Why I Write Horror Stories
I’m Afraid of Everything
People ask me why I write horror, and my consistent reply is this: I’m afraid of everything. Although that’s probably not true today, it certainly was a fact when I was growing up. Afraid of the dark. Afraid of school. Afraid of strangers. Afraid of bugs and animals (maybe not cats although I was always cautious). Afraid of heights and speed. Most afraid of dying.
You name it. I was afraid of it.
Funny thing though, I was also afraid of imaginary things. Teachers told my mom that I was a daydreamer, and I recall making up stories when I should’ve been reading or learning arithmetic.
I imagined I’d find my house burned to the ground. Or robbers killed my parents and lay in wait for my younger brother and me.
In bed, I’d lie awake, waiting for what I called the Sleep Bus. When, late at night, cars lights reflected on my bedroom walls, I pretended to be asleep, positive the sleep bus was checking on me. The Sleep Bus Driver captured wakeful kids, abducting them, driving them to the woods for torture and murder. I got so good at pretending to be asleep, I could fool my dad.
But the absolute worst imaginary story came later, when I was about twelve years old. The movie Psycho came out that year, and while I wasn’t allowed to see it, a classmate described the woman knifed in the shower scene.
Taking Baths might be Dangerous
The description of that scene rolled around in my brain until I decided that taking baths might kill me. To prevent that dreadful occurrence, I devised a ritual. My clothes became my armor, and I only gradually removed them to the point of leaving at least my shirt on while getting into the bathtub.
Gradually, the ritual faded. Thank goodness. As did my fear of baths and showers. Then, ten or so years later, I saw a line drawing of a fully clothed little girl sitting in a bathtub full of water, knees to chest, and a monster cracking open the bathroom door. I kept that drawing as evidence of others out there in the world who were afraid just like me. That drawing opened me to write down my imaginary fears, a therapeutic exercise at first and after I retired from corporate America, the grist for my short stories.
I lost that line drawing years ago, but as I was preparing to write this blog, I communicated with my friend, Susan Higgins, who is a wonderful artist and author. You can find her children’s book here, The Tug of War Lesson: A Norbert Barkah Story. She drew this amazing picture for me that accurately represents the dangers of bathing.
Susan Higgins is an illustrator and writer whose work explores the interior landscape of human experience through both image and narrative.
Turning Childhood Nightmares into Stories
By the time I started writing short stories, I’d desensitized somewhat to the horror of it all. I can now read horror stories and novels written by others without more than the occasional nightmare. And I recall all those childhood fears that became stories of the mind. As soon as The Last Summer Queen is finished, I’m taking a month or two to write about The Sleep Bus and Island, the torturing Venner Men and fiery Crenn, goddess of the Red Citadel of Uden.
I’m infinitely glad I have this time to put pen to paper. I’m also hopeful that those readers out there will find me. I imagine my readers are folks who will resonate with my stories and, fingers crossed, not have nightmares because of them.
