2018-2019 Spooky Stories Winners: Essays
1st Place:
Seth Penry, Senior.
Speaking Upon the Rise and Fall of the Slasher Genre
In the late 70’s and early 80’s the cinemas saw a paradigm shift in the horror genre; the rise of the slasher-a microcosm of the cultural revolution of the time, the slasher reflects a change in public conscience from existential fears driven by the culture shifts of the 60s and the cold war to far more physically present one's-fears of culture were replaced by things like stranger danger and other threats to comfortable middle class life.
The slasher villain is more than just a schlock monster derived for cheap scares, the slasher exists to challenge the ivory tower that middle class suburbia had become in the post vietnam era of comforts. Michael Myers wasn’t resurrected by some mad scientist nor was he the result of some unfathomable marriage between man and otherworldly forces bent on slaughter to fuel some incomprehensible scheme, he was created by average American life-the true horror of the original 1978 Halloween comes from the realization that the threat was gestated in a suburban town that any middle class American of the period could identify with.
The concept of a slasher is based in urban legends and the mythos of serial killers dating back centuries. The first major western equivalent to the slasher in urban legends was the British Spring Heeled Jack, a man who, according to legend, went on a spree killing in the 1830’s. The first American “slasher” to enter popular conscience was the New Orleans Axeman, active from 1918 to 1919. Cases like these set the ground rules for the slasher genre; the horror comes to areas considered to be safe; slow neighborhoods, summer camps, sorority houses and other communal spaces considered safe. The first slasher to make the leap to the big screen came from Texarkana-the papers called him The Phantom Killer. Already one part actual serial killer and 2 parts legend the release of the 1976 film The Town That Dreaded Sundown did not help those still trying to investigate the very real murders of 5 people in 1946. The film was one of the first cases of real life tragedies being adapted to entertain the masses, something that would quickly fall out of vogue along with the slasher/splatterhouse genres towards the back end of the later 2oth century.
The fall of the slasher genre lines up with the loss of innocence of 1980s America. The comfort and security that the decade had begun with was brought down by things like the Iran-Contra scandal, the explosion of the challenger and countless wars erupting between countries tied to America. The slasher simply couldn’t keep up with the times, only working in idyllic settings that were beginning to fade away. The fall of the slasher mirrored a cultural shift at the end of the decade; synthpop was out and grunge was in, a new era of counterculture was taking the youth by storm, leaving the cultural trappings of the 80s behind, slasher and all.
2nd Place:
Michaela Howard, Senior.
The Soldier's Madness
The wind was howling on a cold October night. Only the sounds of a nearby owl’s “hoo” could be heard resonating throughout the gasty forest. All of the leaves that was not long ago vibraint with life laid dead on the forest floor. A crunching sound interrupted the all silent forest as it traveled towards a old wooden cabin for shelter from the harsh forces of nature that moonless night. The source of the noise was a young camper who had lost his way when night had fallen. The man name was Austin. He had descended into the dark forest earlier that day on a dare from his friends. Being one to never resist a challenge he entered quickly without thinking of bring the necessary equipment to survive in his current environment. He was dressed in light clothes that the freezing wind had an easy time of penetrating. He was on the verge of catching his death if he hadn't found a place to escape the cold. As fate would have it he discovered a isolated cabin in the middle of the forest. It looked as if it has been residing there for over a century. The wood that made up the structure was moldy with holes that look as if it wood break just with the slightest touch. As he approached closer to the building he saw no signs of life anywhere. There was no plant life near the structure at all. It was as if the forest was refusing to get to close to this barren place. When Austin drew closer to the cabin he could feel was a intense desire to run as far away from this place. It did not seen natural. He stopped to debate on whether to proceed towards his target, but as he was mulling over this dilmina a frigided when whipped threw the area. The man instantly felt goosebumps riddle his body. Momentarily forgetting his fear he dashed toward the old cabin to try and leave behind the cold. As he ran on to the porch he could hear the creaks from his own steps. He prayed that the wood would not snap as he crossed to the white door that had paint peeling off it. Once Austin neared the door he raised his frozen fingers to knock on the door. “Tap” “Tap” He waited for a response from inside, but not a sound could be heard in the building. He tried opening the door, but came to block due to the door having a lock on it. Austin started debating on what to do, but then something strange happened. The door slowly opened with a loud creaking sound, however there was no one there. “Hello?” called out Austin as he peeked his head through the frame. There was no reply. Not having many options except to freeze he walked inside. When he did this the door behind him slammed shut. Austin jumped a few feet into the air as the sound of the door slamming shut resounded throughout the cabin. He quickly turned around to open the door, but it would not move. He was trapped. He glanced around the structure looking for a way out,but there was not one to be seen. At that moment a chill descended into the room. A voice filled with rage could be heard screaming. It was saying “ Come listen to my pleas! Do not abandon me!”. Austin glanced around a saw it a specter in the corner of the dusty room. He was dressed in a torn up soldier uniform. There was wounds all over his body. The ghost was looking at Austin with horror filled eyes. He yelled, “ There coming the enemy is upon us!”. He pulled a sword from the air an charged at Austin with burning hate. The specter swung at him screaming never again will I be your prisoner! I will never give up any intell to you filthy bunch!”. Austin screamed as he turned and ran. He approached the door and tried with all his might do pry it open, but to no avail. He turned his head to look for another way out. However, all he saw was those burning eyes as the sword came down. From the outside all you could hear was his screams. Which soon silenced for all eternity. Now, the specter waited for the next enemy to arrive.
3rd Place:
Eli Auer, Junior.
Marie Laveau
Branches snapped under the woman's feet as she strode confidently through the forest, the Louisiana fog curling around her like a long lost lovers embrace, a snake curled up her right arm, slowly gliding over it's mistresses shoulders, it's forked tongue lapping the air greedily. The woman’s black, stringy hair hung around her shoulders in clumps, blotted with grey. Her dress was in better shape than her figure, which was that of a fragile elderly woman, a shock that she could stand, little less cover the uneven terrain of the forest with ease.
Her bony, paper thin fingers were clenched around the handle of a basket, brimming with odd items, red oozing out of the bottom of the wicker basket, occasionally dripping into the water that covered the forest floor. Suddenly, without warning the woman broke out of the tree line, the fog breaking from her form as she exited the familiarity of the cypress trees and the weeping willows. The clearing was filled with swampy mush, red eyes glinting in the moonlight, situated just above the murky surface of the mist laden bog. She raised her free bony hand, the one the snake was comfortably situated around, and pressed two bony fingers together, giving a sharp, resounding snap. It echoed across the clearing, perhaps across the entirety of the bog. At the sound the fog retreated into the tree line, the great red eyed beasts dove deep into the safety of the muck, and logs drifted across the surface, forming a long, single path to the shack in the middle of the murk.
She began to stride across the floating path, the logs holding firm, refusing to bob in the slightest, but disbanding and floating away as soon as her feet left them. She, at long last, emerged back onto the porch of the shack, opening and closing the door with a silence that was somehow more disturbing than an ear shattering, ground shaking creak of rusted hinges. When the door shut without so much as a whisper, the fog inched back into the clearing, the red eyed monsters bobbing back to breach the surface one at a time, slowly and warily, their great red eyes flitting to the porch with a human like nervousness and wary.
Inside the shack was a cozy interior, laden with plump pillows and blankets, curtains hung over the windows, and from the ceiling hung a variety of gem shards that fractured the light in all sorts of dazzling ways. All of this, and the finer points of the home had yet to be mentioned. For example, the array of beautiful flowers and herbs hung upside down, drying in the damp Cajun air, which hung heavy with rich and sweet perfumes, one waft made the eyelids heavy, another jolted the senses, and yet another forming a deep yearning in the bottom of the stomach. However, as was the theme of the elderly woman, none of the smells seemed to have any effect on her as she strode purposefully to the small kitchen, where a large lidded pot sat on the stove. She strode over to it, grabbing the handle and lifting the lid, the smell that poured from it almost driving away the pleasant smell of the perfume.
She hoisted the basket over pot, before upending it, sending the contents tumbling into the pot. A flash of light sparked as the woman mumbled lowly in a thickly accented voice, smoke rolling over the edges of the pot in thick waves, giving the appearance that you could hold it and mold it in your hands. The smell slowly drove the heavy perfume away, the multi colored fractured light vanishing from the air, the color draining from the plump pillows and blankets, the woman shaking as she reached into the pocket of her dress, drawing out a drawstring bag and reaching inside, drawing out a single strand of blonde hair. The elderly woman extended her frail, shaking hand over the pot and dropped it, watching it drift slowly towards the bubbling surface.
When the strand touched the surface, a woman's scream originated from deep within the pot along with a bright white light, tearing across the shack and the bog, sending the fog scuttling and the red eyes bobbing, for a brief moment embalming the entirety of the swamp in light. Just as quickly it receded, and the elderly woman breathed deeply, her string black hair growing and turning glossy, her yellowy gaunt cheeks turning pink and full, her fragile shaking hands becoming strong and steady, her back straightening. Even the shack returned to its previous state, thick plump pillows, gems fractured light across the walls, and heavenly heavy perfume hung thick in the air.
Honorable Mention:
Zachary Robinson, Senior.
Little Timmy
October 27th. Little Timmy was on his way to school. “Bye Mom.” “Bye Timmy.” It was a normal morning; Timmy woke up, Timmy had some biscuits and gravy, Timmy brushed his teeth, Timmy watched a bit of the news, Timmy left. Timmy took notice of the pretty birds in the sky, the wonderful trees surrounding the area, the cars driving all around, the garbage bins, the local shops, and ‘ol Mr. Craig, the neighbor. “Hello, Mr. Craig.” “Hello Timmy.” Timmy got to school and went to class. It was as normal as can be. Some work, some lessons, what else can you ask for? Timmy went home, watched TV, played with his dog, and went to bed.
October 28th. Little Timmy was on his way to school. “Bye Mom”. “Bye Timmy”. The day seemed to be going as normal as usual, just like the day before. Timmy woke up, Timmy had some cereal, Timmy brushed his teeth, Timmy watched a bit of the news, Timmy left. Timmy took notice of the pretty birds in the sky, the garbage bins, the local shops, and ‘ol Mr. Craig. “Is everything OK out here Mr. Craig?.” “Hello Timmy.” Timmy got to school, and it was as normal as can be. More work, more lessons, more of the same. Timmy went home, watched TV and went to bed.
October 29th. Little Timmy was on his way to school. “Bye Mom.” “Bye Timmy.” The day seemed to be going well, not great though. Timmy woke up, Timmy had some bread, Timmy brushed his teeth, Timmy left. Timmy took notice of the garbage bins, the local shops, and ‘ol Mr. Craig. “Hmmm, Mr. Craig is everything OK out here?” “Hello Timmy.” Timmy got to school. Timmy left school. Timmy got home and he went to bed.
October 30th. Little Timmy was on his way to school. “Bye Mom.” The day seemed kind of lacking. Timmy woke up, Timmy left. Timmy took notice of Mr. Craig. “Man, it just seems off.” “Hello Timmy.” Timmy went to school. Timmy went to sleep.
October 31st. Little Timmy was on his way to. “Bye.” The day seemed. Timmy. Timmy took notice of ‘ol Mr. Craig. “H-” “Hello Timmy.” Timmy sleep.
November 1st. Little Timmy was on his way to school. “Bye Mom.” “Bye Timmy.” It was a normal morning; Timmy woke up, Timmy had some biscuits and gravy, Timmy brushed his teeth, Timmy watched a bit of the news, Timmy left. Timmy took notice of the pretty birds in the sky, the wonderful trees surrounding the area, the cars driving all around, the garbage bins, the local shops, and ‘ol Mr. Craig. “Hello, Mr. Craig.” “Hello Timmy.” Timmy got to school and went to class. It was as normal as can be. Some work, some lessons, what else can you ask for? Timmy went home, watched TV, played with his dog, and went to bed.
