Existential horror plays with the terror of “existence” itself.
How can bring that horror life in bone-chilling ways?
Let’s find out and write some together!
During the last stream, a subscriber requested that we write some existential horror.
- What is existential horror? It’s horror that plays with the terror of existence itself
- For example, compared to slasher/gory horror story where the fear is “death,” an existential horror story may have the fear be “the inescapable inevitability of death” instead
- There are plenty of other ideas that are often seen in existential horror as well: isolation, insignificance, helplessness, etc.
– You often see existential horror in short stories, creepy pastas, SCPs, like The Jaunt by Stephen King
– But purely existential horror novels/movies are rare, since it’s hard to make the genre into a longer plot. However there are lots of examples that are some/mostly existential horror:
- Overlapping with cosmic horror in works by HP Lovecraft, where humanity’s insignificance within the cosmos is horrifying
- Overlapping with science fiction like Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, where clones are made only to have organs harvested
- Overlapping with apocalyptic fiction like Melancholia and On The Beach that deal with humanity’s inevitable extinction
- Overlapping with post-apoc./body horror like The Road by Cormac McCarthy, where cannibalism rules on a dying Earth
Chat came up with a bunch of cool existential horror story ideas, then voted on this one:
A lighthouse keeper watching the mainland burn in an encroaching apocalyptic disaster.
Here’s what we wrote:
The lighthouse keeper leaned over his balcony, watching the horizon burn.
For days now, the fires had been growing. First a thin red line, same as the sunset, only it stuck around after dark, thickening by the hour. Now the flames were so close he could see their curls and coils. And hear the screams.
He didn’t know what was going on. No TV. No Internet. No need. He’d been prepared for this for years, no matter what it was. There were two things he’d devoted his life to: keeping his stash hidden, and keeping the lighthouse glowing.
As long as the light was on, there was hope.
And right now, the light was beaming above him as he scraped some canned Spam and peas through his whiskers into his mouth.
Lighthouse keepers had always been a light in the darkness. That was their job, to signal to weary sailors that their long voyages were nearly at an end. That no matter what they’d been through, the promise of good food and good beds lay just ahead.
Because of that, he could never let the light go out. He’d prepared decades of provisions, stored away safely in the lighthouse basement. It was chock full of cans of food, potable water, gas masks, even med kits, enough to last through anything. Enough to keep the light of hope shining through any darkness.
Finished with his can, he smacked his lips and carefully poured the remaining brine into a leftover stew boiling on his portable wood burner.
The fires were still getting bigger.
All around now. No matter which direction the lighthouse shone in, it hit flames eventually, the beam lashing through clouds of steam pouring off the water. Bubbling waves lapped against the rocky coast that the lighthouse was on, sizzling away like sauna stones.
The lighthouse keeper decided he was in the mood for some cold ice cream.
Clanking down the metal stairs into the basement, he couldn’t stop wiping the sweat from his forehead. It was humid down here, even the railing hot to the touch. He hurried his pace to the bottom, his boots splashing in unexpected hot water when he arrived.
There was no need to turn on the light. Everything was illuminated in a malevolent red glow.
Inches of seawater flooded the basement. The waterlogged stones in the wall cracked as loud as lightning as the waves of boiling ocean crashed against them on the outside, spitting through crumbled away holes, leaking in hot water, hot red sunlight, and tiny flakes of former stone. The stress of the rapid temperature changes ate away at the boulders, reducing them to sand in a few swift strokes of water.
All the supplies, all the efforts of a lifetime to prepare, soaked and burnt away. Smoldering boxes wilting like dead plants. Cans twisted and popped open, spilling their overcooked contents. The plastic bottles of water floating on the surface, slowly sinking as their bodies were eaten by the heat.
He tried to grab a can of beans as it floated past, but just touching the metal lid seared his fingertips. Another splash of scalding seawater poured in from the walls, sending a rippling wave through the basement, splashing against his boots and jeans.
The scream he let out as he tried to pull away the seething wet clothing against his leg was only outdone by the roaring ocean rushing in. He clanged back up the staircase, hobbling and swearing, tugging at his jeans until he pulled them up to his knee, revealing the hot-red flesh beneath, all hair burnt away.
On the balcony, breathing hard, not sure if he was covered in sweat or seawater. The fires… they still weren’t even that close. Little more than dancing reds and oranges licking the faraway sky. But they were still growing. And the screams were louder than ever.
He slumped over to the edge of the balcony and leaned over to look. Even the metal bars, usually cool in the salty ocean breeze, buzzed with uncomfortable heat beneath his sweaty palms.
Seagulls cawed and called as they flew down to pick away his supplies now floating out to sea. Some of them brushed their beaks against their brethren floating on their backs, then flew away with broken cans and gas masks in their mouths to nowhere.
He couldn’t hold onto the balcony any longer. His hands were crimson and shaking. Slowly, he walked up the staircase to the roof, careful not to touch the metallic handrail. The melting rubber steps slurped against the soles of his boots, leaving a stringy black trail behind him.
The light. She was there, still shining in all directions. It was quieter up here. Cooler. From the roof, through the windows all around, it almost looked normal. Only the tips of the flames could peek up this high. For now.
He jangled his keys, not yet hot to the touch, and unlocked the power switch. The red OFF button — it just had to be red — he’d never had to press it before.
It was kind of a strange feeling, how easy it was. Just the push of a finger, and it all turned off. The hum, the brightness, the crunching of the gears. All gone. He’d always thought they’d stick around longer than he would.
Because as long as the light was on, there was hope.
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Top image: Pakutaso