Terror, Horror, and The Dark Descent

The fact that I am a shameless button masher should be enough of a reason for me not to play computer games. The fact that "Amnesia: The Dark Descent" made me screech at pitches that should not be audible to humans provided a more than adequate ramification of why the aforementioned pitfall should be taken into account, for my own good.

Doubtless many of your here will have heard of the sensation caused by indie horror hit "Slender" - and  I will confess to being one of the many who laughed herself into stitches at the recorded reactions of her favourite YouTubers upon watching them play the game themselves. That said, perhaps that partly contributed to the reason I didn't find the game so terrifying myself; I knew what to expect, and thus it was more a matter of unpleasant jumpscares than genuine fear that caused me to find the game rather stressful on my nerves.

Not so with "Amnesia". I'd seen it mentioned here and there, and its status as an award-winning indie game gave it a certain prominence, even among non-gamer communities. So, I had a go at the game myself; computer controls are a good deal easier than fiddly video game controllers, which, I hoped, would make up for my general inability to pull off anything more impressive than the "run" function.

Ten minutes into the game, though, and I couldn't have cared less about the controls. I was too busy trying to find somewhere to hide.

The distinction between "terror" and "horror" is subtle, but vital, in the art of stimulating fear. I've spent these past two years studying the idea of the Gothic in literature, a genre which prides itself on unsettling and disturbing you even more than that one holiday snap of your grandad in a speedo. However, the distinction is often a little hard to draw - various authors and critics have defined it in a variety of ways, but within a text itself, it's often harder to draw the line when considering the overall effect.

"Amnesia" showed me the difference that hours of research had failed to fully reproduce in under half an hour.

The premise of the game is not overly complex: you play the titular amnesiatic hero as he descends into the dark bowels of Brandenburg Castle, following a letter you wrote yourself, telling you to find a man named Alexander and kill him. No background, no major exposition, and not so much as a half-second tutorial to help you find your feet.

Disorientation is vital as a starting point for fear: being lost is one of the most primal fears of humankind, and "Amnesia" knows it. There is not one single point in the game where you feel safe; every corner, every shadow, every blood-curdling noise, translates directly to danger, without any conscious effort from the player.

It only gets better - and by that I mean worse - from there. "Amnesia" makes the most of its typically Gothic environment to exploit every available primal fear: claustrophobia, darkness, pursuit, confusion, even insanity brought on in the main character by prolonged exposure to a stressful and unsettling environment. These are very basic principles, but its the game's execution of them that produces the atmosphere that gives the game its greatness. The background music is absolutely minimal: for the most part, we hear only the noises of the character interacting with the environment, and it is only during those hair-raising moments of pursuit that the game uses a combination of high tempo and jarring notes to further heighten the panic.

Furthermore, the player's discovery of the game's plot depends entirely on their actions. Progression is only possible when challenges are balanced and overcome - most plot points hinge on the confrontation of the scariest parts of the game, and the deterioration of the main character's viewpoint as insanity takes hold is directly relayed to the reader, thanks to the vivid and immersive environment and atmosphere.

Of course, as a horror game, "Amnesia" also has its fair share of monsters and gory bits. In fact, the game is packed with them. And they're not scary in the slightest.

Okay, no, I lie; they are pretty freakish - seeing one of these careering up the passageway towards you will send your heart vaulting up your throat faster than your fingers can find the shift key. However, once you've seen these things once or twice, and worked out that they're thicker than two short planks in a tar pit, they're little more than overglorified jump scares.

But, although these monsters make up the majority of those you encounter in the game, they aren't the real monsters. Oh no, these lovely creatures may be the ones that lurch out of passageways, chase you down ladders, and send you diving into cupboards in an attempt to avoid their lurching, grunting, search . . . but they aren't the ones that frighten you.

It's the others that frighten you. Those echoing howls in the cellar, the creaking around the corner, the ever-present immaterial shadow-lurkers hiding in the shapes of shelves and upturned barrels.

You never see them. And with every twitch of your mouse, every tentative twist of a door handle, every raspy breath you hardly dare to take, you hope that they never, ever, see you.

"Amnesia" is easily one of the best games in terms of quality of play, as its success and multiple, and in many cases, equally brilliant, spin-offs and extensions are testament to. But, for me, the real value of the game lies in its ability to combine all the most basic elements of fear, and exploit them in a perfect, pants-wetting, combination. Without the visual horrors to ground it, the atmosphere would collapse into melodrama, while the sights alone, without the overlaying atmosphere of terror, wouldn't add up to anything scarier than the Haunted Haystack ride at your local fair.

For anyone who wants a crash course in scaring the living daylights out of any and every faculty of the human brain, "Amnesia: The Dark Descent" will teach you everything you need to know, all for the bargain price of a month's sleepless nights and lasting terror of splashing noises.

~ Charley R

If You Believe. . .

Within the week, St Mallory's Forever! will be hitting the world in ebook form. Within the next two days, I'm going to be begging my photographically-inclined friend to help me take my author picture, chew my nails over last-minute edits and do a lot of frightened running in circles.

Of course, I'm not bemoaning the process in the slightest - I'm having a fantastic time! The book is awesome, if I do say so myself - many of the jokes have provoked some very . . . surprising . . . noises from me. And half of my panic is due to the fact that this is it. I am going to be a proper author.

And it's hard, and I am worried and I am scared and, in my darkest moments, I've questioned the decision. I don't know if I'm ready. I don't know if I can do it.

I went on a run today, you know. I joined up with the "running club" for my Thursday afternoon sports activity. Being allergic to anything involving a stick and a ball, and deciding I'd rather be outside than cooped up in the gym, I pushed my reluctant (read: lazy) self out to the sports centre . . . only to discover I would be running alone. I'm a fairly strong, if not terribly speedy, runner, so it was just me and one of the staff, who would be doing a longer route to the others, who were all beginners.

I would like to point out that this member of staff seems to enjoy hills.

I do not.

There's a large hill to the south of my little Dorset village, with an old Bronze Age "castle" mound at the top. Up that hill we went, traffic roaring past on the right and a drop into a muddy field on the left.

The field looked incredibly inviting by about halfway up. My legs were sceaming, my lungs felt like they were filling up with marbles, and I don't even want to think about what my calf muscles would have said to me if they were capable of verbal communication.

It was hard, and I was worried and, in my darkest moment, I questioned the decision to sign up. I didn't know if I could do it.

And you know what? I did. I got up that hill, gasping and sweaty and cursing oxygen for its thin-ness. But I got up. And I kept going. I ran for the next half an hour, up another hill, across a busy junction, and all the way back up the stairs to my room.

And you know what? I'm not worried any more. Well, I am, but not in a silly way. I'm grouching at myself for my inability to write decent author biographies and my procrastination getting the better of me when it comes to doing some of the guest posts you lovely people have agreed to let me do.

But I believe in the book, and now I believe in myself too.

For a newbie, the publishing process is scary. It's technical, it's demanding, and you'll want to bludgeon yourself with all the errant commas you're running over.

But once you get up that hill and you can see the publication date in sight . . .

It'll all be worth it. I know it.

And, whether it be sooner or later, you guys will too. Trust me on that.

~ Charley R

Dark Wings, Dark Words

In the east, a grey sun rises. Sightings of ghosts and worse come in from every quarter, and in the night the smallfolk bolt their doors in fear. Even the guard dogs bark little as the silent threats come down out of the high places, hungering for prey. 

The shadows are rising. 

Cold, pale eyes watch from every corner. 

No one is safe.

My friends, these are black tidings indeed. My home, my future, and all I love lies under threat from this faceless menace. I feel the fear of my people pressing in around me, while my own terror lies coiled like a serpent, threatening to swallow me whole the moment I lower my guard. We know not from whence this threat came, or why it has chosen us for its prey. The day's shadows seem to grow darker about our heels with every step, and some swear their dreams are haunted by terrible screams from unknown voices.

What hope we have is dim as a flickering candle in the middle of a midnight sea. Even those scarce old enough to lift a blade are being called forth to muster beneath our tattered banners. We know not when, but we feel our foe drawing closer with the closing of every day.

This may be the last you hear of me, my brave friends. Though I arm myself with bow and sword and spear, I fear it will be of no use. 

I will call to you when I can, but in times like these, none can be sure which day will be our last.

Keep your watch fires burning for me.

The nights grow colder.

The winds cry higher.

The dark comes closer.

Brace yourselves.

Exams are coming.

Hang In There World!

First earthquakes, now tsunamis. Poor old Japan has taking a really horrible battering these past two days, and I pray to God the damage and loss of life is not too much for them to cope with, especially in this horrible global economic situation. I can't help but bite my nails and feel my eyes tingling when I hear reports of the damage and deaths that have struck the city since that monster of an earthquake shook the country up, and then yet more chaos as tsunamis smacked into the coastline.

But that's not all I'm worried about. I'm worried about the other countries too, the ones that have started evacuating people from the coastline because the quake may have sent yet more tsunamis in their direction. 

I'm scared.

I'm scared that Japan won't be able to cope with the horrific damage and loss of life these disasters are going to cause.

I'm scared that other places will be damaged too, places that can't afford to help themselves.

I'm scared that countries like Britain and the USA won't be able to help them because they barely have enough money to support their own economies.

I'm scared that people are going to get hurt, that they will lose their homes, livelihoods and loved ones and be left grief-stricken and destitute as their countries struggle to come to terms with the carnage.

And it's killing me that I can't do anything to help. Nothing physical that is - believe you me, if I could wave some sort of magic wand and repair all the damage, heal all the injuries and bring back all those who have been killed, I'd be waving like there was no tomorrow.

But I can't. 

All I can do is hope, pray and cross my fingers and wish with all my might that the nations of the world can, somehow, pull together and help each other through this terrible disaster.

Hang in there world! We can do it if we do it together!