Small Towns: Quaint and Cozy or Dens of Horror?

Perhaps one of the best short stories about a small town hosting unspeakable horror is Shirley Jackson’s Southern Gothic classic, “The Lottery.” All the residents of a village–home to only 300 people or so–gather together in an excited, if not trepidatious, mood. They collect stones and assemble for their annual event in hopes of producing another year of good harvest. “Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon,” it is said. And then the readers learn just what the lottery is.

Shirley Jackson: Godmother of Scream Queens

Shirley Jackson: Godmother of Scream Queens

“The Lottery” has stuck with me for years because of the positioning of a normal, even wholesome setting against such horror. And Jackson’s not the only horror maven to employ this tactic in her work. From Stephen King’s Derry to David Lynch’s Twin Peaks to more recently Brian McGreevy’s Hemlock Grove, small towns have been the place where everybody knows everybody else. Everybody has a secret. And the darkness below the quaint surface is unspeakable.

Small towns are something with which we’re all acquainted. Whether it’s a sheep village on the moors or a pit stop somewhere along Route 66, the rural village is supposed to be the place where you can stop in a diner and get a hot cup of coffee  and the best slice of cherry pie you ever had while not worrying about whether your car’s going to be stolen. It’s the place where hard-working, honest men toil away in fields or maybe a lone factory that supports the whole village while women tend to knitting groups at church or have no fear of what lies in the playground sand. So why are small towns so ripe for horror?

If I'd go anywhere for coffee, it'd be Twin Peaks

If I’d go anywhere for coffee, it’d be Twin Peaks

I think much of it lies in the simpleness of small towns. Life couldn’t possibly be so uncomplicated without a hell of a deal being struck. Your neighbors all seem like nice people…until you find out what’s really fertilizing the tomato plants. Families’ roots date back generations, and sometimes it seems there’s no getting out. No escape. And if you try, they may bring you back…

Villages work well for both supernatural and psychological horror. My mother was from a place named Streator. I have fond memories of the village with its farms and “main street,” and and some of those memories are shiny from time. I also remember the eerie gravel road dividing my great-aunts’ and uncles’ homes from each other and the woods behind them, all prone to fog. I heard the folklore about Moon Point Cemetery with its hatchet lady and ghost lights. My mother heard the tales, too, when she was a little girl.

Moon Point Cemetery: Ghost lights and a hatchet woman roam here

Moon Point Cemetery: Ghost lights and a hatchet woman roam here

A small town makes for a wonderful setting and if done well, it can feel like a character in its own right. There is a link between villages and horror. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that small towns, truly small towns, are dying away. The ones that haven’t caught up to modern times seem as if there’s something wrong with them to make them so isolated, and that is where writing horror begins. Every small town has a story to tell, and the author must uncover it.

Categories: Local Horror, Miscellanea

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

3 replies

  1. What an interesting post! I come from a very small town and I can totally see how they work well for creepy stories. Everyone knows each other, and each other’s secrets. An outsider coming in really can feel like an outsider.

  2. Thanks, Rachel. I think there’s something intrinsically creepy about small towns be in “Children of the Corn” type of rituals gone wrong or the pagan isle in “Wicker Man.” All of them have the same idea that things are never quite what they appear.

  3. I think you got it. Small towns are simple and safe. You know everybody and they know you. Plus they’re often isolated, which means the victims can’t easily get help.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: