Iconography of the Occult

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


Who hearkens the baleful woes of the outcast amid the thunderbolts of unfeeling rejection?

Submitted: November 11, 2017

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Submitted: November 11, 2017

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I am compelled, for the sake of cognitive semantic effectiveness of communication, to illustrate this answer in the style of a late-season fireside chat. Has the last blood-red beam of sundown disappeared below the distant twilight horizon? Are the heavy oak logs crackling steadily on the locally quarried fieldstone hearth? Is the subtle mood of a shaded lamp or flickering yellow flame of a beeswax candle nearby? Are you curled cozily into the quiet recesses of a high-back wing chair? Are shadows dancing eerily on the legend-steeped imported exotic relics in your great-grandfather’s smoky curio?

The trick to making a horror monster icon is loneliness. A horror monster icon is grim, hideous, cunning, ugly, and dangerous, yet also lonely. All great horror monster icons are emotionally desolate and utterly companionless.

A witch is alone in her rickety moss-grown swamp hovel stirring her bubbling cauldron of wicked potion. Frankenstein comes from a mad scientist’s secluded laboratory in the bowels of a remote castle. Dracula lies in solitary gloom on his bed of native earth in his dreary coffin. The Wolf Man howls by himself at the forlorn full moon in the haunting isolation of night.

People who suffer loneliness are, over time, by slow degrees turned into horror monster icons. If a person is lonely, yet there is no clear reason for the loneliness, then it is a fearful sign that something is drastically wrong….but what?

The mystery of loneliness, the factor of the unknown, is what possesses the lonely and, by imperceptible steps, gradually morphs he or she into a horror monster icon.

Who was a friend to Jack the Ripper? Do we even really know for sure if this enigmatic fiend was a man or a woman? One thing we do know, Jack the Ripper was old enough to have spent years in the merciless encroaching grip of insidious solitude.

No one knew where he or she lived. No neighbor ever dropped by for tea and scones amid the leaden melancholy of a cold gray afternoon in the autumn of the year. As the rain of the equinoctial gales battered the window panes with bleary assiduity, and the rising wind moaned like a ghost in the chimney, Jack the Ripper sat in unadulterated isolation, listening with unaccompanied ears to the bone-chilling tumult of the grim elements, entirely cut off from the rest of the human world.

Jack the Ripper had no friends, so, after years of social isolation, this secretive serial murderer struck out from the emotional wreckage of a sad unloved heart to kill in cold blood in the godforsaken desolation of nocturnal back-alley darkness, henceforth becoming a horror monster icon.

The whispering secrets penned by author Sean Terrence Best are at your fingertips via Amazon.com, Barnes&Noble, and many other booksellers.


© Copyright 2017 Sean Terrence Best. All rights reserved.