5 Awesome Moments of Horror in Unexpected Places

Horror fans have one quality that is both an advantage and disadvantage over other readers and viewers: we want to be scared. This is good news when we’re watching something that’s supposed to frighten us, because we’re willing to go along for the ride. Often people who hate being scared are the same people to declare a movie “not scary,” and I think sometimes that has to do with choosing to laugh or ridicule rather than let the fear sink in. So I guess those people think of wanting to be scared as a disadvantage, but I think of it as an advantage. I receive great enjoyment out of getting the creeps.

That being said, there’s a huge difference between going into a book or movie wanting and even hoping to be scared and going into one with that farthest from our minds. When beautifully done moments of horror pop up in unexpected places, none of us has the opportunity to put up our guard. Often these scenes pack all the more punch for their surprise. No bracing, no mocking, no build-up… Today I’m going to discuss 5 scenes that scared the shit out of me when I was least expecting it. Just for funsies.

[Note: There are mild spoilers involved in all of these. You’ve been warned.]

1. The Tunnel Scene from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory

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I’ll start with a classic. In the 1971 movie version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory starring Gene Wilder, there’s a scene that’s been terrifying children for decades now: the tunnel scene. I think 80% of you just shuddered at the mention of it; I know I did.

This is a kid’s movie. They’re in a fantastical candy factory with an eccentric dude who plans to give one of them a lifetime supply of sweets. Nothing sinister going on here, right? Except if you know Roald Dahl, you know that there are always dark happenings under the surface. And boy do they get dark fast.

Now why the crap would a boat on a chocolate river go through a tunnel of terror depicting gruesome and grotesque images on the walls? (I remember centipedes crawling on a woman’s face, but I’m too scared to go back and check.) And why, dear God why, would Mr. Wonka be singing the creepiest song ever as everyone panics? Beats me. But I’m pretty sure that if I get an autopsy when I die and they dissect my brain, the small lobe labeled “scarred by childhood” will consist primarily of this scene playing endlessly on loop.

2. The Well Scene from The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

photo by Kanou Hiroki

Okay, let’s do a less-known one. A friend loaned me this novel by Haruki Murakami. It’s the epitome of literary surrealism, which has never been quite my cup of tea, but there was much to appreciate. And by far, my favorite scene was the scariest one in the book: the well. The dried up well on a neighboring property serves as a recurring setting for the main character, Toru Okada, an apathetic young Japanese man slowly losing grip on reality. Essentially because he’s cray-cray and fighting inner demons, he decides to go down there and sit in the dark.

Catch: he’s very afraid. He lowers a rope ladder tied firmly to a tree and descends, but he’s afraid to let go of the rope once he’s down. It’s his security net, almost literally, and the tension is palpable. He finally weans himself from it, but he has no light and the well is so deep none reaches from above ground, so every few minutes he goes back to feel for the rope, just to prove to himself that it’s still there. He stays in the well for days, hallucinating and checking the rope, and his only grasp on sanity is the half-circle of sky he can see when he looks up. And then one time… the rope’s not there.

Now if you didn’t just get a little ping of chills, I must not be telling it right, because trust me: it’s damn scary. But it gets worse. The strange, loveable yet morbid teenage girl across the street comes over and looks down the well, talking to Toru. She was the one to pull up the rope. She then proceeds to question him about fear and death, and when his answers aren’t satisfactory, she shuts the other half of the well cover and leaves. It was one of those magical moments when reading something gave my entire body live chills.

3. The Singing Lady in Earaserhead

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Some people would argue that Earaserhead is a horror movie, but I would disagree. Terrifying, yes. Intentional, no. I think it’s a surrealist art film about industrialism and passivity that uses strange and grotesque body imagery as a metaphor. That just happens to be some highly, highly disturbing stuff. Oh, and did I mention how disturbing this film is? It’s disturbing. The most deeply disturbing thing I’ve ever watched in my life. Like take a shower and scrub until your skin is raw disturbing – and not even in a good way.

There was one scene in this movie that actually made me scream. Like an out-loud, I’m-in-terror scream. There’s this creepy-ass deformed lady on a stage by herself who smiles sadly and sings Peter Ivers’s song “In Heaven.” Watching it makes my body react physically – like all of my instincts are telling me seriously to get away as fast as possible. And then, of course, it gets worse.

These things begin falling from the ceiling. Slimy, intestine-looking blobs. But creepy lady just keeps on smiling, and she looks so earnest and hopeful, like she’s giggling without sound, and she keeps looking at the camera like she wants your approval. And then – I can barely even bring myself to say it – she begins stomping on them. Happily. Yeah, I can’t even talk about this. I love you guys, but not enough to relive this horrific scene. If you’re just that twisted, you’ll have to watch for yourself (which I don’t recommend), because I’m out.

4. The Wolf in Lon Po Po

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This is much safer territory. Lon Po Po is an absolutely gorgeous picture book by Ed Young. It’s essentially a Chinese retelling of Little Red Riding Hood. While this one’s tame compared to Earaserhead, you have to remember that 1) it is quite literally for children, and 2) unlike Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark and such, it’s not marketed as horror. So if you can imagine a little kid sitting down to this story not knowing they’re about to have the poop scared out of them, it puts it into perspective.

In this one, the wolf does indeed dress up as these three children’s grandmother (whom their mother has gone to see). He tricks them into opening the door, and the first thing he does – and the scariest, in my mind – is blow out their single candle. Woowee that one got me every time.

Not to mention that the illustrations are breathtakingly creepy and sinister. Truly a classic; highly recommend.

5. The Final Scene of The Door in the Floor

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This one has the biggest spoiler. I debated as to whether or not to tell the end, and I think I’m going to choose not to, because this is a really fantastic movie and I want you all to see it. And since it really isn’t a horror movie, I think many of you would enjoy it. It’s a drama, I guess, but it’s also one of the darkest comedies I’ve ever seen.

Jeff Bridges does a superb job playing a children’s book author living with his troubled and heartbroken family. I won’t tell you any more than that besides the fact that in my mind, the final scene of the movie belongs on this list.

~*~

So there you have it. Five scenes that snuck up behind me when I thought I was safe. What’s your favorite moment of horror in an unexpected place?

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What the Whats Are

Hey guys!

Just a quick little post to let you know what’s going on around these parts. (Sometimes I get awfully southern for no good reason. Please forgive me.)

I went to the Poetry Society of Texas summer conference yesterday and presented, and let’s just say I kicked those doubt monsters right to the curb. I did one presentation by myself called “The Best of The Internet: Online Resources Available to Poets.” It went amazingly well; I had tons of poets come up to me and let me know they enjoyed it and learned from it. I was overwhelmed by their responses; I’m so grateful just to have been asked. Not to mention that I adore public speaking – sounds bizarre for someone as shy as me, I know, but I just love it.

The other presentations were all so enjoyable to listen to. I learned lots of good tips and I heard lots of beautiful, unique poetry. It was a wonderful program. And I have to tell you, spending a whole day in a room full of people who share your passion is quite the energy buzz!

Then I joined two of my good friends and poetry critique partners to assist with the presentation “Reaching for Better Writing: Can Small Group Support Make a Difference?” That went great as well. We talked about our little crit group and how we run, took some questions, and then did a live demonstration by critiquing each other’s poetry right there in front of everyone. It was good fun!

I’m not going to post the full content of my presentation online because I would love to give it again someday (the people who were there got physical notes), but if you’re a poet and are interested in the bare bones (just the links), there is a list of the resources I covered on PST’s blog, and you’re welcome to browse and explore them on your own.

Hub-a-dub and I are leaving late tonight/early tomorrow (3am) for a vacation. We’ll be camping in Colorado! 😀 I plan to unplug as much as possible, so please forgive me for not responding to comments, emails, etc. for the next week or so.

And finally, my latest column is up at Writer Unboxed: “Twitter: A Dangerous Sense of Entitlement.” I’m talking about the mind games we play with ourselves on social media, and how to avoid making some big mistakes. And as my mom pointed out, so many of these “social media tips for writers” can be applied to life in general, for anyone. Sans retweets. 😉 I hope you’ll join me there in the comments!

Have a wonderful week,

Annie

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Where Do You Go When the Doubt Monsters Come?

I don’t know what it is lately, but I have been plagued by self-doubt. I’m a relatively confident person if you don’t count social interactions with like, humans and stuff. (Cats, though. Cats and I are like this. ><) When it comes to my endeavors as a writer, I’m very confident. I believe in myself, I believe in my craft, and I believe in this art-committed life I’ve made for myself. But like any creative, I sometimes look over my shoulder and see the closet door left cracked open, and from within glare the tiny glowing eyes of a dozen shadowed creatures, lurking…

Photo by Express Monorail.

I call them doubt monsters. They’re tiny little mutinous cowards who wait until the softest spots are exposed. Why tiny? Because for me, that’s how doubt creeps in. I’m generally not an existential crisis kind of gal, so the monsters have to divide and conquer. One little nibble here, another sneaky bite there, and if I let them get to me, I’m paralyzed with fear before I know it.

I don’t know why. I don’t want this to come across as complaining or fishing for compliments, because that isn’t it at all.  So please don’t get me wrong; I’m sharing this to talk about this strange little phenomenon called self-doubt, not to get reassurances or sound all woe-is-me. I have much to be excited about, proud of, and thankful for these days.

So what’s with all the doubt? I think it might have something do with untread territory. I’m walking new paths in my career, and I guess that’s scary. It doesn’t feel scary – in my head it feels freaking awesome – but the logical part of me knows that this sudden onset of doubt isn’t coincidental with the new steps I’m taking.

I’ll give you an example. This weekend I’m speaking at a state poetry conference that I’m really truly happy about. (Honored, excited, grateful: all of the above.) Last week, I sat down to write a bio for the program. Out of sheer repetitive habit, I filled it with the best, strongest, and most impressive facts about myself – as I’d seen done in all of the example bios from last year’s program. I focused mostly on poetry and had no problem getting a solid 150-word paragraph that sounded (to my ears) great.

Then I panicked.

All of a sudden, I felt like a hack. A pretentious wannabe. But that’s not logical, I told myself. I hadn’t exaggerated or said a single untrue thing in the whole paragraph. But still, it came across as boastful and snooty. Not really, I told myself. Everyone puts their best stuff in their bio. When have you ever read someone list the number of rejections they got instead of their publication credits? I knew I was being silly, but I just could not shake the feeling that I was somehow faking or pretending. The doubt monsters had come, and they went for the throat.

Luckily one of my friends helped talk me down, and thanks to a tight deadline, I was forced to just send the damn thing. Thank goodness. It’s a good bio, an honest bio. It’s my bio. I should embrace the things I’ve worked hard to earn.

Unfortunately, the doubt monsters cannot be so easily defeated. Shake off one and two more latch on. And I know it’s not just me, not just writers, not even just creatives. Everyone doubts themselves sometimes. I’m disappointed to admit that I’ve been running from doubt monsters quite a bit lately. Which is what brings me to my question of the week. (What, you thought I had an answer all tied up in a bow for you? Ha!)

Where do you go when the doubt monsters come?

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Kindness

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about kindness. Not very exciting, I know. It isn’t nearly as sexy or glamorous as other qualities such as bravery, honor, or even chivalry. In fact, I’ve noticed that sometimes kindness even has a negative connotation. “Kindness,” some would say, is a sign of weakness. I could not disagree more.

Comic from xkcd.

I think kindness is one of the single most important qualities that we, as human beings, can aim for. In fact, I would argue that kindness is brave. Kindness shows honor. Kindness lies at the root of chivalry. Kindness, in my mind, is noble.

Our culture encourages “toughness.” Buck up. Act like a man. Take it on the chin. Emotion is seen as a sign of weakness – of not being strong enough to hold it all inside. All too often I hear people bragging about being “brutally honest.” I’m not going to baby you, they announce proudly. If I don’t like something you’re going to hear about it. As if that person is personally responsible for making everyone else tougher.

Honesty is a very, very important quality to me. Brutality? Not so much.

When I hear someone boasting about their so-called “brutal honesty,” I translate that to: I’m a self-important jerk who can’t be bothered to make the effort to phrase things tactfully. That person does not impress me; that person makes me sad.

Now I’m not perfect by any means, but I still believe in honor. I try. I still believe in braveness, chivalry, and – yes – kindness. When someone makes me mad, I take a step back and consider their motivations. This does not mean that I run away from problems or that I’m afraid to stand up for myself; it means that I give my fellow human the benefit of the doubt, and when that fails, I communicate as clearly but kindly as I know how.

It is not weak or soft or easy to be considerate of others. It is difficult and trying and sometimes infuriating to be kind when others don’t return the favor. But that’s why I know it’s worth it. A code of ethics is not about impressing people or appearing noble – it’s about doing what you know is right no matter what. No matter if that makes others think you’re weak. It’s about making the right choice even when it’s the difficult choice. True badasses aren’t brutal; badasses are kind.

I believe that “brutal” has little place in honesty… or honor. I believe that kindness, however, does.

What do you think?

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Posted in Food for Thought | 34 Comments

Shades of Blue and By Example

Hi guys,

I have two very different poems for you to read today. One was just published at a really cool online literary journal, Hello Horror. That poem is available to read online for free in issue three. It’s a free verse poem called “Shades of Blue.” I’m very happy that this creepy little number has found such a beautiful home, and I hope you’ll take a moment to go read it!

Now, turn 180°…

I’ve also had the rights revert back to me on a poem that was first published in the National Federation of State Poetry Societies’ prize anthology Encore. In 2012, my poem “By Example” won second place in the Indiana State Federation of Poetry Clubs Award. And since that book was printed instead of published online — and I hate asking people to buy things — I’m going to share it with you here today. (But NFSPS is an amazing organization, and you really couldn’t go wrong buying any of their publications, for what it’s worth.)

It does seem like good timing to share this one, since yesterday was Father’s Day and tomorrow will make five years since my dad died. It’s hard for me to believe it’s been so long. This month he’s very much on my mind, which is why I’ve been somewhat MIA lately. So I hope you’ll forgive both a delay in my responses and a sentimental poem. (For any who’re wondering, this poem is called a rondeau – my very favorite of all the fixed forms.) Okay, poem below.

By Example

You taught me how to work by hand
to build a tree-house on our land
and how to never be afraid
to try new things – with spoon or spade;
you always had a project planned.

The use of oil, rubber bands,
some fishing line, gray duct tape, and
an always sharpened pen-knife blade:
you taught me.

To never buy the fancy brand;
when fresh is better than pre-canned;
that no employer can degrade
a worker who is all self-made;
that pride and humor share a strand:
you taught me.

© Annie Neugebauer, 2012
All rights reserved.

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Posted in My Works | 22 Comments