Horror with Character

By Mark Anthony

---

Many years ago, I had a bizarre and uncomfortable nightmare. One of those unsettling dreams that plagues when you wake. Hoping it won’t come back, it replays behind your eyes as you go to bed the next night. Whilst working as a Cancer Nurse, COVID decided to arrive, and I found myself living in a very unsettled, scared, world. From this, I decided to finally play with those scenes that had kept expanding in my mind. Quite naturally for me, my imagination began to weave them into a story. Building upon thought, creating visions and moments like jigsaw pieces which, as my mind was manifesting them, it was piecing them together to form complete pictures. 

I have always been a storyteller and, on reflection, a fan of very specific stories. Whether written, or on screen, I have always been drawn to tales of normal people in extraordinary, otherworldly, situations. The archetypal stereotype of the determined hero, the ordained victim, and the clear win or lose motive, did not interest, or inspire my imagination. The tropes of the pure virginal hero and the twisted, ugly monster arguably had their time. The audience became desensitised to heads rolling. To blood, blood, and more blood. 

However, the juxtaposition of a normality infected by a world of stark anomalies and extraordinary dangers enthralled me. The closer horror is entwined with reality, the more unsettling it can become. The harder it is to draw that line between fantasy and reality, between the good and the bad, the more horrific it can be. And a key aspect of creating this uncanny stage is the characters within it. 

In the beginning, the first of the LIT novels started with the framework for one, single protagonist. Her physical appearance, her mannerisms, her voice were a mimicry of someone I already knew. A real, tangible person used as a blank sheet to add the vast amounts of color that would make her an intriguing, natural individual in this dark world that I planned to create. I had a rough idea of what would happen and how I would develop the atmosphere that would be humming throughout the entire story. Foreboding, bleak.

The first chapter was all about her. Intimate, and to be honest, as much as it was there to reveal her essence to the reader, it also served to plant my own seed of who this young woman was and would become. Strong, stoic yet selfish. Determination fuelled by self-absorption. Clever and manipulative. 

In the third chapter, Sam was created. An amalgam of different people from my past. A dynamic young man, smart, candid, and irrepressible despite the horrors that hid within. A rebel within his own mind. Most people can relate to this. There to push against the inner demons with varying degrees of success. He was to be an open book, in stark contrast to the pure, but damaged, introvert of chapter 1. An openly gay man who demonstrated that we all have so much more in common with each other than not. 

The second chapter, however, was an afterthought. I find it very interesting on reflection that he quickly became a reader favourite—a 9-year-old boy. A pure innocent. A character there to inject heart and yes, I will admit, give this horrific tale some balance. It is funny but I once had him described to me as the “pathos” of the story. . .and I felt largely offended! Yes, I was genuinely offended, not about this young character but. . .for this young character. However, he fulfilled the ‘pathos’ brief. A child who deserved no guilt, no fault, and no karma. Yet even he wasn’t going to be spared from the same terrifying existence as the others. He would experience the same losses and grotesque rules. Perhaps he would become the character that most people would “root for.” And they did. 

Many people don’t notice that it takes quite a lot of time in LIT, before our three protagonists are there in the same space at the same time. Whilst writing, I had a concern. When these individuals came together, in the same space, would they all still be able to hold their own. To remain as equals. Each a fully formed 3-dimensional protagonists? Yes. By carefully keeping their characters in limbo, swaying between the macabre and the mundane, it creates a deep understanding of the individual that invests the reader in all three equally. When they come together, the reader’s familiarity with each of the individuals allows for an intriguing ensemble to develop that embraces the reader like a special treat.  

With the three protagonists in play, each continued to have their own distinct storyline. That took a deal of planning, but more so, a need for intuition and an understanding of the people that had been created. As any writer would agree, after a time the characters are able to take on a life of their own. Their mannerisms, their reactions and even their dialogue begin to write themselves. Each of the above is paramount in giving the reader the feeling that they are gaining the gift of insight into someone else’s life, someone else’s thoughts, and feelings. And within the universe of LIT, someone else’s trauma, terror, and bravery. Why would they make the decisions they make? Take the path they chose in any given situation? Because that’s what real people do. 

These three characters with their own unique afflictions demonstrated what I had learnt over the course of my life. No one is 100% good or bad. No one is either hero or villain. Every person has the ability to be brave, to be scared, to fight or run. Everyone is influenced by their own experiences, successes, and traumas. That is what I wanted to achieve in the LIT series. 

Horror writers tell tales to scare, titillate and sometimes, simply to shock. I wanted to create a story that not only terrified the reader but also, moved them. The best way to achieve this was to give the true victims of evil a basis in our own reality. A small part of them will then resonate within each of us. Do you agree with their decision? No, but you understand why they made them. Do you like them? Sometimes, you won’t, but isn’t that just like real life? 

Horror and suspense greatly benefit from the gift of thoughtful, natural character arcs. One grizzly scene set-up only to follow another fulfills just a small component of a memorable horror story. There is so much more that can be done to grasp the reader. Not only does strong character development prevent reader boredom, it enhances the intrigue of the ‘What next?’ It drives curiosity for the avid fan of dark writing and gives them protagonists that embody universal character traits. Traits that one can both relate to and be repelled from. It makes us question what would we do if faced with the same dilemma? Are we coward? Hero? Or a bit of both depending on the circumstance and drive. This is the task of the storyteller. Their reader is a guest, to be guided through our world. Our characters take them on a journey both from within and outside their mind. 

---

Mark Anthony is the award-winning author of the supernatural horror series, “LIT” He lives in Perth, Western Australia with his husband and 9 year old son. Anthony began writing whilst working as a Cancer Nurse when the COVID-19 lockdowns commenced in 2020 and has since produced a sequel “ASCENT”. “RAGE” the third book in the series has an expected release for April 2024.

You Want Me to Spend Time with You?

By Paula Messina

---

We all have different measures for what keep us reading. One of mine is characters I’m willing to live with all the way to the end. The gift of a mystery got me thinking about this. Why do some characters meet my requirement and others fail?

The novel looked promising. The author had won a prestigious award. The main character is an archaeologist. I enjoy books that involve an expertise, especially one I’m not schooled in. Alas, my interest dwindled quickly.

The story is told through the main character’s viewpoint. She is miserable and self-loathing because of her weight. This was not a good sign, but I read on. Soon enough a detective needs her help on a murder case. He comes not with hat in hand. Rather, he’s downright nasty. Not only is the detective as off-putting as the main character, his approach is irrational. The characters have no history together. His unprofessional behavior is inexplicable, even cause for termination. Didn’t he learn at his mother’s knee you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?

Actually, he was terminated. I stopped reading the book.

For me to sustain interest, I don’t demand that the characters be Mother Teresa incarnate or a Nobel Peace Prize winner or even a Boy Scout rescuing abandoned dogs. It’s those one-note grumpy characters I can live without. 

I’m not alone in this. After I closed that book, I read the online reviews. I have plenty of company. The negative reviews essentially said the same thing: I don’t want to waste my time on these characters.

It’s next to impossible to imagine anyone more dislikable than Ebenezer Scrooge. Dickens is emphatic that absolutely everyone avoids him. “Even the blind men’s dogs appeared to know him; and, when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, ‘No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!’”

And yet Scrooge is one of the most enduring and, dare I say, beloved characters in English literature. Ebenezer is proof that flaws are fine. It’s how flaws are presented that makes all the difference. Characters need not be perfect. Indeed, they shouldn’t be.

Dickens pulls the reader into A Christmas Carol by raising questions. Who is Marley and why should we care that he died? Why was Scrooge “his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner.”?

Dickens quickly establishes Scrooge’s wretched personality. No reader would invite Ebenezer over to watch the Super Bowl, at least not until the three Ghosts of Christmas get through with him. Dicken’s delicious descriptions keep us curious about how one being could be so miserable and disliked, but delicious descriptions only satisfy for so long. Dickens could have easily pushed Scrooge into an unbearable, unreadable character.

Yet Ebenezer Scrooge endures. Why?

The answer is simple. Scrooge doesn’t tell the story. An intimate, chatty, gossipy narrator does. If Scrooge told A Christmas Carol, it is highly doubtful even the inestimable Dickens could keep readers turning the pages for one hundred eighty years.

Arthur Conan Doyle and Rex Stout used the same technique for the odd genius Sherlock Holmes and the often belligerent but brilliant Nero Wolfe. We see Holmes and Wolfe through the eyes of their friends, and because Watson and Goodwin find redeeming social value in Sherlock and Wolfe, the reader does as well.

It’s no accident that Dr. John Watson is a cheerful, friendly character, or that Archie Goodwin is only a few IQ points short of Wolfe’s genius. Archie is wittier than Wolfe, likes women, and is a great dancer. Our view of Sherlock and Nero is filtered through these immensely enjoyable narrators, and we’re willing to stick around until the end.

A narrator isn’t the only technique to make an unpleasant character palatable. We often describe our lives in absolute terms. I’ll never be anything than an utter failure. My husband never compliments me. My mother never has a kind word for anyone. There’s a name for this kind of thinking: cognitive distortion.

We humans are not a never-ending one note, miserable or ecstatic. Even in the worst of times, we laugh at a good joke, make goo-goo eyes at an infant, and enjoy the warm sun on our skin. It’s impossible to be miserable all the time, just as it’s impossible to be endlessly upbeat.

Humans experience ups and downs throughout a day, a year, a lifetime. Characters do as well. Good characters are complex. They enjoy life one minute and complain in the next. They lament about their weight, then promise to diet tomorrow.

In the mystery mentioned, a little levity, for example, would have made the character’s self-loathing tolerable. An explanation and an apology would have made the detective’s initial bad impression understandable and relatable. In other words, mitigating circumstances make an unpleasant character more lifelike, but even mitigating circumstances only carry a reader so far. 

Sherlock’s genius makes him impatient with lesser mortals. Wolfe has a dark past that is never explained. It possibly involves a bitter betrayal by a woman. Dickens shows us Scrooge’s descent into a spiritual wasteland through a series of flashbacks while also showing Scrooge’s journey to reclaim his soul. It is those flashbacks that make his redemption on Christmas Eve believable. His goodness was always there to be brought to life. We know in our hearts that Ebenezer Scrooge does become “as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world.”

It’s not flaws that are off-putting. A character without a flaw is malformed. It’s how those flaws and foibles are presented that makes the difference. A main character can be stubborn and uncooperative. Supporting characters can goad the protagonist into a better disposition. Archie Goodwin is a master at this. Introduce a humorless character to a cutup. Dr. Watson on the page isn’t the bumbling Nigel Bruce, but he does lighten Holmes’ intensity. A dour woman populating pages needs to meet a ray of sunshine. Conversely, that main character who insists on imitating Pollyanna is just waiting for someone to burst her bubble.

Contrasts work wonders. Characters bring out different aspects of the main character. Best-selling author Barbara A. Shapiro says different friends bring out different aspects of our personalities.

Think about it. You discuss politics and solve the world’s problems with one friend. You’re a veritable joke machine with another, and a third has you discussing how to grow mushrooms and make kimchi and sauerkraut. Scrooge interacts differently with Bob Cratchit than he does with his nephew Fred. Scrooge moves from disbelief, to insolence, fear, and finally to submission as he travels with each ghost.

This works both ways. No human is always bubbly and positive. Characters aren’t either. What my friend Marilyn says of life is also true of fiction. “If you don’t have a problem now, wait two weeks.”

In the novel I’m writing, Donatello, my main character, is essentially a good guy, but he vents his fury on his parish priest. The priest deserves the drubbing, but Donatello believes it’s a sin to scream at a priest. He screams anyway. Donatello would be a weak character if he ignored the priest’s nastiness.

Donatello’s anger serves another purpose. It displays Donatello’s determination to reclaim his life after an accident robs him of his dream to pitch pro ball. Donatello’s anger says he’s not giving up. No one’s pushing him around, not even his parish priest. This anger intensifies Donatello’s commitment to find his sister’s murderer.

When I pick up something to read, I want to be carried along in a story filled with characters I’d invite to share my life for a while. They can be a pompous Sherlock, a ton of immovable flesh a la Wolfe, or a Scrooge so nasty even dogs avoid him. But I only keep reading if those negative traits are balanced by positive ones. In short, for this reader, how a writer presents his characters is vitally important. 

As for the kvetchers, the malcontents, the one-note nasties, I’d rather not even open the book.

---

Paula Messina lives near America’s first public beach. When she isn’t sloshing barefoot through the Atlantic, she’s writing short stories and essays. Her humorous caper, “Which Way New England?” appears in Wolfsbane, Best New England Crime Stories 2023. “Science for the Senses,” an essay, is in issue 7 of Indelible Literary and Arts Journal. You can listen to her reading works in the public domain at librivox.org.