=h-a-l-l-o-w-e-e-n=

jost

hello.
It's almost Halloween.
And by "Halloween" I mean August.

Every year for Halloween, being one of my favorite times of the year, only being trumped by literally 3 months of heat, my aunt and I write stories for a family fire we have in our back yard.
We're a generally "creepy" family. That being said, we enjoy ghosts, skeletons, things that bump in the night, glowing eyes...etc. But only if we know we're going to live to tell the tale.

Last year, I made an RPG-style story not a lot of people got into. go figure.

So, this year, I made a story about dolls.
They come to life
and must welcome their new sister
they love their pretty sisters
the maid is the one who finds them
and consumes them
to be put on the wall
in the hall of dolls
to be looked at
and gawked at
and enjoyed
by the home owners
who do not exist
but rather
her sick and twisted mind allows her to be trusted
through everything she says
and does
and even through the storm
she is seen as a good person
and when the house no longer exists
the dolls no longer exist
and are set free

As I edit the story more, I notice my mind speech pattern does not match my speaking speech pattern, and that's concerning. Considering I have to read this out loud, that will have to change.

When I was in high school, I took a psychology class.
It got me thinking about the human mind, something I was already interested in.
Particularly the mind of my crush, Elaine.
I wanted her to go to prom with me, but she never went to dances.
So, as we studied brain experiments, I came up with an experiment of my own; every day, at lunch, I would walk past her table and buy a powerade and would one day, ask her to prom. This became a common thing for weeks. I made my friends get used to it, and eventually the whole upper class knew I got blue powerade at 12:30 every day.
Then, the day I planned had come. I buy my blue powerade and fancy my way over to her table and ask her to prom.

she said no.

I go back to my table, devastated, hoping what I had just witnessed was just a nightmare, and that I would wake up in my bed.
It wasn't and I didn't.
It was very real, and I spent the rest of the day basically crying and sulking around, but more than usual.

What I was trying to say with that story was that psychological horror is what I enjoy writing about. I like toying with the brain. I like the creeping suspicion that something is amiss, but you can't quite put your finger on it until it's too late...things move too fast when there's action happening...
scenes
     blur
        as the
     world
                                moves
                                                           around
                  you
                   and it
                           seems
                                                   almost dream
                                                                 like
                                             and      you    can't
                      comprehend
                 what
                      is ha
                         ppen
                              ing
                    unt
                         il i
                                         t's t
                                               oo
late.

She eluded me that day. Like a doll eludes to being sweet and kind, she ripped my heart out, unintentionally.
To this day, I'm not sure she knows I liked her as much as I did.
But, that is far in the past, and if our paths are meant to cross again, then so be it.

I'm honestly not that big a fan of the horror genre. I hate horror games. I hate horror movies. I don't read horror stories.
They disturb me, and I'm already disturbed enough.
However, I like writing horror stories.
Go figure.

Unable to unleash the full potential of my mind's ability, my horror stories end up falling short of what I'd like.

Instead of a room becoming increasingly filled with tiny invisible spiders that crawl INSIDE of minds, I have to change it to very visible spiders that only crawl and hang out on walls, but they have googly eyes and speak with Norwegian accents.

The main genre I write in is comedy, so not having something funny is unexpected. Everyone expects it from me.

Starting off with a joke would ruin the story, and ending with a joke would make the whole story pointless.

So, where do I put a joke?

Just before the climax. Just before everything gets all F͢͝u͡͠͝Ç̀k҉Ȩ͢ḑ́̕͟ ̷̵̢͡͞Ù͟p͏͏̸̵̀P͜͝p̸͠

But, in this story, there is no funny. A slightly silly suggestion, maybe. Something to lull you into a false sense of security. Something to make you chuckle, and give a concerned half-smile afterwards.
But nothing funny.
I strayed away from funny, and even matured.

In the story, the main female character takes a shower before going to bed, and when she goes to bed, she sleeps in her underwear.
I didn't do this to give her sexual appeal. For bathing, I said she washed up. And when I said she went to bed, I didn't say she stripped, but rather "got down to her gutchies"
(If the link doesn't work... http://popularpittsburgh.com/?s=gutchies )

As we approach the spooky tiems, I have a few questions I like to ask myself as I write stories, and I hope they help you as well.
What inspired this? (The really old Cartoon Network movie Scary Godmother inspired me a lot as a kid, as well as Halloweentown on Disney Channel. More recently, I got into Over The Garden Wall and oh my bezeezle is that fantastic)
How can I make this scary, but not too scary?
Should I be submitted to a mental hospital because I wrote about this?
If so, ask if there have ever been hauntings, and if you can get an interview with one of the ghosts.
Is this too gruesome?
Blood or no blood? (Always yes to blood)
Are skeletons still scary?

Only when they T-Pose

I will touch on Halloween later.
Until then, Happy Haunting Writing