Let’s start with the word “horror” itself. According to our source, this term originates in Old French, where it originally meant “bristling, roughness, rudeness, shaking, trembling” and had the sense of meaning “to bristle with fear, shudder.” It was associated with the ruffling of feathers and the “rough” appearance of the hedgehog. The word “horror,” our source shows, is related to quite a few other terms, including:
- “horrific”
- “pall”
- “horrendous”
- “horrid”
- “hideous”
- “abhor”
- “caprice”
- “gruesome”
- “creep”
- “phobia”
- “urchin”
- “gothic.”
The word “horror,” we may observe, references the physiological aspects of fear, reminding us that horror, like other emotions, has not only a psychological, but also a physical, even a visceral, nature. It is as much of the body as it is of the mind, making the hair to stand on end and the frame to shudder. A poem, a short story, a novel, or a film that can cause such a visceral reaction is successful as a horror story, whatever its demerits or other merits may be.
Since we’ve considered the term “monster” in previous posts, we won’t repeat its consideration here, although its etymology and those of the words associated with it are quite interesting.
Where there’s a monster, there’s likely to be a victim. According to our source, this word derives from the Latin language, where it originally referred to a “person or animal killed as a sacrifice” and is associated with such other terms as:
- “con”
- “sponge”
- “patsy”
- “sandbag”
- “immolate”
- “Harry”
- “mark”
- “humor.”
(Concerning “humor,” our source offers a handy, dandy table of terms listing “types of humor,” which originally appeared in H. W. Fowler’s Modern English Usage [1926].) (One never knows what unexpected treasures he or she will come across in the pursuit of knowledge.)
Victims often bleed, which brings us to “blood.” According to our source, this term comes from Old English, where it meant “to swell, gush, spurt.” As one might expect, it is associated with a large family, as it were, of fellow terms:
- “bloody”
- “sanguine”
- “Rh factor”
- “bless”
- “sanguinary”
- “Aceldama”
- “bleed”
- “-emia”
- “sambo”
- “consanguinity”
- “O”
- “dreary”
- “sang-froid”
- “vampire”
- “ichors”
- “gory”
- “Inca”
- “raw”
- “blue blood”
- “antibody”
- “circulation”
- “arena”
- “corpuscle”
- “spirit”
- “hoopoe”
- “gout”
- “red-handed”
- “carnal”
- “sangria”
- “bask”
- “Rambo”
- “angio-”
- “bucko”
- “gore”
- “cinnabar”
- “Pegasus”
- “donor”
- “coronary”
- “hemophilia”
- “flux”
- “vein”
- “quadroon”
- “stanch”
- “hyperglycemia”
- “hypoglycemia”
- “vendetta”
- “septicemia”
- “octoroon.”
Some of these associates have interesting origins or histories themselves. “Bless” refers to the former tradition of marking the body with blood so as to consecrate it, and alluded to “a blood sprinkling on pagan altars.” “Sanguinary” meant “characterized by slaughter.” “Aceldama” is the name of the potter’s field (a cemetery for indigent corpses) “purchased with the blood-money given to Judas Iscariot” and, by extension, has come to mean any “place of bloodshed.” “Dreary” once meant to be “cruel, bloody.” “Ichors” is the vital fluid that flows through the veins of the Greek divinities, instead of blood. “Red-handed” referred to a “murderer caught in the act, with blood on the hands.” “Bask” originally meant to “wallow (in blood),” not sunlight. The mythological flying horse, Pegasus, was said to have sprung from the blood of the slain Medusa.
Like round, dynamic characters, words have both origins and histories--in short, lexicographic biographies. Knowing the lineage of a language’s terms enables a writer to discern possibilities for dramatic situations and twists. For example, knowing that a victim was originally a “person or animal killed as a sacrifice” could have led one to imagine a woman who was intended as a sacrifice not to a god or another supernatural being but, rather, to an animal--a gigantic ape, perhaps. Viola! King Kong! (The fact that this is not the origin of this story’s plot does not preclude the possibility that it could have been its inspiration, nor does it preclude the possibility for its being the actual inspiration for a wholly new story along similar lines.) Likewise, knowing that copses reside, as it were, in a cemetery that was “purchased with the blood-money given to Judas Iscariot” suggests some horrific possibilities to the imaginative thinker, particularly one who is in search of a vehicle for yet another tale of vampires or zombies, perhaps. Likewise, what might happen were a contemporary Heinrich Schlieman to find, instead of the ruins of Troy, a vial of ichors (or, for that matter, a little leftover nectar and ambrosia)?
Not only have the etymologies of words associated with horror fiction given us ideas for possible horror story plots, but they have also suggested a simple, but effective, means of testing the success of such literature: does it make the hair stand on end or the body shudder?