Worldbuilding & Writing 201: Scary stories
Greetings and BOOOO!!! 👻 It is the Spooky Season and we, well, I and my resurrected zombie, Anne Winchell, decided to give something befitting of the season of BOOO!!! So here we are, discussing scary stories. I hope you will be able to use this for your own worlds to enrich them.
What is a scary story?
We’ve all been told scary stories, sometimes sitting around the campfire as night descends, sometimes cuddled in our pyjamas at a sleepover with flashlights out, and as the Spooky Season draws near, let’s analyse what goes into these stories that we tell when the lights go out, and it’s only us and our fears.
A scary story has generally one singular purpose: to instil fear in the listener or, in modern times, the reader. Some might ask why people would seek fear out, but it is a well documented phenomena that people greatly enjoy negative emotions in controlled settings where they can disengage at any moment they so choose. So, similarly, the same phenomena is at play here; there is joy to be had in feeling fear when you know that you are mostly safe.
What makes a scary story scary?
When it comes to scary stories, they all share many similarities, and in this section, I will outline what these common factors are.
They generally contain a monster or ethereal being. Some stories contain living people and might be considered thus “not monsters”, but they have, in the story, behaviours such that they can by general perception be considered inhuman and thus a monster.
The story is often tied to the situation at hand. If it is told while camping in the woods, it is forest-based stories, if it is told at abandoned buildings, it is told from such. This is generally to make it more applicable to the listener and thus increase the fear factor.
The ghost, monster, whatever it is that torments the victims, has inhuman motivations such that their morality can be utterly alien to the point where even “orange-blue morality” is even insufficient to explain it.
A common occurrence is that the scary story is based on a very common fear of the society. Risk having to eat your beloved ones (Wendigo), fear of drowning in lakes (Näcken in northern mythologies), and such. Whatever society at large fears can gain physical form.
They generally take place in environments with extremely limited perception. For humans, a sight-based species, it is in darkness, but species that focus on other senses would have that sense be severely deprived. This is because the lack of sensory input creates a huge degree of uncertainty and thus fear.
Sometimes Anne Winchell might be in the stories with her editing pen, that is scary!
Types of scary stories
The categorisation of scary stories is quite simple in most cases. They can be subdivided into three categories, if you ask me.
Monster stories: These are stories about physical entities that defy ordinary understanding of life and being, but the creature in question is as mortal as anything else. It might possess superhuman abilities and be harder to kill than you, but it remains part of the physical realm.
“Ghost stories”: These involve non-corporeal beings, ghosts, and all those. They are fully beyond physical damage and wholly incapable of any form of death that would be recognisable to the listener. They tend to have the most bizarre forms of “morality” of all and even outright lack it.
People as monsters: These involve actual people of the society. Something has happened to them to deviate so far from society, life, morality, and everything, that they are more of a monster than an actual person you can recognise. In general, you cannot reason with these as they are too far beyond it, the choices are escape or kill them.
Origin of scary stories
The origin of many scary stories can be as obscure as they are omnipresent. Almost everyone in the Nordic regions knows of “Näcken”, but if you ask them where it comes from, they draw a blank. That is because no one can remember what the source is. Most only know the story and the tales about it.
So that leaves us with the question where do they come from? Honestly, to describe their origin is a huge task, so I will give a condensed version. They arise out of the primary fears of people. In humans, a lot is tied to what might lurk in the dark because you are visual creatures. Then there are layers of cultures on top. What would lurk in there that would pose a threat that isn’t just wolves, bears, and actual dangers?
People’s imagination thus starts wandering, and with the imperfections of perception and the brain, a lot can come about. A classic example I often tell is when people in the dark see something to the side of their eyes, turn their head toward what triggered the perception and… there is nothing there. What happened? The human eye has rods and cones; rods are highly sensitive to light but see no colours, cones see colour but are dull as shit. So what happens is that the rods on the side of the eyes are activated because the threshold for them is reached and you react. Then as you turn your eye to focus on what is there, the cones of the macula become the focus of light and… there is not enough light so to them, there is NOTHING there!
Spooky ghosts must be the reason! Or it is your imperfect eyes trying to work with your imperfect brain. But who wants that explanation?
Tropes in scary stories
What are some typical tropes of scary stories? Well, a lot. Beyond the general “gotta invoke fear”, we have a few tricks for making your own that have a long history.
Isolation: it is scarier when you cannot get help because humans are social creatures.
Something is after you: this comes back to primal fears once again. Back in the day, being hunted was not uncommon, so something going after you was scary.
Sensory deprivation: the environment is generally such that your primary sense–again, vision for humans–is severely limited in order to make you more vulnerable and unable to deal with things.
Confusion: events, objects, creatures, remains, and more seem to make no sense. The mind likes to make sense of things, and when it cannot, it gets scared as it might be dangerous.
Uncanniness: ever heard of the uncanny valley? Well, it is where things are between human and inhuman to the point where it’s deeply disturbing to humans. This is because the brain cannot comfortably put the thing(s) involved into a safe or dangerous category, thus heightening their danger level.
Incomprehensibility: the monster, ghost etc, has a motivation that goes beyond human norms. If you have understandable morals and desires, your behaviour is predictable. When it stops being that, you become unpredictable, and thus more dangerous.
Notice what all have in common? The tropes all work on making the brain less able to predict things. Predictability is comfortable and safe; unpredictability is dangerous.
Mini-practicum
To show off how to make a decent ghost story, I have enslaved, I mean hired! Yeah, hired. I hired Lady Verbosa to write one based on my species, the Tsxobjezn. I will give a brief analysis of it afterward.
Note: A thing to keep in mind with this ghost story and culture is that the Tsxobjezn do not make a distinction between “I” and “We”, just like you English do not between the singular “Thou” and plural “You” anymore. Thus, “We” is used where an English speaker would use “I”.
Take it from here, my friend!
(Anne:) Thanks, Vivian! To set the scene, a group of Tsxobjezn (plural form of the species name) younglings and a couple of adults to keep them safe are sitting down around the fire as the sun sets in the distance and night becomes dominant. Kwinno, the oldest Tsxobjez, prods the fire and begins speaking to the rapt younglings.
(Kwinno): On a night just like this, with the full moonlight of Tsxin blotted only by the slowly travelling shadow of its companion Tsxinnda locked in their eternal orbit, in a campsite just like this, with the rustle of wind in the kxorto hiding the sounds of footsteps, the Idwa is said to take hold.
Once, not too long ago, at the base camp at the foot of the Tsellno mountains, we met a Tsxobjez who had seen an Idwa. They pleaded with us, begged us to listen, to stay inside, not to venture into the moonlight. We went out anyway, brash and young and full of the fire that gives our people strength. Four of us set up camp with the soothing rush of the Rantwa river right around the bend, just a little ways from where we are right now. When night fell, we sat around to tell stories, just like tonight.
My dearest friend Kjenva spoke first, and to our surprise, he spoke of the Tsxobjez who had warned us. While the rest of us were buying supplies, Kjenva talked to them to learn more. The Idwa is a fierce creature towering tall above an ordinary Tsxobjez and had claws to rip through a person’s flesh. The Idwa was still out there, out here, and Kjenva warned us to be careful as we began our search for the Cup of Kxartia, stolen straight from the museum’s pouch decades ago and thought to be hidden nearby.
Morning broke, and a chill settled over our camp at the sight of tracks crisscrossing between our tents. The shapes were almost like a Tsxobjez but enormous, and we weren’t the only ones with a sinking feeling. Akwen accused Kjenva of playing a prank on all of us, and we laughed and dismissed the incident. When we returned that evening, the tracks were gone.
That night, we talked about what we would do if we found the cup. Akwen wanted to sell it to earn enough to take care of their newly born pouchlings. Sikxu just wanted to know they were capable of finding it. Kjenva wanted acclaim, to be known as one of the Tsxobjezn who found the Cup of Kxartia. It was a new side to them, as we had assumed they, like Akwen, wanted to help their family. When they asked us, we weren’t even sure. Our friends were off on an adventure; of course we tagged along.
That night, as Tsxinnda crossed Tsxin’s face and sent a shadow across the trees, a sound broke the air. We haven’t heard anything like it. Not an animal, though it had that rawness to it. Not Tsxobjit, though it sounded like there was awareness behind it, like the thing screaming felt unimaginable pain.
All of us leapt up and gathered around the campfire. Akwen and Kjenva were convinced that it was a person caught by a beast of some sort. They wanted to search for the person to help them. We had brought guns to protect against the creatures, and they armed themselves and went off. We and Sikxu huddled at the fire. Hours passed. Then Kjenva returned. Alone. The two of them had split up, and Kjenva eventually gave up.
In the morning, Akwen still hadn’t returned. Kjenva said not to worry, that they were sure our friend was fine. Uneasily, we began marking the ground for Kjenva to scan for anything out of place in the soil below. The entire day passed with no word. We returned to our campsite and found our things scattered, our equipment destroyed. Some sort of creature had broken our communication links. While the others tried to figure out what to do, we put our foot down and insisted on leaving right away. We weren’t going to stay another night out here.
Sikxu was ready to leave, but to our surprise, Kjenva didn’t want to. It was just animals, they said, and Akwen must have just gotten lost. They would be fine, and so would we. We and Sikxu insisted and started packing everything up. That’s when we discovered that the nentro-tank of our levcar had been punctured, spilling plasma in a faintly luminescent pool that glittered against Kjenva’s dark eyes. An animal wouldn’t target that.
We had had enough, and we took our backpack to hike back to town. Kjenva was furious that we would abandon them and abandon our mission, and Sikxu said they would calm Kjenva down, then the two of them would follow us in a bit. So we began the long trek as the sun continued its descent, and soon only Tsxin reflected light upon the land. We followed the Rantwa river for over an hour when our name echoed through the darkness like a shriek in the night. We panicked and started running along the riverbanks until a rock knocked us down. When we got to our feet, we heard our name again, but in a normal voice. Kjenva’s voice.
We were so glad to see Kjenva that we rushed forward, but we slowed as we approached. They seemed taller somehow. The moonlight shadowed their features, but as their tentacled hands rose in a wave, the normally fluid flesh of the tentacles jarred in the moonlight, the point sharpening as they moved stiffly, like… like claws. Kjenva seemed to grow even taller as they stepped towards us.
“It’s time to return,” Kjenva said in a voice that didn’t sound anything like their voice. There was a hollowness to it. “I need your help to find the Cup of Kxartia. The others couldn’t help, but you can.”
The moonlight passed across their face, reflecting their usual orange skin, only their cheeks, which should have been a colour reflecting their emotions, were a flat grey. We had never seen anything like it. Then we saw their eyes, empty and haunted yet focused on us with a vicious intensity, and in them, we saw the creature that had made that scream the very first night. The Idwa.
We ran. Kjenva was right behind us, or the creature that used to be Kjenva. We ran and ran, and then we remembered something the Tsxobjez at the base camp had said. Idwa couldn’t pass over water. Without a second thought, we plunged into the Rantwa. The icy water threatened to freeze our limbs, but we forced our body to continue, spreading our finger and toe tentacles wide to get as great a thrust as possible. When we reached the midpoint of the river, another scream tore through the air. By the time we were across and looked back, we saw nothing.
We reached the base camp the next day, hungry and thirsty and nearly frozen but driven by a terror that we couldn’t explain in a way they would believe. The older Tsxobjez who first talked to us was gone. When we asked, the owner of the base looked surprised.
“Oh,” they said. “They said they had something to give you and your group. Did they not meet up with you?”
(Kwinno leans back, and the fire crackles. A shrill sound far in the distance rises in volume, almost like a scream.)
(Kwinno:) Don’t worry, younglings. I’m sure it’s just the wind.
Analysis
(Vivian:) Alright, that came to be a little meta toward the end, but it adds to the flavour like it was written in a book or told in a film! Given this is Anne’s first attempt at a scary story, and I am by no means a professional in it, I think she did a damn good job!
Now to analyse it! The set up for where it is told is spot on. It is in the dark around a campfire which is classic. This is classical because you humans are visual creatures and darkness has that removal of primary sense that raises the fear factor. I do the same for my species because it is more easily related to you humans. The story then starts in a classical manner of everyday stuff which generally is to set up relatability to the listeners.
But notice that all actual scary stuff takes place in the night? That is again to draw parallels to the listener’s current situation: they are sitting there in the night, which means that if this beast and thing has a kernel of truth, they are all in danger! That makes it once again more scary.
So overall, the structure of the story does indeed use the traditional paths to instil fear into the listener, but there are a few parts to it that reduce it. Notice that the description of the Idwa comes very early? If the young ones know it already, it is superfluous, and if they do not know it, it significantly reduces the fear. A major mistake in anything fear related with monsters is revealing too much about them too soon. One has to keep in mind that the more the reader, listener, viewer, etc, knows OF the monster or danger, the LESS fearsome it becomes. That is because each piece of information makes it more predictable. The moment we knew it had claws, we knew it would use those to kill, slice, and dice! But do not dismay, even multimillion dollar films and stories fuck this up. (Anne: I was foreshadowing! I have an English degree; it’s my nature!) And now it bit you in the bum! Shows us how much that degree was worth! 😜
While Lady Verbosa might have been able to curtail her habit of writing novel-length essays, this once, saying more would have been useful. The mentioning of Kjenva’s new side draws too much attention to what is to come if you know that Idwa is a beast that is formed from selfishness, a trait the Tsxobjezn fear to be consumed by, thus it reveals to the knowledgeable exactly what the story will be about. A day, maybe two, of Kjenva’s selfishness showing probably would have served the story better.
Another one is the lack of, well, the disappeared. While some stories definitely work with it, and she definitely went for it to grow and be hidden, them actually encountering the lost people, or some possession of them, might have served the story better.
But to end on a good note, the usage of Kjenva being halfway in the transformation when they speak, is great. It is a form of body horror and feeds into the fear of losing oneself. The sense of self is very important to people and using that (Chef’s kiss), is just brilliant. The middle of it is the worst spot as people’s hope and fear combine, hope they might be rescued, but fear of what they might do. And for the ultimate finale, a good storyteller can use a random event to enhance their story. So over all ⅘, some mistakes but a lot of good. Especially good given it is her first and with an alien culture’s norms!
Summa Summarum
So as the blog post comes to a close, we must all ask ourselves the truly big questions in life: was this spoopy enough? (not a typo, it's cute!) Of course not. But it was hopefully informative!
Scary stories can be used to show culture and the deep rooted fears of the people or species that are telling them. They can also help give stories more life by providing short tales or references for the characters. Who doesn’t like a good scene with characters around the campfire reacting differently and discussing things, the story, and experiences after? A great deal of character can be shown then!
Anne my dear friend, you have anything you wish to say to wrap us up?
(Anne: Have fun with your stories, and have a happy Spooky Season!)
BOOOO!!! 👻
Do you have any topics you struggle with or that you would like to suggest for a future blogpost? We’re open to suggestions!
Copyright ©️ 2023 Vivian Sayan and Anne Winchell. Original ideas belong to the respective authors. Generic concepts such as scary stories, ghosts, monsters in general are copyrighted under Creative Commons with attribution, and any derivatives must also be Creative Commons. However, specific ideas such as Idwa, Tsxobjez, related characters, the scary story in the mini-practicum, and all language or exact phrasing are individually copyrighted by the respective authors. Contact them for information on usage and questions if uncertain what falls under Creative Commons. We’re almost always happy to give permission. Please contact the authors through this website’s contact page.
