When Grief Opens the Door to Horror: Writing Fear That Comes From Loss
By Angela “A.G.” Slatter
The original opening few paragraphs of The Cold House were scribbled down after a dream, cliched but true. That scene ended up being moved to a bit later in the story, but the imagery was so strong that it scared me awake and left me with a severe dose of phantom loss – you know, when something echoes so deeply in you that you feel like the awful thing happened to you personally. I was in the middle of writing another book at the time, so I had to jot down notes that reminded me of how hurt I felt by that dream. I knew Everly had lost the people she’d loved most, that she was not really coping, and I knew that when the time came to write The Cold House I had to hang onto that grief.
When I was able to sit down and start writing properly, the first thing I did was think about grief and loss and how to make it work in a story that I wanted to be more firmly in the horror genre than a lot of what I usually write. That meant I considered the difference between a horror protagonist whose everyday life is the only thing that’s interrupted by a horrific inciting incident (but not one causing grief) and one who’s already carrying an emotional burden of loss. By that I mean, nothing else has happened to the former in their past except that interruption to their routine; it can mean they’ve still generally got a degree of protection, psychological and emotional, and can react relatively sensibly to the new situation. If they get/take a few moments to regroup they often work out a plan of action. They fall into the standard pragmatic hero mould. They cope. Not always, but sometimes.
Now because writing, especially horror, is often an exercise in sociopathy, something you’re going to ponder is “How can I make this situation worse for my character?” For me in this case it was to add grief to what Everly was going through because a mourning character is spectacularly vulnerable.
Basically, they’re the walking wounded, trying to keep going – to survive –while they’re missing an emotional limb. When you throw a grieving protagonist into a story, you’re not dealing with someone who’s got all their armour in place. Sorrow strips psychological and emotional protections away, it can feel like a physical injury, a peeling off of skin, a flaying of mind and heart. It’s something that, when it’s fresh and new, can feel absolutely constant like someone sticking a knife into an already open wound. For a while – sometimes forever – the intensity is unbearable.
There are, however, advantages to a hypersensitive protagonist and one of those is that they aren’t necessarily going to be an easy target just because they’re sad. That sensitivity, if they figure out how to use it in their own favour, can act as an early warning system. It might make them more alert to the feelings and motivations of others. More sensitive to oncoming threats. It might also render them a little less tentative about taking risks because they think they’ve already lost everything; they might end up channelling an awful lot of rage into fighting back even though they’re not consciously thinking about survival. They just want to make someone else hurt for trying to make their day even more difficult.
Of course, as a writer, I’m still trying to figure how I can make it worse.
When it came to Everly I added something more than just having her grieving from recent losses; I made sure she was also carrying around a load of past trauma. Everly had a difficult upbringing, which is revealed later on in the narrative, and it becomes clear that it’s scarred her deeply. Next, her husband and child were the pillars of her new life, a solid life she thought she was building for herself – and suddenly they’re gone without warning.
But wait, how can I make it worse?
Now, not only has she lost her world but due to the arrival of a lawyer, she’s learned her husband wasn’t who he claimed. In fact, he was also lying about a lot of things. So, she’s not just grieving and traumatised, she’s resentful too of the person she’d loved. She’s also blaming him for the accident.
Can I make it worse? Of course I can!
Another thing about discovering your beloved’s a liar is that you’ll never be able to remember them as you want to. You’re going to grieve, but there’s also a spark of pleasure in recalling the things about them that gave you joy. But such reminisce depends on it not being diluted or corrupted by knowledge of past sins. You can’t then recollect them as saint or soulmate with whom you shared a life and a bed. You question everything, every thing that was said, every experience and feeling you had, especially your own judgment. You’re robbed of good memories and of the potential to choose how that person lives on for you.
It’s about this point when I think “I’ve done enough” to this poor creature.
If I can combine a mix of the above elements then my protagonist has a good chance of being complex and engaging, and hopefully also surprising in what their actions, whether or not they cope. I wanted Everly to be the sort who does cope even though she doesn’t hurt any less. Maybe because of her early childhood trauma she’s developed that piece of ice in her heart, and can keep a bit of distance as she makes decisions. Whether they’re good ones or not is up to the conscience of the reader! But she doesn’t panic, and has that moment early on where she realises she’s teetering on the edge of something not ideal, and takes steps to pull away from becoming worse. I think that self-awareness paired with grief is really important in an engaging and complex character.
Finally, in terms of a horror story, it’s not just a matter of whose story you’re telling but how you’re going to tell it. You want a reader to empathise with the character which involves choosing who is going to tell their story and how? My preferred point of view is first person, because it’s more immediate and intimate. Reading the “I” feels like you’re downloaded into the head of the protagonist, living their experience, and the consequences of their actions. I think this works best for Everly because you feel her pain, her loss and also her hope and determination. For me, grief is very definitely the key to opening the door into the horror of this story.
