What is the reward of frightening myself?

My 'better version' of a monster would have to be something that is scary enough to keep me locked in the bathroom with my family, almost too scared to breathe, worried that the pounding of my heart might give me away. Interestingly, it could be a hotel. Stephen King's 'The Shining' was one of the few books skillful enough to give me frights. It's a pity that everything else he wrote came across so tame.

(Caveat emptor: this was written before I got ebooks on my mobile. A lot has changed sine then, particularly the amount of reading and enjoyment.)

A likable chap on Facebook, who still lists himself as coming from Windhoek, Namibia, recently made a short movie. It entails people eating a chicken, which mysteriously reconstitutes itself on the plate, as they eat. It is far too difficult to describe it, so just watch it, OK?




The film has the feel of a piece of Dadaism from the 1930s, or perhaps a decade earlier. The facial expressions are captivating, as are the characterisations. There are plenty of little details that are barely noticeable, so it asks you to watch it a couple of times. Obviously they also had fun with the accordion, violin and tinkly piano. What I need to say about it, is that it is disquieting. If you want some bad puns to wash that down, how about 'an visual feast, unlike the normal regurgitated horror'.

I posted the thing to my Facebook page, with the following note: “I enjoy things which disturb me and make me think, because they pull me out of reveries which can become repetitive, so this is very much appreciated.”

For a while after I posted it, I wondered if those words had any value. On reflection, I think they do. I am being true to myself. Like I said, “I enjoy things which disturb me.”

I have not written about my beloved horror genre for a while, so...

Well, actually, there is not much to write about that is new, no book or straight-to-DVD movie that has grabbed me in that gut-churning way. I am in the closing chapters of Sergei Lukyanenko's brilliant 'Watch' series, but that is dark fantasy, not true horror. There was Thomas Dorman's disturbing resurrection of a roast chicken. And that's it. Not a good year for horror, as far as the quantity of my intake is concerned. If I had a Kindle and a bunch of US dollars, things would probably be better, but that is the way the cookie crumbles.

What's out there in the movies? Nothing. The DVD stores? A bunch of stupid slasher flicks, more an excuse for the dumb adolescent thrills of illicit nipples and butt cracks than reasons to leave a light on at bedtime. There might be another Trueblood series in this year, but as someone else on Facebook mentioned, it's more like Abba, at least if you can compare pop music to horror.

I need something truly terrifying, an ancient slimy evil, completely bent on unimaginably cruel destruction of families. Award yourself full marks if you immediately thought of Gaddafi moving in next door, but please understand, the ICC could handle him, so that is not enough.

I read an extract from an academic piece on horror the other day. It summed up the 'good' monster as something that is both threatening and impure, with some form of ambiguity. The idea of the arcane and occult springs to mind here. Bring it in from another dimension. Nothing is more ambiguous than a creature that is not of this world, yet in this world. That or sit down to a nasty chicken dinner.

My 'better version' of a monster would have to be something that is scary enough to keep me locked in the bathroom with my family, almost too scared to breathe, worried that the pounding of my heart might give me away. Interestingly, it could be a hotel. Stephen King's 'The Shining' was one of the few books skillful enough to give me frights. It's a pity that everything else he wrote came across so tame.

What is the reward of frightening myself? Simply put, it is the joy of living. Life drags by without much change. Routines are survival. If not for the dozy routine, life would be stressful. Moments of horror, such as the transition of the fly in 'The Ring', are moments which shock me awake. The fact that the horror I consume is all fiction means that it is a brief awakening, not enough to consume me entirely in its turn.

There are about six months to go, so the year has a chance to improve itself. But perhaps, like good suspense, it won't deliver any fresh creations. Perhaps it will just be the creaking of a door. I hope that is not how it plays out.