Ghostbusters: Reinterpreting the Classic Ghost Story One Stay Puft Marshmallow Man at a Time

I have a confession to make. I only saw Ghostbusters for the first time last year. I know, shameful given its cult classic status. So needless to say, it being assigned viewing for class is ultimately helping me make up for lost time.

This semester of hauntings has been filled with malevolent ghosts, violent demons, and a couple entities that just want to show everyone how wonderful Christmas can be. All the stories have either been creepy, thought-provoking, and serious. Ghostbusters views hauntings through a different lens. While it has malevolent ghosts that torment the living, it makes them, well, fun. It takes the trope of a scary ghost story and turns it on its side.

The tone of the film is fantastic. Most ghost stories have a dark, foreboding quality. Yet even though all the ghosts in this movie are real threats—and there’s the end of the world, don’t forget that—there’s a tongue in cheek quality that carries throughout. Even during the climax of the movie when the Ghostbusters need to empty their minds so Zuul can’t create her warrior there is a comedic streak when Stantz can’t help but think of the Stay Puft marshmallow man. Just look at how fluffy he is. 

It's the characters are who maintain this light tone throughout the movie. Maybe I just haven’t found it, but every ghost hunter show I’ve ever seen features paranormal investigators who are either very serious, take themselves too seriously, or are a terrible combination of the two. None of the ghostbusters fill the role of competent, gallant hero. Their technology isn’t tested and they never have a plan. But they always manage to pull through and save the city from the terror of ghosts, and it’s their bumbling journey to the happy conclusion that’s endearing.

One of the things talked about in a genre module I took at SHU is that all genres eventually become parodies of themselves in some way or another. Ghostbusters is a perfect example of achieving this without going too far and into the realm of something silly that can be easily ignored. It takes all the elements of ghost stories and tilts them on their sides in some way or another, which is the best way to break the mold of a trope. It reinterpreted the ghost story by showing that they don’t all have to be somber and dark. Ghosts can cause trouble, even try to bring about the end of the world, but it doesn't have to be a gloomy ride to overcome them.

All in all, I wish I had seen this movie sooner, but I guess later is far better than never. Also, Bill Murray. Need I say more?

Nothing Like A Christmas Carol to Get You in the Spirit

I have fond memories of Charles Dickens’ novella A Christmas Carol. I first read it before my age broke double digits, and Disney’s The Muppet Christmas Carol is still a holiday staple in my parents’ home (and let me tell you, I’ve seen several movie adaptations of Christmas Carol, and the Muppet version sticks damned close to the book... with the exception of the puppets). It’s a story that many know well, so well that pieces of it are now ingrained in Christmas culture.

Yet despite growing up with the story through the book and the movies, never once did I stop to wonder why Scrooge was such a disagreeable character. It was just an accepted fact. He’s a miserly grouch who stomps around saying, “Humbug!” and people who hate Christmas are called Scrooges. But there’s far more to it than that.

I’ve worked in food service now for almost four years, and it didn’t take long to figure out it’s an industry that attracts memorable characters. If I’ve learned nothing else from work and from my years spent studying literature in undergrad and creative writing in grad school, it’s that there’s always a reason people (or characters) are the way they are. They don’t simply pop into existence as miserly grouches who hate Christmas.

Dickens doesn’t expect readers to simply accept that Scrooge is a terrible person just for the sake of being terrible. Through the ghosts, Dickens shows readers why Scrooge is the way he is. I found myself truly caring about Scrooge for the first time. Who knows how I’d be if my family never wanted me around, or if I had my heart broken during what’s supposed to be the happiest time of year. I also better understand why so many have a hard time during the holiday season. I’ve been fortunate to only have happiness to associate with the holidays, yet so many don’t have this same gift. But the true masters of this revelation are the ghosts.

There is only one true ghost in the typical understanding of the word: Scrooge’s seven years dead partner Marley. In the interim leading up to Marley’s haunting, Dickens does a fantastic job of given the story an eerie tone from how he uses darkness and hallucinations to distort Scrooge’s perception. I found Marley to be the most unsettling of the spirits, as he was someone Scrooge knew. Being a ghost in Dickens’ world was almost a Purgatorial sentence, wandering aimlessly for who knows how long, dragging the weight of earthly wrongs for the duration of the sentence. The image that remained most clearly in my mind was when Scrooge sees other ghosts outside his window who want to do good for the living but can’t.

While the Christmas ghosts are the ones who help Scrooge change so that he can avoid a similar fate to Marley’s, I’m not sure it’s fair to call them ghosts. Maybe I have a narrow view of the term, but ghosts are the souls of the dead who, for whatever reason, are stuck on earth. The Christmas ghosts aren’t souls, but entities unto themselves, guides rather than souls stuck between the realm of the living and the dead. Yet they work in their roles. I’m not sure how else Scrooge would have had a change of heart. He is such a shrewd, cynical character that he couldn’t have changed without supernatural intervention. Anything short he would have humbugged away.

All in all, A Christmas Carol is one of those stories that referred to so often, it’s almost necessary to know it. But if for some reason you don’t get a chance to read it (even though it’s short, I promise), watch The Muppet Christmas Carol. Seriously. It’s on Netflix.

The Exorcism of Emily Rose: Time to Suspend Your Disbelief, as Long as It's Not 3 A.M.

It’s not a secret: demons scare the hell out of me. Or, more accurately, demonic possession scares the hell out of me. Having all control of your body stolen by a sadistic, evil entity does not sound like a fun way to kill some time.

It’s also not a secret that most scary movies do nothing for me. Most of the time I laugh my way through them. Either the big baddies are unbelievable or the characters are too stupid to live. The intent behind so many horror films is to shock with sensationalism—or at least that seems to be the MO for the ones I’ve watched. The ones that actually have some impact on me are quieter, that play with the brain rather than assault the eyeballs with gore.

So, combine my fear of demonic possession with the quiet understanding that what you are about to see is based on a true story and you have the one movie that I lost sleep over: The Exorcism of Emily Rose.

I saw this movie within a year or so after it came out on DVD in 2005. I was either finishing up junior high or had just started high school—either way, I was young and impressionable and just as scared of demonic possession as I am now approximately ten years later. I knew before watching it the first time that I would be freaked out, and I was right. I pulled up every protection from demons prayer I could find and begged my mom to get me a St. Michael the Archangel medal (because the story goes he defeated Satan and all). Ten years later, I’m still terrified of 3 A.M.: the Devil’s Hour.

This time watching Emily Rose for class, I had enough distance from the story to view it more critically. For years I’ve had people give me skeptical looks when I tell them this is the only movie that truly scared me. “I thought it sucked,” is usually the explanation they give. But I never understood why they would think that until now.

Don’t get me wrong, I still think Emily Rose is terrifying in its quiet way, but that quiet way is what I think turns people off. This is not an in your face movie. There’s no gore. There’s no gruesome monster. There’s no psycho killer. Most of the movie takes place in a courtroom as Emily’s story is told through the trial. The biggest scare factor is the possession, and if you don’t believe in demons, then you won’t find this movie scary in any way.

This story appeals to keeping an open mind, which is the crux of the defense’s argument in the trial. The viewers who believe in demons will have a much easier time of being scared than those who don’t—the belief has already been suspended, whether by religion or something else. I’m not sure there was a way for the movie to dispel all doubt surrounding possession, but it knows it can’t and acknowledges the skepticism that will naturally surround the claim of “based on a true story.” It reminds me of Mercado’s disclaimer in Grave’s End saying she doesn’t expect people to believe her story, but it’s her story nonetheless.

If this had been a purely fictional account regardless of whether it was in movie or book form, I would view the acknowledgement of skepticism as a cop out. The storyteller didn’t do their job in creating a world or a situation that was so real, there wouldn’t be room unsuspended disbelief. But since Emily Rose’s story has roots in fact, and there are times when fact is stranger than fiction, I can more easily accept the disclaimer. I am more apt to believe a person’s conviction that something happened to them even if I don’t necessarily believe what they’re claiming actually happened.

My favorite quote from the movie is, “Demons exist whether you believe in them or not.” Well, I still do, and I’m still scared of 3 A.M.

Paranormal Activity: Things Go Bump in the Night. No, Really, They Do

I distinctly remember when Paranormal Activity came to theaters the fall of my freshman year of college. I went with some friends to one of the late-night showings not really sure what to expect. I’ve never found scary movies particularly scary despite having an overactive imagination. Usually, my imagination shuts down and rationalization takes over. This didn’t happen the first time I watched Paranormal Activity. Because so much isn’t seen—rather it’s heard or implied—my mind raced to fill the gaps with reckless abandon. By the end of the film, I had gotten myself so worked up over the demon following Katie (one half of the movie’s main couple) that I only heard rather than saw the final scene. Afterwards, I asked my roommate what I had missed. She told me I hadn’t seen Katie’s face turn into the demon’s.

It's no secret I have a fear of demons and possession that dates back to childhood. Something about an evil, non-human entity following you around just to make your life miserable, or worse, take over your body and strip you of control, fills me with dread. But I always felt like a wimp for not having the courage to keep my eyes open for the final scene. When Paranormal Activity popped up on the list of required reading/viewing materials for Hauntings, I realized this was my opportunity to redeem myself.

So I watched the movie in broad daylight nice and safe under an electric blanket with a hot cup of coffee and my cat. Because I’m cool like that.

This time, all the gaps had been filled from years of distance and knowing what would happen. First thing I did was face the unwatched final scene. My imagination had done one hell of a job creating something far worse than what actually happened. Demon face? Not so much. Creepy snarl with a side order of unresolved ending? Absolutely. My version of the DVD had the alternate ending, so I went ahead and watched that one, too. It was far less spectacular than the demon face theatrical ending, yet it resolved the story. Then, with the two endings in mind, I started from the beginning.

What this movie does spectacularly well is leave so much up to the viewer’s imagination. The demon is never shown—only clues to its appearance are left, which forces viewers to create the demon in their minds. The atmosphere of the movie is literally dark, and many of the scenes are shot in night vision. The lack of light also forces the viewers to imagine what’s in the shadows. But there is enough information so that viewers don’t get too frustrated by the loud noises and implications. This movie didn’t have a script, rather it had an outline for the actors to follow. Through the adlibbed dialogue, the demon’s backstory is revealed, and it doesn’t feel forced or like an info dump. Viewers learn about the monster along with the characters.

The downside to the movie is once you’ve seen it once, there’s no real reason to watch it again. So much of the tension relies on darkness, unexpected noises, and the building anticipation of the viewers. Watching it again after the initial tension of the first viewing has been released makes it lackluster, almost dull, because nothing is unexpected.  

What I found to be the most interesting watching it again was comparing the different endings. Most DVDs have two endings: the theatrical and the alternate. Yet there is a third ending, the original ending, floating around on the Internet. Each ending changes the tone of the movie. The theatrical ending is the most dramatic: Katie is possessed by the demon who has haunted her for most of her life and makes her kill her boyfriend, Micah. Micah’s body is thrown at the camera, possessed Katie crawls over it, grins at the camera demonically, then the scene fades out. It’s followed by an epilogue stating that the police found Micah’s body several days later, but Katie has never been found. This ending leaves much up in the air, which best fits the tone of the movie. The demon finally wholly possesses Katie, which was its MO all along, yet it’s still out in the world to attack someone else or to live on earth in Katie's body.

The alternate ending has more closure. Again, possessed Katie kills Micah, but viewers only know this from what they hear. Katie walks towards the camera covered in blood and holding a knife. The demon then makes Katie slit her throat, and the scene fades out. This ending stops the demon’s threat by giving it what it wants: Katie. Its reign of terror is over once it ends her life.

The original ending had the least amount of punch for me. As with the other two endings, possessed Katie kills Micah, then sits alone rocking the floor of her bedroom for several days. The police enter her home, she snaps out of the near-catatonic state she’s been in, comes towards the police with the knife she used to kill Micah, and the police shoot her down. What I didn’t like about this ending was that the demon just sort of wanders off screen with no hint as to what it actually wanted or if it achieved what it set out to do. It makes the MO more about killing Micah than anything else. If anyone wants to compare the endings, go here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeRzM0NdshA

While I approached re-watching Paranormal Activity with a hint of dread, I was able to see its strengths more clearly than I was the first time I saw it. Granted, I have no plans to watch it countless times over, but I can appreciate its goal: less can sometimes be more, especially when it comes to scares.

Grave's End: For Really Reals

This week we’re switching gears from a fictitious “true” story to a truly true story. Elaine Mercado’s Grave’s End is a woman’s account of her and her family’s time spent in a haunted house. So, basically, this is what Amityville Horror was supposed to be.

Grave’s End starts as Amityville does with a family purchasing and moving into their dream home. Yet it’s clear from the beginning that Grave’s End is an entirely different beast from Amityville. First, the tone of the book is what worked best for me. Rather than a sterile, journalistic retelling, Mercado’s tone is conversational. Granted, this is not the best written book nor does Mercado have beautiful, lyrical prose. Yet, the conversational tone she uses throughout the entire book gives the story a “real” quality that Amityville lacked. I believe in ghosts—this is no secret. Yet all while reading Amityville, I couldn’t suspend my disbelief, even when keeping in mind it was a novel.

What helped me go with Mercado on her story were hers and her family’s reactions to the paranormal activity. Just because I believe things happen that science will never explain doesn’t mean I expect others to share my beliefs. In fact, I’m more surprised to talk with someone who agrees with me than doesn’t. Mercado and her family tried to logic away all that happened in the house for years. Then, when she finally accepted that logicking away wouldn’t work, looked into selling the house. Something else that’s always bothered me about ghost stories: it seems far too easy to up and leave. Granted, I’ve never owned a home and I’ve moved all of once, so my experience is limited. But from what I do know, it’s not as easy as hopping in the car and yelling, “Peace out!” over your shoulder at the entities who have spent all their limited energy trying to evict you. This issue was addressed in Mercado’s book, which added the “reality.” She was forced to stay in a house she feared because selling wasn't a financially sound option.

I was curious to see what came up when I Googled Mercado’s case, just to double check that this wasn’t another Amityville “true story” without the truth. I found nothing of that nature. In fact, the several articles I found quoted Mercado as saying it was all right if no one believed her. Perhaps this is a reaction to last week’s reading, but a part of me is impressed that she said that in the articles. She even prefaces and ends her book with the same thought. Maybe it was a brilliant marketing strategy, but the disclaimer fit beautifully with the tone of the book: this is what happened, believe me or not, but here’s my story.

I think I now understand why Amityville was so successful when it was first published. Because Grave’s End is a true story, I began wondering what it would be like if I ever lived in a haunted house—if I’d ever be able to gracefully handle paranormal activity in my home. The lens of “true story” completely alters the reading experience by adding a layer of reality. I read to escape into a different world, so escaping into another facet of the real one turns the process on its head. Especially when the possibility of the supernatural is peppered in.

The Amityville Horror, In Which I Mention Fifty Shades

I wasn’t sure what to think when I saw Jay Anson’s The Amityville Horror on this term’s reading list. I saw the movie a couple years ago for the first time, and my reaction to it was strong:

This is stupid.

At first I assumed I was far enough removed from the time it was originally released that I couldn’t find it as enthralling as its first viewers did. But just before reading the book, I did some research. Despite being marketed as a true story, The Amityville Horror never happened. The truest part about the entire story was that the DeFeo family who owned the house before the Lutzes were victims of mass murder, and the murders took place inside the house. However, rather than tell the DeFeos’ story or explore the murder case, allegedly Anson worked with the Lutzes to create the paranormal story.

All right, so I was about to read a piece of fiction. That’s nothing new, although a part of me was annoyed that rather than explore the mass murders—the true horror of Amityville—I was about to read another ghost story. My slight annoyance grew into near loathing.

This is one of the most poorly written books I’ve read, and I’m including a certain Fifty Shades of Terrible.

Everything I’ve been taught not to do in my writing happens in this book. The writing itself is juvenile, with either choppy sentences or long, awkward ones. The author kept such a distance from the story that there was no way for the reader to grow too attached to it. I understand that Anson tried to structure the book as a true account of the paranormal, but it didn’t work. Because he didn’t approach the writing like it was a novel, the whole thing is a giant summary. There is barely any dialogue to move the action of the story forward, most of the story itself is told rather than shown. There’s no character development, and the characters themselves are so poorly fleshed out, that it's difficult to care for any of them. My last issue is a pet peeve, but I can’t stand excessive exclamation points. Thirteen of the twenty-five chapters end in exclamation points.

The paranormal references Anson uses are cliché. Cold spots, auditory hallucinations, things moving on their own, emotional possession. I understand that every genre has its tropes, but I found myself rolling my eyes whenever there was a cold spot. Granted, I haven’t read another ghost story where there were swarms of flies in the dead of winter, but I’m not a wide reader of horror.

What I wondered is that despite all my issues with the book (and hopefully, I’m not the only one who had these issues) is why was it so popular when it was first published in 1977? All I can think is that when it was published, no one knew it was a fake. The murders were true, and the new owners of the murder house claimed all this happened. Who’s to say it couldn’t be true? I think the bad writing was more easily forgiven because readers were enthralled by the possibility of “what if?” It reminds me of the Fifty Shades phenomenon. The writing is atrocious, not to mention the story itself, but the readers who love it are those who wonder “what if?”

I wanted to like The Amityville Horror. I wanted it to be better than the movie, but it wasn’t. There are far better—and just as fictitious—ghost stories worth reading. 

The Others: Bet You Didn't See That One Coming

Story time: I got my taste for the supernatural from my dad. While he slowly eased me into the world of Sci-Fi, Fantasy, and Horror with super hero cartoons every Saturday, it morphed into a shared interest in the paranormal. I was in middle school when he brought home The Others, starring Nicole Kidman and directed by Alejandro Amenábar. I remember watching it late one night on my laptop without any idea what it was about. All I knew was my dad wanted to see it so it must be good. I’ve always been decent at figuring out the ends of stories, and I wasn’t half bad even then. But what stuck with me even years after first seeing The Others was the thrill of not seeing it coming. I’ve only come across two stories that have completely caught me off guard with their twist endings, one being Dennis Lehane’s novel Shutter Island and the other being The Others.

I loved how unexpected the ending was when I first saw it, so much that the next day I watched it to see what clues I had missed. Several years’ worth of alleged maturity and wisdom later when I watched it for this class, I paid attention to every detail. The only indication I found of a major twist ending was that none of the wardrobe choices quite matched the style of the 1940s, which is when the story takes place. Yet the wardrobe choices were so subtle, I’m not sure I would’ve noticed them unless I was paying attention. If anyone found any other clues, please let me know!

When thinking about the twist ending of The Others and the lack of clues I found pointing to it, I couldn’t help but wonder if the twist was a bit of a cheat. It’s been my experience that twist endings all have clues pointing to them. The truly masterful twists leave clues that are so subtle, they’re hard to find unless you go looking for them. This held true in Shutter Island, yet not so much in The Others. Unless I’m missing something (which is very likely), it’s not that the clues were well hidden, there simply weren’t any.

While I love being taken off guard by an ending, I felt a little… well, betrayed. There’s a difference between being surprised and being blindsided, and The Others has left me blindsided multiple times even though I know what’s going to happen. No matter how I look at it, I keep coming back to deus ex machina--god from the machine. 

Yet, maybe that was the point of the story—not only to take a trope and turn it on its head, but to not let the viewers know they were watching the story upside down the entire time. As you might can guess, I have internal conflict over this movie and what the story achieves. I love it, I always will, but I feel gypped by the ending. There was nothing, not even in retrospect, to get me used to the idea that (SPOILER ALERT)

Nicole Kidman and her kids have been dead the entire time.

At the end of the day, The Others will remain one of my favorite movies. The atmosphere is spot on, the characters are memorable, and it has a twist ending that has stuck with me for about ten years. While I don’t want to translate Amenábar’s technique into my writing, I can respect it for leaving me breathless and wondering. 

I'll Have My Second Sight with a Side Order of Snow: The Shining by Stephen King

Ah, Stephen King. Why did it take me so long to finally read one of your horror novels? The world may never know.

The Shining by King was the first novel so far this term that I truly enjoyed reading. I went in with the expectations from what I know of the movie: Jack Nicholson with an axe and his head stuck through broken door slats shouting, “Heeeeeeere’s Johnny!” No, wait, that was the only expectation I had going into The Shining and that scene wasn’t even in the book. Ah well.

What The Shining did for me that the other books this term haven’t so far was fill me with a sense of dread. It wasn’t constant, else I probably would have been exhausted reading the doorstop of a thing. It was sprinkled throughout so that I was never quite comfortable. A huge part was due to a child being the catalyst for all the paranormal activity.

Danny being only six years old and having the hotel go after him because he has the Shine or Second Sight put me on edge. I like Danny. If he was real, I’d want to scoop him up in a hug and tell him everything will be okay. That the hotel wants his power to stay "alive" heightens the tension more than if it wanted an adult. My sympathy would have been less if Danny was older. Not because I’d necessarily like him less, but because I’d know he had more years of taking care of himself. Yet Danny is young, still learning how to read, and even though he’s exceptional for a six year old, he’s a child. The monsters kids fear lurk that in their closets or under their beds are real for Danny. Whenever the hotel would reach out to him, show him apparitions or put him in a trace, I wanted to yell, “He’s just a kid! Leave him alone!”

I didn’t find myself caring as much for the adult characters. A part of me knew that Jack would fall back into alcoholism, and it was difficult for me to sympathize with him after learning he had hurt Danny in an alcoholic rage. Wendy I could respect for doing what she coud to protect her son, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I particularly liked her. I wonder how I would have liked this book if I didn’t care so much for Danny. While the idea was compelling, it was my attachment to Danny that carried me through all 683 pages of my copy.

One thing I’d like to touch on separate from character appreciation is snow. I will readily admit to not reading much horror before starting at Seton Hill, so I’m still relatively new to the genre, but what is with snow and horror? I understand that it’s a challenge to the characters and can easily become a monster in of itself, but I’m already getting tired of it making an appearance. While I give King credit for making me nervous when the snow drift trapped Danny in the playground tube, later in that chapter, I couldn’t help but think I’d seen this before. Yes, snow sucks—it’s no secret I’m not a fan of it. It can make life miserable and if there’s enough of it, convey a sense of being trapped. I just seem to encounter it quite a bit in fiction, recently.

Snow or not, The Shining kept me turning the page to make sure Danny would make it safely to the end. I’m curious now to read more of King’s fiction, and still a bit guilty that I hadn’t read more of it sooner.

It's a Metaphor!: Ghost Story by Peter Straub

I will shamefully admit that I hadn’t heard of Peter Straub’s acclaimed novel Ghost Story before this class. When I checked it out before reading, I was excited. It had wonderful reviews and was endorsed by horror titan Stephen King as one of the best horror novels ever.

So imagine my disappointment at finding Ghost Story to be one of the more boring books I’ve read.

I wanted to like this book. Straub pays homage to literary heavyweights Nathaniel Hawthorne, Henry James, and hints to Edgar Allen Poe through the writing itself, which affects the overall style of the novel. It’s always been my experience that the pacing of classic novels is slower than in modern novels, and for being published in 1979, I consider Ghost Story to be a modern novel. Yet after the prologue which was filled with intrigue and tension, the pace of the story slowed to a crawl. On page fifty of my edition, Sears James tells his story about Fenny and his brother Gregory. This story grabbed my interest. Yet once it was told, it wasn’t until page 200 when Don Wanderly tells his encounter with the mysterious Alma Mobley when the story grabbed my attention again. Yet after her story was told, my interest waned until the last page. Had I prepared myself for a story told in a more classic literary style, I might’ve more readily forgiven the slow pace. Yet by the time I realized this was partially how Straub was paying homage, I couldn’t connect with the story.

The lack of character connection also contributed to my struggle of connecting to the story. Straub utilizes an ensemble cast, and while I usually don’t mind head hopping or multiple POVs, it didn’t work for me in this book. There were so many characters and so many POV shifts that I never really cared for any of the characters. The closest I came was to Don during his entry about Alma, yet the story didn’t stay with him long enough for me to truly become vested in.

Finally, my last gripe. I thought it was safe to assume that with the title of Ghost Story this would be a story about ghosts. Yet look what happens to people who assume. On the surface, this is not a ghost story despite the title. The big bad is a Manitou, or shape shifter who has taken the form of many women—Alma Mobley included—in order to seek revenge for her murder fifty years before the book takes place. Her henchmen are referred to as vampires or werewolves. Now, I have no problem with beasties as the antagonists, yet I don’t considered monsters the same as ghosts. I felt mislead that the antagonist was a beastie as opposed to a ghost, even though I liked the idea of using a Manitou as the monster. The ghost in this story is metaphorical: it is the memory of murder that haunts the four old men that is the real ghost. Call me literal, but I wasn’t expecting metaphors.

There were elements of Ghost Story I enjoyed, and maybe I’d have a different impression of it if I went back and read it with the literary homage in mind. Yet after this first read, I didn’t think it lived up to the hype.

Hell House, or Your Napoleon Complex has Really Gotten Out of Hand

Not to be confused with Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House, Richard Matheson's Hell House is an entirely different beast (and I will admit to confusing the titles more than once—I am ashamed).  While it wasn't clear if Hill House was truly haunted or it was lonely and just wanted a friend, there is no doubt that something's rotten in the state of Hell House. Let's start with the name. The Belasco Mansion has such a perverted history that it became known as Hell House. Even if the house wasn't haunted, the history has power. When alive, Emeric Belasco filled the house with every imaginable debauchery, and the knowledge of this history leaves an impression on those who visit Hell House. Former residents of Hell House fell into an animalistic state and Belasco reigned over his base kingdom as "The Roaring Giant".

Yet, Hell House is haunted. Rather than the house itself generating the hauntings from residual energy, visitors of the house experience violent apparitions and attacks from entities. What struck me about these apparitions was how they chose to attack their victims. Two men and two women are visiting Hell House. Only one of the men is directly attacked by being locked in a steam room and is eventually killed. The other man—a physical medium—manages to separate himself from being attacked. Both women, one a mental medium and the other the wife of the man who dies, are attacked sexually. The medium is not only killed, but she is also raped by a ghost and sexually assaulted multiple times leading up to the rape. The other woman is possessed by an entity that causes her to attack both men in the pursuit of sex and cast doubt onto her sexuality.

When reading these attacks, I was taken aback by the actions the entities took on the women—how both women had the control over their bodies taken from them in different ways. But after separating myself from the initial reading and thinking about the story, I couldn't help but wonder what Matheson was saying by only having the women be victims of sexual abuse. Maybe the time the novel was published had an influence, but given what supposedly happened in the house, homosexuality isn't far-fetched. The violent apparitions were all male, yet they chose not to exhibit their power over the living men the way they did over the women.  

The only reason I don't speculate why there couldn't be a female entity to go after the men is the ending. Turns out the paranormal activity was all controlled by a single entity: the ghost of the Roaring Giant himself, Belasco, who had found a way to live after death. Now, this is all fine and dandy, but the rest of the ending I had to read it multiple times through tears of laughter to make sure I understood correctly. Turns out ol' Belasco was no giant. He was a tiny man with a Napoleon complex who’s motivation for everything was to convince others he was tall. Please, if I’m missing something about the ending, tell me. I'm at a loss for an alternate interpretation. Although at a towering 5'3", I now have a whimsical motivation to haunt and terrorize the living.

Hell House had elements I enjoyed. I liked the in-your-face aspect of the hauntings—Belasco wasn't a power to be dismissed. I enjoyed the constant pull between the logical and the unexplained that carried throughout the story. Yet after gaining distance from the story, I'm not sure if I like that only the women were the victims of violent sexual assault. And the ending… well, it only emphasized what I've always said: don’t mess with short people.

Now There Be Ghosties: The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Last term there were beasties. Now there be... well, ghost-ies.

When I saw Shirley Jackson on the reading list this term, I was excited. The only thing of hers I’d read until now was The Lottery, the granddaddy of dystopian short stories and what I sense was a major influence behind The Hunger Games. I’d heard of The Haunting of Hill House, but hadn’t had a chance to read it until this class. I’m a fan of The Lottery. It’s one of those stories that made me stop in my tracks, so I had high hopes for The Haunting of Hill House.

Yet while I didn’t hate it, Hill House didn’t fill me up with the same dread I was expecting thanks to The Lottery. Yet what happens to protagonist Eleanor Vance comes close.

The spirits of Hill House have a special interest in Eleanor. After receiving the invitation to Hill House as an assistant in an experiment to prove the existence of ghosts, Eleanor leaves the reluctant charity of her disapproving sister and steals the car in an attempt to go on her first real adventure. Not only is Eleanor intent on seeking an escape from her quiet and dull life, but she is also socially stunted and seeks the companionship she’s never truly had.

Of those who are visiting the house during this experiement, Eleanor is the weakest and the most easily influenced out of the group—the most susceptible to believe that the house is haunted, whether she realizes it or not. She sees manifestations that others don’t, and she receives personal messages from those long gone who still haunt Hill House’s halls. Through this attention, Eleanor begins to feel a kinship with the house unlike anything she'd felt with another person. It’s forgotten and unwanted, like her, and she opens herself up to the house so much the spirits override her senses and drive her to the roof where she can jump to her death to be morbidly united with the house forever.  Even when she is forced to leave, Eleanor finds her way to remain at Hill House and drives into a tree, killing herself.

Eleanor is whoI found to be the most interesting aspect of The Haunting of Hill House. She is not a strong protagonist. If anything, most of the action happens to her rather than her seeking out the action. She becomes puppet-like—consumed by the energy of the house so much that it controls her.

This loss of control I find to be the most chilling aspect of Jackson’s novel. While it’s the dark moodiness of the setting that helps contribute to the Victorian Gothic feel of the novel as a whole, it’s how the spirits warp Eleanor’s senses so completely she’s deluded into believing she must die in order to remain at Hill House that takes the novel beyond Gothic into horror. Because there is nothing particularly special about Eleanor as a heroine, she easily slips into the role of the every-man. This reminds the reader while their disbelief is suspended that they too could be susceptible to supernatural influence.

What happens to Eleanor also represents a loss of control that most people fear. When she arrived at Hill House, she sought only an adventure, and before she was possessed wanted to seek out her own life separate from her family. Yet she loses control over her actions and her thoughts to seek death as a means of remaining at Hill House. This loss of power to an unseen supernatural entity is the recurring fear that drives forward all ghost stories I’ve either read or seen, and while this fear is presented more quietly than some, it delivers.

While it might not have been my favorite story read to date, The Haunting of Hill House has rightfully earned its place among the ranks of ghost story heavy-hitters. Just because a protagonist might be conventionally weak doesn’t mean that their story can’t send chills down readers’ spines.