The linguistics of horror
Thereâs a very distinct pattern in what one might, if one were being⊠incautious, name âInternet horror-speak,â a particular patois thatâs arisen in the latest years of this very era, a peculiar dialect lashed together from the flesh of Lovecraft and the sinew of internet culture and the bones of⊠something bony. Okay so Iâm probably not going to be able to keep that gag up. Itâs the language of Dread Singles
HOT SINGLES IN YOUR AREA, TRAVELING THE SUNKEN WAYS, DRINKING FROM THE LIPS OF THE LOW ONES, WISHING THEYâD WORN MORE SENSIBLE SHOES
and Welcome to Night Vale
Mayor Pamela Winchell The fences in the caves. A heart throbbing for what it cannot have. A heart not having what it needs to throb. The fences in the caves. Heat from below and above, but all is cold betwixt. The fences in the caves. The fences in the caves.
What interests me though is thatâs thereâs a very distinct pattern and sort of grammar to how this Internet Horror-Speak (hereafter IHS) works, one Iâve been trying to work out for a while now. There are some very obvious patterns, as well as some subtle ones Iâm not sure how to put into words. These are the rules Iâve sussed out, though:
One of the most important rules, and I think the one that might be the most surprising to a lot of people, is to use simple, mundane language. Empurpling the narrative with gratuitous polysyllabisms and grandiose prose is actually wholly deleterious to the desired effect. This actually makes a lot of sense. Purple prose has a serious abstracting effect, in that it draws the audience away from the action and makes it sound more like theyâre listening to a story. So using purple prose to describe your indescribable horrors can make them feel less real, where using everyday language helps connect the audience and make them feel more like thereâs some grotesque violation of normalcy going on
Use fewer âs-constructions. Say âthe blood of the fallen,â not âthe fallenâs blood;â âthe intestines of dawnâ not âdawnâs intestines.â This is a less solid rule, and itâs still possible to have a powerfully creepy effect with the âs-construction, particularly if the construction comes sentence-finally: âThey beat them with sticks around which were wrapped dawnâs intestines,â but âThey wrapped the intestines of dawn around thick oaken sticks.â
Use older words. âForâ instead of âbecause,â âkinâ for âfamily,â etc. If this makes them shorter than their modern counterparts, all the more effective.
Donât use commas with conjunctions, just string conjunctions together. So âThey laughed and writhed and screamed and died in the gaze of a smiling god,â but not *âThey laughed, writhed, screamed, and died in the gaze of a smiling god.â This oneâs variable, but I see the former more than the latter and to me it feels like it has more impact and is more visceral. The latter sounds more planned out, more official, more normal.
Use old-fashioned constructions. âTheâ+[adjective] constructions are a favorite, as are âthe [adjective] one(s).â âThe laughing ones steal away the dreams of the hopeful and feast on the teeth of the indolent,â âThere are no innocent in this place, for to gaze on the Ancient Ones is to know that innocence is a lie, that blood and fear and corruption are the engines of all that breathes.â
Break word associations. If I start a sentence with âThe toaster,â youâre probably going to expect something like, âthe toasted fell off the counter,â or âthe toasted exploded,â not âthe toasted laughedâ or âthe toaster bled.â There are words we associate with animate things and words we associate with inanimate things, and mixing them up can lead to weird mental reactions. Itâs why things like âSPANK HAIR â LICK EYES â WHISPER INTO ASSâ are so funny. They make us build associations that we didnât have previously. A toaster isnât a thing that bleeds, and hair isnât something you spank, so putting those words together tends to slightly mess with people and throw off our reading. Welcome to Night Vale does this SO MUCH.
Cecil Wednesday has been canceled due to a scheduling error
Cecil Hereâs something odd: there is a cat hovering in the menâs bathroom at the radio station here
Cecil Alert! The sheriffâs secret police are searching for a fugitive named Hiram McDaniels, who escaped custody last night following a 9 PM arrest. McDaniels is described as a five-headed dragon
Last but not least, be vague. Let your words imply terrible and alien machinations at play, let them hint at vast supernatural tableaux of incomprehensible splendor and horror hanging just out of sight waiting to be glimpsed, but donât ever explicitly tell anybody whatâs going on. I put this one last because even though itâs the most important, itâs the most obvious, and I think everybody already knows this about horror. But itâs worth noting that IHS generally dials this up way higher, to the point where itâs hard or impossible to tell what parts are literal or metaphorical. Take this sub-par example:
Moving through the ashen ways of eons past, realms of fire and smoke and emptiness rising up and twisting around its path the beast walked on, burning all it perceived.
One on level, itâs possible that weâre talking about a minotaur arsonist whoâs taking to the backroads during a forest fire to avoid the cops. On the other, we could be talking about some incomprehensible eldritch abomination warping its way through infernal dimensions outside space and time, ravaging worlds at its passing. Or anything between. I think this is probably the single most salient feature of IHS: its utter vagueness, and lack of proper context to distinguish the metaphorical from the literal.
But anyway. This is a fascinating memetic phenomenon and one Iâd love to see some proper research done on this, beyond the idle musings of a lazy linguist with too much on her hands to spend time analyzing hard data.
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