Dead Secret (2015)
Hansel and Gretel, first appearing in 1812 and itself based on an older (and darker) French tale, carries itself amongst the most popular folklore stories of western culture, existing as a generational constant that is recognizable almost instantly by individuals both young and old. The idea of unfortunate travelers finding themselves hopelessly lost within the depths of dark and sinister woods is one that extends beyond this single instance, establishing itself as an iconic staple and a familiar motif of traditional horror.
And Hansel and Gretel isn’t the only folklore story to root its themes and motifs deep into our culture either—eastern legends of spirits and demons roaming the world of the living and western urban legends of supernatural forces feeding on the curiosity of the uninitiated thrill seeker are nearly just as familiar. In fact, it seems as if all of horror stems from this line of inherited stories and experiences.
The very term, folklore, carries a kind of nostalgic familiarity with it—one that is instantly recognizable but often much more difficult to tangibly describe. These stories have stuck around for decades past their inception, seeding themselves within generations of storytellers and defining the traditions and culture of those hearing them. And it’s for good reason that these stories seem so deeply rooted in our culture as a civilization.
Psychological and scientific perspectives attribute the appeal of horror to the thrill of adrenaline or primal responses developed over millions of years of human evolution. And yet, at least to me, cultural folklore and horror don’t quite fit the same criteria. Folklore carries a much deeper connection with our culture, with our past and with the individuals and desires that shaped these stories into what they are. To me, it doesn’t seem like the ends of these individuals, communities, and years of cultural storytelling can be diluted to a mere pre-programmed logical response.
For in its core, horror, and horror folklore in particular, is far from objective. Folklore embodies the legacy of storytelling. Not only stories told objectively as they exist, but also stories that are shaped, grown and altered by subjective, personal additions from the storyteller. In a video-essay adapted from his book, The Wes Anderson Collection, film critic Matt Zoller Seitz describes storytelling as “an inheritance, bequeathed to anyone willing to listen and repeat those stories with whatever embellishments are necessary to personalize it, to make it mean something to the teller.”
And it’s this inheritance left behind by folklore horror that indie game developer Robot Invader effectively uses in their indie horror titles Dead Secret and its sequel Dead Secret Circle. Heavily inspired by Japanese folk horror stories and the works of writer Lafcadio Hearn, widely known for his work on traditional Japanese horror and culture, the world of Dead Secret is filled with connections and symbolism that alludes to these folktales. The first game introduces Hearn’s rendition of the traditional ‘Snow Woman’ myth, referring to the Japanese myth of Yukki-onna. And as Robot Invader Developer Chris Pruett remarks, it becomes perhaps the most important document in all the game. Its themes of abandonment, betrayal and of course horror, offer valuable insight into decrypting the game’s underlying narrative themes. Alongside the often unsettling ‘Noh’ masks and other references to Japanese culture scattered throughout the game, these stories become especially relevant in contextualizing the narrative. The sequel doesn’t shy away from these influences either, with recurring references to ancient Japanese mountain worship (Shugendo) and otherworldly sleep spirits (Ikiryō) stalking long dark hallways.
What’s important here, is the role played by these folk stories in developing the world and atmosphere of Dead Secret. While making use of references to Japanese Folklore, Dead Secret’s central focus is never on these stories alone.
For the demons, devils, and spirits of Dead Secret exist not only in the world of superstitious folklore, but also in the much more real struggles of the mind. And it is these struggles—struggles such as loss, tragedy, madness and depression—that lie at the heart of its narrative goals. Dead Secret’s stories aim to deconstruct characters haunted by their past but also their journeys to redemption, growth and, inevitably, the triumphs over their personal demons.
I think that’s what pulls us towards stories of horror where our intangible personal demons are given a physical form and with it, something to overcome and grow beyond. Within horror, lies the opportunity to explore the struggles of individuals who grow beyond pain or loss to be defined by a call to empathy, to morality or to a kind of personal fulfillment. In Dead Secret, this call of purpose follows struggles with overcoming depression and dealing with abandonment in the pursuit of personal fulfilment.
And Dead Secret isn’t the only work of popular media that takes inspiration from traditional horror stories to explore emotional struggles. For an alternative style of horror, take a look at the inspirations of popular culture in the works of gothic Victorian literature from the 19th century or those of author H.P. Lovecraft in the early 20th century (apart from his racism and bigotry), who spawned the genre of fear known as cosmic horror. The gothic art styles and environments that these stories inspired are instantly iconic—much like traditional folklore horror stories—even to someone who has never before encountered any of the original influences. This familiarity can be traced back to the widespread cultural influence that horror has had on all forms of popular culture.
Apart from the countless films and cartoons that borrow from these established stories, videogames offer a unique experience–one that, every now and then, allows for a more personal perspective in these explorations. Games like Bloodborne and Arkham Asylum are universally praised for their stunning gothic art, heavy atmosphere and rich environmental storytelling that builds upon the foundations of traditional horror to develop unique and personal narratives. Arkham Asylum’s setting, inspired by classic Victorian architecture, alongside its gothic narrative, succeeds in deconstructing dichotomies of sanity and insanity while Bloodborne’s Lovecraft inspired horror allows it to delve into themes of despair and madness with its terrifying but simultaneously despondent boss, enemy, and environment designs. The guttural cries of enemies and bosses seem less like those of violence or anger, instead pointing to emotions of despair, loss and a steady descent into madness. And it’s this madness and accompanying despair plaguing these worlds, that must slowly but surely be redeemed over the course of their narratives.
Many of these traditional styles of horror themselves sought inspiration from older folklore and then present human struggles. Timothy H. Evans in his essay, Folklore, Horror, and the Uses of Tradition in the Works of H. P. Lovecraft, even argues that Lovecraft’s own influences stemmed from existing horror folklore, pointing out the role of folklorists and antiquarians alongside the influences of such writers as Edgar Alan Poe and the previously mentioned Lafcadio Hearn. Lovecraft himself encouraged his fellow writers to adapt his characters and retell his stories with their own additions, once again bringing up the idea of storytelling as “an inheritance”, passed on, not simply as it is, but with personal embellishments and subjective additions.
In this way, horror provides a kind of vessel with which stories can explore the deep psychological torment and emotional struggles that constitute the uncomfortable, often ignored, but undeniably significant and familiar portion of the human psyche, providing a means to grow and mature beyond these struggles.
Our ancestors told stories that derived from their hopes, fears, and struggles, transcribing them into the traditionally iconic folktales of a culture. Stories of the Snow Woman, Yuki-onna, commonly explore ideas of malevolence, tragedy and the fragility of life. And yet, underneath it all, most of its renditions also share a flicker of hope and happiness lying beneath the grim exterior. Individuals living on isolated mountaintops found solace in stories that personified the austere beauty of the snow and the biting cold of the wind. And much like nature, horror too offers this allure of tangibly overcoming the emotional struggles that every one of us face as humans. Maybe what we seek in horror isn’t simply the adrenaline rush or the jump scares but something more personal, something reflective of our own struggles and that captures our journey to conquer them—
Something… human.
No shortcuts, no detours either. It’s the ascent up the mountain, not its peak, that matters. The destination is pointless if the journey is simple. This is the way of Shugendo… There is no understanding without suffering.
Dead Secret Circle
The Diplomatic Dodo 