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Literary Essays on Gothic Horror, Ghost Stories & Weird Fiction

from  Mary  Shelley  to  M.  R.  James —

by M. Grant Kellermeyer

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10 Woodland Horror Stories Perfect for Summer Campfires: Camping, Hiking, & Cabin Living Gone Wrong

Every summer there are nights that I feel the urge to wander into the shady woods of my native Midwest: the air has a soft, steamy texture that carries the heavy odors of rain-soaked earth, sun-warmed grass, and air-stirred flowers, the days are lengthy and bright, the nights short and warm, and the outdoors ring with the harmonics of frogs and cicadas hidden in the dark. I haven’t been camping in a few years, but I still get that restless feeling to pack up the car and drive to some remote state park where the trees block the sky and the land rolls in a twisting surf of craggy hills and misty vales.

But as much as my spirit feels a warm draw to the wilderness, it also shudders when I begin to imagine combing my way through unfamiliar trails miles away from help. The woods have always been a symbol of the darkest recesses of the human mind – an archetypal unconscious bedeviled by violent spirits and littered with buried bodies.

Tales of dark and scary forests are older than history itself. World literature – especially fantasy, horror, and speculative fiction – has seemingly always recognized woodlands as a zone that emulates the frightful shadows of the human heart, in which lurk unseen monsters and unnoticed traps. The forest harbors both an archetypal attraction – of freedom and sincerity – and an archetypal horror – of chaos and evil. While modern man may find solace in a weekend camping trip, there is still a small part of our evolved brain which shivers at the sight of trees blocking out the sun. They represent the loss of civilization and order, the reign of savage Nature and merciless Fate. The woods allow us to reconnect with our roots, but they also threaten to undo the work of society: to turn boys into monsters, men into murderers, and brave souls into cowering sheep.

Classic horror fiction – especially British horror fiction – usually takes place in cities or villages, sometimes on mountains or moors, but rarely in the dense woodlands that bring to mind the thrills and chills of camping. But there are certainly some powerful stories about people venturing into the wilds in search of peace – only to find their very lives and souls at stake. The following ten horror stories follow their characters on hikes, hunts, and camping trips into the wild. Read them before your own next camping trip; it might prepare you with some pleasant chills – or convince you to stay safe at home…



Get used to that name – Blackwood. Between canoeing down the weedy Danube and backpacking through the Canadian wilds, Algernon Blackwood was a highly experienced camper, and an entire list could be written about his camping horror stories.

One of the strangest involves a cocky hunter who decides he doesn’t need the advice of a superstitious guide. This jingoistic Brit has no regard for nature and desires to dominate and master every acre he can. Lead by a nervous aboriginal scout into a valley said to belong to the Algonquian god Ishtot, the hunter eventually tires of his superstition and is glad to see him desert him as they near the holy country. But once he enters the Valley of the Beasts – a kind of Eden where animals reside in paranormal community – he begins to subtly, but steadily devolve. Abandoning gun, clothes, and inhibitions, he finds himself lapping water with deer, wolves, and bears, but if this is Eden, he is no Adam, and the magic wears away long enough for him to realize that he is in mortal danger. The description of his devolution is tremendously hypnotic, and although the tale is more parable than horror story, its increasing tension as human civilization is pulled under the power of Natural whimsy is seriously chilling. A disturbing read, however, for any hunter who enjoys wandering off into the thick of the woods by himself.



Benson had a thing for worms and creepy-crawlies in the same way that Hodgson loathed pigs and M. R. James was creeped out by spiders. His two most famous stories about evil worms – “Caterpillars” and “Negotium Perambulans” – use them as symbols of absolute moral and physical corruption. In the very uncomfortable tale “And No Bird Sings…”, Benson’s protagonist visits a friend’s estate in Surrey, where he enjoys probing his primeval woodlands for birds and the like. The problem is, the woods don’t seem to have any birds. Nothing really seems to live there: it is shadowy, silent, and ominous. Exploring it further, our intrepid hero is disgusted and horrified by what he discovers: the kingly, crawling predator that has eaten or chased away every living thing that it can get its massive, mucousy mouth around.



In one of the earliest examples of cosmic horror, Ambrose Bierce's "The Damned Thing" offers up a rare but notable example of his science fiction: a tale that begins with the death of its main character, a woodland hermit named Hugh Morgan, whose mutilated corpse is splayed across a table in his cabin (discreetly covered with a sheet) while a coroner's jury listen to evidence of his death from the sole witness of his final moments and final days. While on a hunting excursion in the woods, Morgan and his friend, Harker, notice the brush shifting and stirring as if some massive creature -- utterly unseen to them -- is passing through it. Morgan bitterly attributes this to "the damned thing" -- an invisible entity which he has been tracking for months after having incrementally noticed it prowling around the woods by his cabin. Later, during another hunt, Morgan unexpectedly fires his gun at some invisible thing that shoves Harker aside and throws its incredible weight on Morgan, before tearing him to ribbons. The jury dismiss Harker's testimony as insane and attribute his death to a mountain lion. But the coroner -- who reads but refuses to share Morgan's diary -- has other opinions...



Another especially strange “ghost story” set in the Canadian wilderness. Blackwood has his protagonist rent a hunting lodge on a shady island in the middle of a lake. The autumn setting is gorgeous and remote – far from any towns or other campers. He is surprised to see two strangers in a canoe off in the distance, but gives it no further notice. Easing into his cozy surroundings, he looks to his hunting gear and prepares to enjoy a lovely vacation, but as the sun sets in the fiery sky, he notices the strange canoe circling his island in ever-tightening circles – slowly, almost imperceptibly. With the fall of night, the lonely cabin seems more like a prison than a getaway, and with no help in sight, he shudders with every sound of the paddles combing through the lake. When the canoe finally makes landfall, distant flickers of lightning reveal the two strangers at his door, crossing through his pitch-black den, and climbing the stairs to the bedroom. But it’s the familiar thing that they lug downstairs – with its scalp peeled back – that makes this a truly shocking story.