by Ashley Lister
I adore a good, scary horror story. I’m always awed by the power it can have over the reader/audience. Take one of the movies I watched last week as an example: Candyman.
For those of you unfamiliar with Candyman, the story is a tightly woven piece of classic Clive Barker. There are themes of racism, poverty, corruption, misogyny and other such horror genre stalwarts. But the basic premise is built on the ‘Bloody Mary’ legend.
With the Bloody Mary legend, you have to stare into a mirror and say ‘Bloody Mary’ four times. This summons the demonic character of Bloody Mary, who then kills you to death.
In Candyman, if you stare into a mirror and say ‘Candyman’ five times, this summons the evil spirit of Candyman. Once Candyman has been summoned he tickles your insides with his hooked hand.
(Surprisingly, I don’t think either this story or the urban legend on which it was based was ever nominated for a Man Booker prize).
But here’s the strange thing. I can’t look in a mirror and say Candyman five times.
I consider myself to be a rational person and I’ve got no particularly religious tendencies, other than celebrating Christmas presents and Easter eggs.
But I can’t repeat Candyman’s name whilst staring into a mirror. To be honest, I get creeped out saying the name once whilst staring into a mirror. I was seriously drunk the only time I ever said the name twice into a mirror.
The idea of going further genuinely gives me the shivers.
And this is the power of well-written fiction. If a story or a poem can touch us so that we have a physical reaction, then it’s done its job. And, whilst I know this week’s theme is ‘shivers’, I’d argue (as Vicky Ellis said on Thursday) that any physical reaction – whether it’s laughter, arousal, the emotional overflow of tears or any other physical response – shows that the writer knows what they’re doing with their craft.