The True Nature of Horror and Terror
Welcome to class! Yes, we may have fewer sessions now, but they are more valuable after the restructuring. You’re still getting your money’s worth, but you’ll need to work on tolerating each other, Neophyte and Timmy. And yes, Timmy, it also means more homework, so I hope that won’t be a problem. Now, onto today’s subject. While we were supposed to continue with the outline and theme discussions, today is a special day—it’s “Mr. Wulf Needs to Ramble Day.” No, don’t grin like the Cheshire cat, Neophyte. Neither of us invented that excuse to skip class, so don’t try to distract the teacher with it. Besides, that’s not the case today.
Recently, something happened to me that made me question the true nature of horror and terror—two genres that, while I have an appreciation for, I’ve never fully delved into. We’ll come back to that later. For now, let’s make the distinction between them because they are different.
Yes, Neophyte, different. Each represents something entirely different. Horror is fleeting—it’s a moment of scare, a high note of emotion that gives way to something else, either adrenaline or panic. It may or may not leave its mark, it may or may not brand a part of the soul that experiences it, but a scare is nothing more than that—fleeting and fading in the dark. And since I’m rambling, please forgive me while I go on a personal tangent. Perhaps that’s why horror has never fully attracted me in any capacity. At first, it was because I didn’t like feeling scared—completely natural, I hope you agree. But later in life, after enjoying some works with scary parts in them, I had to reflect and ponder on it.
It’s because horror doesn’t really stick—it comes and it goes. Now, make no mistake, a good author in any medium can make a horror story like that work. The question that follows is, why is it fleeting? It’s because of the two emotions that it leads to. You either freeze or panic, neither of which is cathartic for me. Sure, you could work it out in a satisfactory fashion? Yes, but then there is terror.
Yes, Timmy, you have to be specific with your words and your punctuation. Actually, you have to be specific with everything to keep the magic of coherence and cohesion. Now let me explain, Neophyte is waiting for an explanation and he gets angsty easily.
Terror is the kind of thing that grows slowly. Terror is the kind of thing that ends up inhabiting the darkest and most forgotten corner of your mind, only to pop out when you least expect it. For many, terror is something that you live with. Terror needs neither horrifying makeup nor hanging guts, nor large open wounds, nor a horrifying monster lurking in the dark, for terror is the dark, because terror is the truth.
What I mean by this is that terror isn’t a fleeting feeling; it’s a horrifying realization, a truth that lingers with you for many years and isn’t easy to shake. This is why cosmic horror is hard to grasp for many aspiring authors—because it isn’t about monsters going “squig squig” in the dark, but about the truths they represent. That’s why it’s about honesty. H.P. Lovecraft may have been many things, but chief among them was honest in his work.
Terror occurs when every single truth that you held dear crumbles down. And if you’re quick, you can spot why it’s so powerful. It isn’t something that you can´t rationalize, at least not easily or quickly. Also, it’s everywhere in one way or another—a lie you used to believe crumbles down, something dark and stupid you did in the past is finally thrown into the light, and you finally understand, left with an aching wound that cannot be seen or known.
Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pull off in fiction—it has to be something so personal and truthful that it’s hard to truly put on the screen or on paper. Yes, Neophyte, since we have the tendency to dress things up, we can end up dressing the truth under way too much clothing. No, Timmy, I do not teach sewing. No, I can’t sew the hole in your underwear. Now, where was I?
Remember that movie? “You can’t handle the truth!” Well, that pretty much sums up terror. The truth just is—an unmovable object that we cannot bargain with nor rationalize away. A monster hunting us in the dark? Scary, yes, but it’s something that is understandable.
In essence, fear can be divided into three parts, and we’re going to have to use our monkey brains to do it. Timmy, get down from the ceiling beams; I cannot pay for another room to give the class. This teacher already spent all the money you paid, so no refunds either. Okay?, You are just going to sit there?—as long as you pay attention. I already got paid anyway.
So, monkey brain, fear can be divided into three. It’s scary, but in theory, you can pick up your spear and fight. If you cannot, then it’s akin to an act of God, and you might as well try to survive or give up. And in between, there is where terror lies. It isn’t something that we are equipped to handle because, by its very nature, it just exists. It gets under your skin, forces your eyes open, and makes you see that you didn’t want to see, that which you negate your entire life.
If you want a challenge, then terror as a genre will be up your alley, Neophyte. No, Timmy, get back to your chair; we are not going to the alley. It builds slowly and preys directly on your mind. In a way, it is concepts, thoughts, truth. It depends on anxiety and anticipation, and because it has very little release, there is no monster roaring in the night here, so no cycle of build-up then release. You cannot escape the feeling. It’s also something that you cannot flee, no matter how much you want to. Because once it takes hold of you, you will not resist and you will be marveled at its dark and terrible beauty. Being truth, it is beautiful in its own way and something that we seek, but it is also something that can destroy us so completely, utterly that it is no wonder that we fear it so much. “You can handle the truth!” is so true to human nature beyond the movie. Many escape it with things that turn maladaptive, so fearful of something that can truly destroy them, us, that they, us, end up destroying themselves through other means just to escape them. Which is no mystery—when chased by something, we humans do a lot of dangerous things. We can end up jumping off buildings, in front of a moving train.
It is powerful because it can either lead to new heights or to the lowest lows. It can create or it can destroy with ease. The scant few souls that face it are mostly destroyed by it, and the fewer that make it through enjoy one of the most freeing moments any life can have. It is the dark shadow of real life presenting itself in unadulterated form through ink or screen. Horror is fleeting, but Terror is eternal.
