How to Haunt a House: Part V

copyright 2008 by Gary L. Pullman

In the four previous posts in this series, we deduced a number of principles, or rules, that apply, in general, to fiction that involves a haunted house. These rules can be used to create a haunted house in both printed and cinematic horror stories.

This post brings these rules together in a simple list that is likely to be handier and dandier than the separate lists in the previous posts. In writing about fiction, especially fiction that is often about supernatural or paranormal events, it’s a good thing to have one’s guidelines readily available.

These nine rules apply to the interior of the haunted residence:

1. It should be spacious--the bigger, the better.
2. It should house many rooms.
3. A haunted house often symbolizes its resident’s state of mind.
4. A haunted house is often associated with the resident’s past.
5. A haunted house may be the portal to another dimension or to hell itself.
6. To be, horrors must be perceived (even mysterious phenomena, whether paranormal or supernatural, must be seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and/or touched).
7. A haunted house will probably have an emotional effect upon its resident.
8. The phenomena associated with a haunting should also be associated with the resident and with his or her mental states, moral failings, or personal experiences.
9. A haunting may result from a condition or set of circumstances other than ghostly habitation (mental illness, practical joke, hoax).

These four rules apply to the grounds upon which the domicile stands:

1. Relate the place with death and decay.
2. Ensure that the estate is at least ten acres in size, remembering that the bigger the grounds, the better.
3. Make the estate isolated, and surround it with a high wall or a forest.
4. Associate the house with its resident (the story’s protagonist).

By the way, you might also check out the entries that are relevant to ghosts, poltergeists, and haunted houses in both The Skeptic’s Dictionary and James Randi Educational Foundation’s An Encyclopedia of Claims, Frauds, and Hoaxes of the Occult and Supernatural for information and tips as to how to introduce, maintain, and develop a skeptical parallel to the supernatural or paranormal explanations of the haunting. You may also want to read the Chillers and Thrillers posts “Alternative Explanations,” Parts I through IV. Horror fiction works best, perhaps, when the author gives the reader both a natural and a supernatural or paranormal explanation of the bizarre incidents in a horror story, as we show in “Horror By the Slice: The Lurking Fear” and “Creating Mood in Horror Fiction.”

Have fun in creating your house of horrors!

How to Haunt a House: Part IV

copyright 2008 by Gary L. Pullman

The grounds upon which a haunted house stands (or crumbles) are also haunted. The land is unhallowed, or unholy, ground. As such, its vegetation is apt to be withered and sere. The grass, if any remains, is likely to be brown and scrubby. Shrubs will more than likely be shriveled or leafless. Trees will be grotesque, stunted trunks projectong a twisted tangle of bare branches. Flowers won’t do well. Rosebushes may bear thorns in abundance, but few or no blooms will appear to alleviate the gloom. The ground itself may be not only bare (and barren) but may also be lined and fissured with great, deep cracks. If there are any statues, they will be of strange figures. Some may be missing heads or limbs (or they may have extra heads and limbs). Others may bleed or weep blood. A figure may even moan or groan, perhaps due to a human soul imprisoned within the marble or granite stone. Hounds or other guard dogs may prowl the grounds. The entire estate is likely to be surrounded by a tall wall that is topped with a spiked, wrought-iron fence. Sometimes, instead of a wall, a thick forest hems in the estate. Wild animals live among the trees--wolves, wildcats, and worse--that keep guests at bay.

The estate may feature a family burial ground or a few gravesites. If so, the graves are likely to be marked with crumbling headstones or weather-stained crosses that may bear strange symbols and other bizarre inscriptions. A lake, or tarn, may be present, but it will be a lifeless body of water, uninhabited and unvisited by animals. The estate is likely to be isolated. Its residence and any other structures it contains will be the sole building or buildings for miles in any direction.

With as many features as we have cited, it’s obvious that the estate must be large, rather than small, especially if it is associated with a mansion or a castle. It shouldn’t be under ten acres, although it can be much bigger. There is apt to be rolling or drifting fog, white and thick enough to limit one’s vision and to conceal shapes within its gloom. Across the yard, at a distance, anyone who is unfortunate enough to trespass upon the estate will see the exterior of the haunted house, or its façade.

Edgar Allan Poe’s short story “The Fall of the House of Usher” brings many of these classical elements of the haunted estate together in his description, at the narrative’s outset, of the house and its grounds:

During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was--but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon the scene before me--upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain--upon the bleak walls--upon the vacant eye-like windows--upon a few rank sedges--and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees--with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium--the bitter lapse into everyday life--the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart--an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was it--I paused to think--what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble; nor could I grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered. I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impression; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down--but with a shudder even more thrilling than before--upon the remodelled and inverted images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows.

From these observations, we can deduce the following rules concerning the estate upon which a haunted house stands:

1. Relate the place with death and decay.
2. Ensure that the estate is at least ten acres in size, remembering that the bigger the grounds, the better.
3. Make the estate isolated, and surround it with a high wall or a forest.
4. Associate the house with its resident (the story’s protagonist). (Note Poe's "eyelike windows.")

How to Haunt a House: Part III

copyright 2008 by Gary L. Pullman

One expects strange things to happen in a haunted house because, well, it’s haunted. Ghosts aren’t like us. They’re spirits. Of the departed. By all accounts, mythical, religious, literary, and otherwise, there’s a world of difference between the quick and the dead. Therefore, ghosts should be expected to do the unexpected, to behave in a bizarre manner, and to be frightening, if not terrifying. Many choose to set up housekeeping in a house, rather than in, say, a house trailer or a flophouse. Consequently, the house, haunted, may also be expected to do the unexpected, to behave in a bizarre manner, and to be frightening, if not terrifying. In other words, if a house is truly haunted, one is entitled to expect to see (and, often, to hear, smell, taste, and feel) signs and symptoms of is condition. A home may be where the heart it, but a haunted home is where the horror is.

Anyone who has ever read a story or seen a movie about a haunted house (which is to say virtually everyone) knows some of the things that happen in such a place. Let’s consider these phenomena in relation to the senses by which they are perceived:

Sight

Walls or ceilings (or both) drip blood. Bathroom faucets pour blood. Black slime oozes from the walls. Walls bulge. Floors rear or buckle. Stairs flatten to form long, steep ramps. Mirrors exhibit horrific images. Furniture or dishes move by themselves, and are sometimes thrown across kitchens, dining rooms, or other chambers. Appliances turn off and on by themselves. The press of a hidden lever reveals a hidden room. Trapdoors drop into basements or water-filled wells. Oil paintings depict ghastly scenes, and the eyes of the subjects of portraits seem to follow the observer wherever he or she goes. Flies or wasps or insects may swarm within the house. Horrifying messages, written in blood, may appear on walls or other surfaces. The house’s floor plan may change overnight or even more abruptly. Doors may open upon other dimensions or even hell itself. And, of course, sooner or later, the ghosts themselves--or something even worse--will make a grand entrance.

Hearing

Strange noises are heard in the attic or basement. Doors slam shut. Mysterious footsteps are heard in vacant rooms or hallways. Doors may open or close of their own accord. Shadows may be cast by invisible forms or figures. Pets may behave strangely--cats may hiss or dogs may bark or growl for no apparent reason or may run from something that only they seem able to sense. Moans, groans, cries, or voices may be heard when no one is there or music may be heard when there is no musical instrument in the house.

Taste

Familiar foods may taste bitter, sour, or disgusting. Things that do not have a flavor may develop flavors--nasty ones, of course.

Smell

The stench of decaying flesh or some other particularly disgusting smell may waft through the house.

Touch/Emotion

A heavy, oppressive feeling of dread seems to cling to the house or to a specific location within the house. Cold spots appear in unlikely places. Residents may feel as if they are under constant visual surveillance by an unseen observer. Residents may even feel as if someone--or something--has touched them. Something--or someone--may bear down upon or sit atop one’s body as he or she sleeps or rests in bed. Residents may undergo physical or sexual assault by invisible assailants.

Remember, House = Self

In general, it’s a good idea to associate such phenomena with the main character of the story. Since it is he or she who will see, hear, smell, taste, and/or touch most of these phenomena, they should be related to him or her in some manner. Perhaps the phenomena are really signs and symptoms of a mental illness with which the protagonist is “haunted” rather than clues that the house in which this character resides is haunted. Maybe he or she needs a psychiatrist rather than a ghost buster.

The phenomena could have a moral significance. Maybe the sights, sounds, and other perceptions of strange and horrific incidents represent feelings of guilt and sorrow concerning past or present misdeeds that “haunt” the protagonist.

An elaborate prank, a practical joke, or a more sinister hoax could be the cause of the haunting, as in the movie Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte, in which a house is made to appear to be haunted in an effort to drive the protagonist mad so that her relatives can have her committed to a mental institution and inherit her estate. A bed-and-breakfast inn might be rigged to appear to be haunted in order to generate publicity.

Houses become haunted--or are said to become haunted--after famous people live (or die) in them. If your story features such a house, obviously the manner in which it is haunted, and the identity of its ghost or ghosts, should relate to the celebrity in question. One might expect a piano to play in Liberace’s house, for example, were it to be haunted, and maybe, in Charlton Heston’s abode, the actor still clutches a rifle in his “cold, dead hands.” Remember the metaphor that equates a house to the self of the person who resides there. A haunted house should be symptomatic of the haunted soul who lives within the distressed domicile.

In this post, we deduced these additional rules for haunting a house:

1. To be, horrors must be perceived (even mysterious phenomena, whether paranormal or supernatural, must be seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and/or touched).
2. A haunted house will probably have an emotional effect upon its resident.
3. The phenomena associated with a haunting should also be associated with the resident and with his or her mental states, moral failings, or personal experiences.
4. A haunting may result from a condition or set of circumstances other than ghostly habitation (mental illness, practical joke, hoax).
   

How to Haunt a House: Part II

copyright 2008 by Gary L. Pullman

Even Victorians can intimidate.

In the previous post, we considered two rules concerning how to haunt a house:

1. Make it spacious--the bigger, the better.
2. Fill it with rooms.

In this post, we’re going to look at the ways in which haunted houses often symbolize characters and their states of mind or serve as a gateway to a darker realm. As is often the case with regard to fiction, fact gives us a direction. In particular, we’re thinking of Ed Gein, the schizophrenic murderer upon whom such characters as Psycho’s Norman Bates, Texas Chainsaw Massacre’s Leatherface, and The Silence of the Lambs’ Buffalo Bill are based.

If ever a home was a reflection of its resident, Gein’s house certainly indicated his mental state. The house was a veritable garbage dump. The floors were littered and strewn with old magazines and newspapers, and boxes stood in precarious stacks along the walls and among piles of assorted materials that should have been discarded but weren’t. Among the rubbish were the trophies, consisting of human body parts, that Gein collected from the female corpses he robbed from the cemetery in his hometown, Plainfield, Wisconsin, and from Spirit Land, a graveyard located a few miles to the north. One box contained a bag, inside which, police found, was a mask that had once been the face of Mary Hogan, the owner and operator of a tavern that Gein had once frequented. The walls of some rooms were decorated with other such masks, and Gein ate soup from bowls he’d fashioned from the upper halves of human skulls. He also kept a torso, or mammary, vest; a collection of women’s noses; female genitals; and a belt made of women’s nipples.

After his mother died, Gein, who was a momma’s boy, missed her so much that the psychiatrist who examined the killer after his arrest concluded that Gein collected cadavers and female body parts in an attempt to fill the loss of female companionship that ensued his mother’s death and burial. In some ways, he was thought to be trying to bring home a bride (or parts thereof) or, perhaps, his dearly departed mother. Gein also kept part of the farmhouse he inherited upon his mother’s demise sealed off from the rest of the residence as a sort of shrine to his mother’s memory.

From Gein’s example, we see that haunted houses may be cluttered, and that the clutter may include some grisly, ghastly artifacts--perhaps human body parts--and that the resident of such a house might keep a door locked or even part of the house sealed off, either as a shrine or for some other purpose (hiding a body, an insane relative, or a secret of some sort, perhaps). In A Winter’s Haunting (2002), Dan Simmons’ sequel to Summer of Night (1991), the protagonist, Dale Stewart, keeps the upper floors of the house he rents--it belonged to a childhood friend who was murdered, years ago--sealed off from the lower floor, where he resides. Likewise, there’s a locked attic in The Skeleton Key (2005). After hearing voices from inside the locked room, the movie’s protagonist, Caroline Ellis, becomes curious. When she finally manages a look inside, she finds evidence that maybe demons do cause illness, and, in fact, maybe the invalid she’s been hired to care for may be a victim of dark magic. We all know what’s said about curiosity and the cats it lures. Other horror stories, both in print and on film, make use of the locked room motif as well.

Other novels suggest other approaches.

Shirley Jackson’s novel, The Haunting of Hill House, suggests that it may be the individual within a house, rather than the house itself, who is haunted or (depending upon one’s reading of her story) that a haunted house may, in turn, haunt its residents. This novel, like Poe’s short story, “The Fall of the House of Usher” and many lesser narratives, drives home the relationship--indeed, the interrelationship--between resident and residence. A home is a reflection of its owners or occupants. The disorderly state of Gein’s house reflected the disordered (confused) state of his mind, because normal people not only do not live among filth and clutter, but they also do not reside among human body parts and eat out of human skulls. Often, ghost stories are symbolic of past sins, of guilt, and of remorse or of past trauma and its continuing, present-day effects.

Therefore, many ghost stories connect with past events, and the incidents that occur within haunted houses represent such sins, such guilt, and such trauma. In The Others, the mother keeps her house dark because her children suffer from photophobia, a fear of light. Her concern with keeping them in the dark represents her love for them, but the darkness of the house also represents her ignorance of--and her refusal to see--the truth about her past. She has killed her children, and they, like her, are the ghosts who actually haunt the house in which they reside, not the residents of the house whom she imagines are its ghosts.

In an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, college students transform a fraternity house into a haunted house as a setting for a Halloween party. The partygoers become more than amorous, all but having sex in front of one another. Buffy stays in bed with her boyfriend, Riley Finn, from the time they arrive until their friends rescue them. When the partygoers touch a wall, they experience an orgasm, and playing a game of spin-the-bottle becomes the occasion for more than a friendly kiss between players. Buffy’s mentor and friends discover that the house is haunted by the souls of adolescents who’d lived in the house under the stern and disapproving tyranny of a foster mother who feared and hated sex and severely punished her charges when, at the onset of puberty, they began to experiment with sex, murdering at least one boy by drowning him in her bathtub. The dead child--or, perhaps, children--having been abused, now, as ghosts, become the abusers.

The Winchester mansion is allegedly haunted.

The furniture and décor in a haunted house also often reflect the resident’s state of mind. Bizarre images in a mirror which are seen only by one character suggest that these images are not real. Rather, they are likely to be but the contents of his or her own mind, projected onto his or her environment--the looking glass sees within, rather than reflecting that which truly exists. Therefore, only the one who sees such images can perceive them. The mirror mirrors his or her own thoughts, beliefs, and emotions. If a character ascends a staircase (or, for that matter, descends one), what type of revelation does he or she experience as a result? What happens at the top or the bottom of the stairs is indicative of what this character believes, feels, or thinks, and it is likely to be either transcendent or reductive in nature, depending upon whether the stairs lead upward or downward. An ascent into the attic is apt to represent an elevation to consciousness and knowledge; a descent into the basement is likely to symbolize a decline into the subconscious and the unknown.

When a locked room or a shut-off part of the house is part of a haunted house, the secret it contains will probably be the heart of the narrative’s mystery and, most likely, it will represent a great truth about the haunted character’s nature, behavior, goal, past, or present. Unlocked, the door may admit the resident to madness--or to revelation. The secret within the locked or sealed-off room or suite may deliver or destroy.

H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Lurking Fear” and “The Rats in the Walls” show that basements can be portals, as it were, to other, darker places, such as subterranean cities or dwellings in which cannibalistic mutants reside. His example reminds us that haunted houses often contain secret passageways, hidden rooms, and trapdoors to subterranean chambers or tunnels that allow villains to come and go in secret or to conduct clandestine operations. Sometimes, dungeons are accessed through trapdoors, wherein sadists torture, dismember, and kill victims. Such portals may even be gateways to another dimension or to hell itself, as in William Hope Hodgson’s The House on the Borderlands and Bentley Little’s The House.

From this consideration of how to haunt a house, we may deduce three additional rules:

1. A haunted house often symbolizes its resident’s state of mind.
2. A haunted house is often associated with the resident’s past.
3. A haunted house may be the portal to another dimension or to hell itself.

In our next post, we’ll take a look at what might be called the special effects that are typical of haunted houses.