It’s long been said that the short story is the purest form of horror. Whether you agree with the sentiment or not, many horror readers meet the genre in the form of short stories: oral tales told around campfires or at bedtime; spooky, visual anthology programs; or perhaps a short story in a book we were too young to have any business reading and that left us scarred for life (okay, this one might be personal, but “The Moving Finger” from Stephen King’s Nightmares and Dreamscapes forever made me fear a drippy faucet tap).
Whichever poison you prefer, short stories find their power in their brevity. Taking horror in bite size format gives readers the opportunity to whet their palates for horror while allowing a writer the space to experiment with themes and concepts that may not stretch into a full-length novel. In this abbreviated, high-stakes form, authors can take chances, distill impact, and capture an audience with a quick gut-punch that breaks “big ideas” into razor-sharp shards.
Take, for example, Rachel Harrison’s Bad Dolls, a collection of four speculative fiction stories about young women confronting everyday horrors — like loss and heartbreak, like struggling with body image and complicated relationships — and who encounter the uncanny along the way.
“I love writing short fiction because it’s an opportunity to experiment and play, and to take some risks,” says Harrison. “Sometimes I’ll have a fun, high concept idea that I know couldn’t be sustained throughout a novel, but it will work in short form.” For example, Bad Dolls’ opening story “Reply Hazy, Try Again” is about an indecisive woman who finds a real magic Magic 8 Ball. Harrison escalates the tension of that scenario at a satisfying pace within a short story.
In a similar vein, Angela Sylvaine’s brand new short story collection, The Dead Spot, sees women and girls battling monsters, obsession, manipulation — all manner of evils in the world around them.
“I love writing short stories because it allows me to explore and experiment with so many different ideas, subgenres, and characters,” says Sylvaine. “It also gives me a sense of accomplishment, allowing me to finish a story in a day, or a week, or a month, as opposed to longer work, like a novel, which can take a year or more. Plus, when I craft a story [that] I really love, I can use it as fodder for longer work and expand it!”
While the stories in The Dead Spot are chilling and sometimes tragic, their characters demonstrate a fire and resilience that leave you rooting for them until the very last page. Readers will emerge bloodied and battered but inspired to keep fighting the darkness.
And hope is what keeps horror readers reading. Fairy tale expert Carina Bissett describes her recent release, Dead Girl, Driving and Other Devastations as a collection of hope — a definition that might seem at odds with the dark and dangerous moods that weave throughout the collection, but ultimately a balm for the horrors within, as all but two of these stories were written after Bissett survived a terrible bicycle accident in the summer of 2016.
“As my body and brain slowly healed, these stories began to take shape,” says Bissett. “In the guise of fiction, I explored subjects I had to overcome, including suicidal ideation, post-traumatic stress disorder, disfigurement, disability, and violence against women.” And with each story she wrote, with each demon she dismembered and dissected, Bissett says she felt a little stronger. “In the end, it took seven years to compose and compile these stories,” says Bissett.
In the end, Dead Girl, Driving and Other Devastations is a map of Bissett’s healing, only it is one not marked with speed limits and mile markers, because Bissett says, “I’m still on this journey. And right now, there is no end destination in sight.”
“Although I love writing in many forms, short fiction has a special appeal. I believe that it is the tough stories, the ones that dig the deepest into our psyches, that are the most important to tell. They are also the most difficult to write,” says Bissett. “When I start with the familiar container of short fiction, I am armed with the foreknowledge of the shape I will be immersing myself in. It also gives me an idea of the length of time I will be submerged. This is a form of safety. It is a shield against whatever emotions I might dredge up in the creative process. In my opinion, there is a reason the best horror is short. Too long in the darkness, and you might never find your way back.”
