#spooky western

[thatndginger]

eldritch horror idea: the opposite of the unknown - knowing exactly what’s out there. Watching it creep closer. Knowing you can do nothing to stop it. All you can do is watch. and wait. and scream.

[ran196242]

spooky western RodeOmens , why not? They look like cheap thriller book covers tho.

@moveslikebucky has already written something for Crowley! Read it here it’s amazing: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197506

[cadabracostudio]

POV: You just found the cutest haunt in the West. 🤠👻

It’s giving "Coastal Cowgirl," "Western Goth," and that trendy rustic vibe that’s taking over Halloween. This Cowgirl Boots & Bows Ghost design is the perfect mix of spooky and sweet. As seen in the image, the design features adorable ghosts in cowboy hats, accented with checkered gingham bows and floral boots. It looks absolutely darling on a canvas tote or a cozy sweatshirt. Whether you're heading to a fall festival or just love the western aesthetic, this high-res PNG is ready to ride. Saddle up right here.

[thatndginger]

I had a bit of an epiphany regarding the slowly-fermenting Spooky Western story - specifically in regard to location. See, I grew up on the Great Plains. It’s a vast, lonely place. I know of places that I could go where I might be the only human for 50 miles in any direction and all I’d be able to see was a sea of grass until the curve of the earth stole my sight. My sister likes to say that from our hometown, you could watch you dog run away for a week because of how flat it is. 

Here, the true horror isn’t what might be there, but what *isn’t*. On a clear day - or a clear night - you can see all the way to the horizon, and know that there is absolutely nothing but grass between you and that thin line between land and sky. Even for someone born and raised in that flat emptiness, it can be disconcerting.  I’m imagining just how many types of horror you could get out of it - especially if we skip back just a hundred and fifty years.

You’re the only soul for a hundred miles - maybe two hundred. How long can you last before you start talking to yourself to hear something other than the wind? How long before you forget what it means to talk at all? If you meet another person out here, how will you know if they’re real? If you die out here, will anyone ever find your bones? Eventually, will the wildlife - the antelope and the coyotes and the prairie dogs and hawks - stop thinking of you as human but one of their own instead? Will *you* stop thinking of yourself as human?

Eventually you see a town rolling up over the horizon. It’s difficult to tell it apart from the heat haze. You’re still half-convinced it’s a mirage when you meet the road into town, cutting through the grass like a dusty snake. You’re not sure how the road got there, since you still haven’t seen another person yet. You look over your shoulder, where the road disappears over the edge of the earth. Maybe the rest of the earth disappears too, and it’s just you and your hallucinations. 

What happens when you finally reach the town? Does it feel real? Do you feel claustrophobic standing between wind-blasted buildings that block your view of the plains? How did the town even find trees for wood to build? There’s nothing but grass and dirt out there. Do human faces seem odd now? Uncanny and disconcerting with their myriad expressions? Do their voices grate at you after so long only hearing the gentle wind? Do you remember how to talk with your cracked, cobwebbed voice? Do the people look at you like you’re a wild animal of sorts? Well, aren’t you?

At what point does the unknown become familiar, the familiar become the unknown?