Oh, the Horror!

It doesn’t often come up but when it does, people are often surprised when I tell them I never set out to be a horror writer. Sure, I’m a die-hard, lifelong fan of the genre, and it was reading Stephen King’s The Shining at thirteen that opened my mind and imagination to a world of literature I never knew existed (you can swear in books), but, I’m really something of a thwarted literati. My first ever trunk novel was a depression-era drama owing a little too much to Ironweed by way of Road to Perdition; after that, it was a coming-of-age road story and a neo noir. When I finally decided to try my hand at horror, though, I realized something unique about the genre: you can do anything in a horror story. From pyrokinetic teens to Lovecraftian abominations to television channels from the beyond, everything is up for grabs and nothing is off the table when it comes to horror.

To quote ad copy for my beloved Hellraiser, “there are no limits.”

Freed from the constraints of hard reality, I produced what turned out to be my first published novel, Our Lady of the Inferno, a dark fable about a troubled young street walker struggling to provide for her sister while slowly coming to realize she’s set to be the latest target of a female serial killer who believes she’s the Minotaur of ancient Greek myth. While my inner Virginia Woolf still tried shopping it to lit fic publishers (a professor friend called it ‘the Mrs. Dalloway of hooker-versus-serial killer novels), it was a horror publisher who bit, and, voila, I was a horror writer. It’s a genre that’s allowed me to let my imagination go as far as it wants, from dinosaur professional wrestlers (The Despicable Fantasies of Quentin Sergenov) to retelling of the Maltese Falcon that replace the titular statue with a cursed film reel (Beasts of 42^nd Street).

If you can do anything in horror, though, that also means you can explore anything.

It is, perhaps, why horror has always been so powerful a medium through which to address social issues. From the indictment of racism in George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead to the anti-Reaganism of John Carpenter’s They Live, horror has long been a way through which to dialogue with real world fears and threats through the lens of fictional monsters. It’s a cinematic and literary crucible through which we burn away the irrelevancies of our fears to come to a better understanding of them and a way to deal with them.

If we can explore any issue, any fear, any concern through horror, then, does that mean we can also use it as a lens through which to better understand mental health and the human condition?

Oh, the Humanity!

That was the provocative thought put to me by Chris Grosso back in 2019 when he first came to me with his idea for a project to be called Necessary Death. We were both contributing content to Fangoria magazine, he as an online columnist, myself as a staff writer. He’d recently read Our Lady, and told me he felt based on the book, I was the collaborator he’d been searching for. An accomplished counselor, public speaker, and author with three self-improvement books under his belt (Indie Spiritualist, Dead Set on Living, and Everything Mind), Chris had long wanted to write a book examining the intersection of mental health and horror. How do horror films depict and evaluate different ideas related to concepts in the mental health field, and, more importantly, what can we learn from them? Even more importantly, how can we take that knowledge and practically apply it in our everyday lives, in the furtherance of our own mental health and well-being?

As Chris pointed out, many horror fans see themselves as outsiders and feel they exist on the periphery of society—a place from which it can often be difficult or intimidating to seek help. What if there were a book that used something familiar and comforting- horror films- to open the door to a journey of self-improvement and could serve as the first stepping stone on a journey to getting help for those who need it? It was a fascinating idea, and not like anything I’d ever quite heard before. Too, as a thwarted mental health professional myself with a degree in psychology from Sam Houston State University (I’m a lot of thwarted things), it felt like an opportunity to finally apply those credentials beyond writing serial killers.

So it was that Chris and I embarked upon the creation Necessary Death: What Horror Movies Teach us About Navigating the Human Condition. It was a writing challenge unlike any I’ve ever faced, and proved to be my own self improvement experience: in his role as creator and co-author, Chris challenged me in new and developmental ways, and I’m grateful that he wanted to bring me along on this journey.

Oh, the…book!

From how Jung’s concepts of the persona and shadow self are represented through Leatherface and Michael Meyers to the way the Nightmare on Elm Street series depicts the process of self-actualization, we aimed to make something unlike anything else in the realm of film study and self-improvement: an exploration of thirteen concepts related to mental health and wellness via thirteen iconic horror films.

Much as we can better understand social issues and engage with real-world fears through horror movies, so too can we better understand ourselves. Consider the Exorcist. In a world where religion and politics have become increasingly interwoven at the cost of actual faith, how can we learn to navigate our own spiritual journeys through Father Karras’ personal struggles with both real and metaphorical demons? How about Carrie—what’s the opening attack scene in the locker room but the analogue version of the daily social media pile on with Carrie herself as the Instagram main character of the day? Are those attacks ever justified—and, regardless, how do we handle it if we ourselves wind up on the receiving end?

One of the reasons we so often connect with horror movies is because they’re distinctly human, presenting, at the heart of each, a struggle for survival very much like our own. While the threats facing us may not be rampaging dream demons or hockey mask-wearing zombie death machines, there’s so much synchronicity to be felt between the battles so many final girls have embarked upon and our own daily battles with life. By exploring these parallels and taking a lesson from each of the horror films explored in Necessary Death, we hope to help readers achieve victories over their own Predators and Pazuzus, be those toxic relationships or a sense of inadequacy. It’s an opportunity for every reader to become the final girl (or boy) of their own life- and maybe have a laugh or too along the way.

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