This is a breakdown of my creative process in writing the short horror story ‘The Black’. You can read the story without the analysis here:-
The Black
Jed peered through the rain-speckled windscreen of his old Honda. The wipers barely worked and needed changing; likely a consequence of being in long-term storage. A month. He’d been away for work before: a weekend in Anderstorp, one night in Frankfurt, three nights in Paris. This time it’d been a month. A month in the sprawling concrete jungle of Berli…
This is the second in my ‘Anatomy of’ series. The first was a breakdown of my process in writing ‘Nightmare Asylum’.
Anatomy of ‘Nightmare Asylum’
Razor piloted his ancient, rusty Ford Focus along the narrow, tree-lined lanes of Elmsford. He passed the crumbling gothic manor, Crawley Wood Grange, casting it a cursory glance. The occupant had recently passed away. According to the papers, it was a robbery gone wrong, but the journalist had hinted at occult involvement. It was definitely on the list of places to explore, but for now the dust had to settle. Today’s destination was the classic urbex staple. He was headed to Sad Hill Asylum. A monolithic Victorian monstrosity with an archetypal clock tower and barred windows. Inside, it would be endless corridors full of abandoned medical equipment, furniture, and old records. It’d been on the urbex community’s hit list for some time, but a recent poster had suggested security at the site finally seemed to have lapsed somewhat, making entry possible.
Jed peered through the rain-speckled windscreen of his old Honda. The wipers barely worked and needed changing; likely a consequence of being in long-term storage. A month. He’d been away for work before: a weekend in Anderstorp, one night in Frankfurt, three nights in Paris. This time it’d been a month. A month in the sprawling concrete jungle of Berlin. Dexter, his collie, was curled up in the passenger seat, avoiding eye-contact. He’d been ecstatic when he called at his parents’ place to pick him up, but now Dexter appeared to be making a stalwart attempt to let him know that, in no uncertain terms, he was cross with him. Jed pulled into the drive of his small detached house, grabbed his case from the boot and let Dexter out, who slunk through the rain alongside him as he climbed the steps to the front door.
[It’s always more engaging to open in media res. In this opening though, the tone is focused on the dreary reality of Jed’s life. The two characters are introduced here. Dexter is critical. He’s the emotional anchor of this piece. I wanted to explore a solitary individual descending into madness, but characters need interactions. Dexter fills several roles in this respect.]
There’d been news that a major meteor shower was expected tonight, but the black clouds and torrential rain meant there’d be no chance of seeing anything. Once inside, Dexter shook the rain off, then plodded into the kitchen. ‘Food, always food,’ Jed thought. He followed him and opened the fridge. The smell hit like a hammer, rancid and pungent. He’d left in a hurry, and the grim contents confirmed it. Rotting veg, opened packs of meat with a cloud of mould crystallised on in places. He’d have to rid out, and he’d have to go shopping. Tomorrow, it was late; he was tired—tomorrow.
[The meteor shower is a Chekhov’s gun. Something I’m seeding here for later. Jed’s observation of Dexter ‘Food, always food’ is another Chekhov’s gun planting a seed for the horrific reveal coming. The contents of the fridge are intentionally visceral and written in a way to evoke a strong reaction. I tried to marry a strong visual with a matching olfactory description to make the opening of the fridge as immersive as possible.]
