borges in 1941 while also drawing from Lovecraftian influences to create a truly mystifying and terrifying experience for the reader.

Fear of the unknowable and our insignificance is deeply set into the human condition. Stories about it are complicated and vague purposefully, in order to bring out that horror and dread in us… and then we pet our cats, play with our dogs, have a cup of tea, and we forget about it. At least until we remember, and then we have to confront what that media has told us, or comfort ourselves into ignoring it all over again.

Fascinating stuff.

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I’ll have some more detailed posts about Lovecraftian horror, cosmic horror, the bridge between the two, and, not discussed necessarily here, New Weird fiction; however, for now, here are some recommendations I have for those who are interested in the overarching “cosmic horror” genre!

All the books, stories, and poems I mentioned specifically in this post are definitely recommended – go check them out!

The Ballad of Black Tom by Victor LaValle is a fantastic retelling of one of Lovecraft’s most racist works.

“The Nature of Bees” by Priya Sharma is a wonderful example of cosmic horror that uses humans and nature as the Creeping Thing.

The Fisherman by John Langan makes the Adirondacks and the act of fishing feel like the most terrifying things on the planet.

Night Sky on Amazon Prime is existential, moving, and also creepy; however, it has not been renewed for a second season, so tread lightly if you wish to watch it.

Dark on Netflix is somewhat similar to Night Sky, and is actually finished, so it’s definitely worth your time. The show is in German, and I normally watch shows in their original language with English subtitles, but you need to watch the dub in your native language to catch all the details in this one.

Revelator by Daryl Gregory is a recommendation from my mother, since I haven’t read it yet, but she said it was delightful – I can confirm her enjoyment of it since she could not put it down! This one is quite Lovecraftian and takes place in historical Appalachia, so it definitely piqued my interest and has my mom’s approval.

“Funnyway” by Serge Brussolo fits the cosmic horror mold in a different way than some of the other examples, and is truly unsettling to read through.

That’s all for now!

Take it easy,

– Siren 🐟

A Bit of Moonshine: Prologue Peek!

My current project is Moonshiners’ Hollow, a horror story set in rural Meadow Bridge, West Virginia. There, the trees are creeping into the town as the mountains waste forward, creeping like slow sand dunes threatening to swallow towns and cities whole. The story is inspired by Appalachian folklore and the unique stories told to me by my grandpa while growing up. Sometime, I’ll write down one of those stories as my grandpa tells it to me, but, until then, as my work on the manuscript comes to a close, let’s take a look at the book’s prologue.

To preface this, here is the book’s summary:

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖

The headline is plastered all over the Fayette Tribune, accompanied by a picture of the gravel lane lined with body bags. The article is vague, and fits entirely on the first page of the newspaper. The cause of death for all thirty-one inhabitants is unknown, their names have not yet been released, and an investigation is ongoing: that is all there is to say.

Tyler Rhoades grew up in Meadow Bridge, close to Moonshiners’ Hollow, but he escaped the small town at age eighteen and has since drifted from city to city in a desperate attempt to find himself. After an accident at his most recent job as a deckhand aboard a barge, Tyler’s drifting life is uprooted as he is forced to head back to his hometown in the deepest recesses of West Virginia and into the shifting darkness of something terrible.

PROLOGUE

The sky was completely dark, devoid of star and moon. Where mountain subsided to tree was obscured by the clouds overhead. The air was heavy with the scent of imminent rain, and the tree frogs screeched their shrill rain song into the abyss. Night things scurried through the leaves, and humans gathered with their flashing red-and-blue lights along a narrow gravel road traversing the valley.

It lumbered, drunken in its uneven footfalls that punctured the thick leaf debris lining the forest floor. Its head, deer-like, was tilted to the side as it stumbled through the forest along Moonshiners’ Hollow, its dark eyes fixated upon the light reflecting off the ramshackle homes near the road. The deep rumble of familiar hunters’ voices– Human –echoed through the trees, mixing with the cadence of tree frogs and katydids. It continued forward, its zig-zag movements slowing as it turned its attention to the humans.

They travelled in pairs, using piercing beams of light that scattered along the warped glass of windows like the stars that were missing from the sky. Their footsteps were undisguised, disturbing the leaves under their strange feet while they swung their lights through the forest, using their voices all the way.

One of the light beams passed swiftly over it, and it paused in its uneven gait, raising its head to appear more Deer than Not. The beam that had touched its deer-like body never returned to it; the humans had their attention on something else, making more noise than usual– calling loudly in their deep voices, disturbing anything in the area.

It did not understand Human, but it did understand that it needed to stay away. The light, though, was comforting in the darkness, and the rain was closing in. It would wait where it was, at least for a time, to use the humans to avoid predators.

The humans stayed for much time, and more vehicles of flashing light that made rockfall noises on the gravel arrived at some point in the night. It stayed at the edge of the light, its ears angled backward to listen for wayward coyotes and eyes trained on the scene unfolding before it. In and out and around, the humans worked like ants, carrying things from the buildings to roads.

The rain came from the west, the cascade of droplets on leaves in the distance becoming a deafening waterfall roar as the rain neared. Water fell upon it and the humans, yet the humans continued, their calls echoing even over the torrent of rain falling from the sky.

The same syllable, like some strange mating call, echoed over and over: “Dead.”

What the meaning of the vocalization was was unclear, and the humans were mostly gone before the sun rose. In the gray twilight, curiosity finally overtook it after the only remaining pair of humans returned to the road, and it began its unsteady course toward the nearest building: white, blue and covered in lichen and moss. A wooden platform attached to the back of the building, allowing a view inside a rectangular entrance.

As it neared, the fresh scent of rain began to be overpowered by the metallic twang of blood and a floral scent of decay. Its ears twitched, raindrops falling from their tips. Its hooves made a hollow noise on the wet wood, and its head turned, jerking as it did so, its muscles tensing at the overwhelming smell of blood and decay.

Three humans– barely recognizable as such –were seated around a table: a juvenile and two adults; all holding hands. Their matted, dirty hair clung to their scalps, skin appearing loose on their bones. A layer of blood– coagulated and sticky –was pooled under them from no clear source.

Dead?

Moonshiners’ Hollow is still a work-in-progress, but you can currently read the first four chapters of its first draft on Wattpad for free!

The Blurred Witch and Voiceless Siren

Mitch Hedberg once said that Bigfoot is just blurry. I may not be Bigfoot, but I am just as blurry. I get it from my mother; she scared a pair of police officers in her 20s when she said that she was going to curse them for seven years if they didn’t let her go. After many blurry mugshots, they were rattled and allowed her to go home with my grandparents. Seven years later, that crime mysteriously appeared on her record.

I thankfully have not had the experience with frightening police with a seven-year curse, but few in-focus pictures exist of me. My mother’s reputation as a spiteful witch tends to not be spoken about, but my reputation of “that weird dude in the forest” is mumbled about here and there.

I did decide to rename myself “Siren.” The multitude of meanings behind the name are all part of why I chose it. Deadly-mermaid sirens are a cryptid of sorts, and also are as blurry as Bigfoot if you’ve ever watched Mermaids: The Body Found. Personally, I was thinking mostly of the salamanders in the Sirenidae family, who look like this:

^{Greater Siren (Siren lacertina) illustrated for Philosophical Transactions vol. 56, 1766}

They’re cute little guys!

I have a certificate in herpetology, and I’m working on ways to educate people in the area about how important herpetofauna are for our delicate – and unique – ecosystems. On nice days, I trudge through the nearby nature preserve and count salamanders; the foliage does make it difficult to take a picture that isn’t blurry, especially since I usually hit the hills a little before sundown.

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Think of this post as an introduction of sorts. I feel like a lot of people overlook Appalachia as a whole, and there are so many interesting things here! Though my novels are fiction, my plan for this blog is to show all the cool animals, rock formations, and folktales that make this place home. I also have a YouTube, which I plan to use to make videos surrounding writing in general. These plans may change, but we’ll all see what works together.

Take it easy,

– Siren 🐟