“Here is the hopeless despair of one haunted by the night.”
– Mark Samuels, The Age of Decayed Futurity
What’s always fascinated me by weird tales is the seeming entrancement by supernatural events as a sort of temptation. Why? Because most horror is written by atheistically or skeptically inclined authors, who for the most part neither believe in such events nor in the religious meaning conveyed by such beliefs. What is this attraction for outmoded forms of human experience? Do we seek to revive the animistic gewgaws of shamans and sorcerers? Explore the darkened environs of the undead and the monstrous night? Travel into those edge lands, the liminal spaces where imagination and reason switch places and the world begins to tremble with a life other than we know? What if the world is not as it seems, that all the mythical and legendary personages of our ancient ancillary thoughts existed; were more real than reality? What if the unreal worlds of ghosts and zombies, vampires and werewolves; monstrous creatures from the depths of sea or infinite black space were but a unqualified abstraction away? What if horror itself were an abstraction that portended more concrete experiences which those who seek to master in their own fears and dreads could no longer abstain from? If one were to look in the mirror one day and see the very image of fright staring back at one out of the mimicry of one’s own visage… then what?