Powerlessness is the foundation of most horror stories.  Whether they’re about monsters or madmen or even worse, the notion that we are not in charge of our own destiny is what makes most horror work.  It doesn’t matter if we’re talking about purely fantastic dangers like Freddy Krueger and vampires or if we’re staying in more realistic territory with murderers and natural disasters.  If a character must confront their own powerlessness, you’ve got yourself a horror story.

This is why Alien is a horror story, and Aliens is an action adventure film.  In one, a crew of poorly armed, non-combat astronauts are slaughtered by a sneaky predator.  In the other, a squad of soldiers blasts scores of aliens.  It’s true that the soldiers in Aliens are facing some long odds, but though they are in desperate straits, they can still fight back.  They might all die, but they are sure as hell going to take a lot of the enemy with them.  And in the end, it all boils down to Sigourney Weaver in a power suit grappling with the alien queen.  Certainly, not an easy victory, but a victory nonetheless, through guts, determination, and a handy dandy airlock.

A lot of people think gore when they think horror, and it’s true that, especially with monsters and chainsaw psychos, that’s often part of the deal.  But it doesn’t have to be.  I’ve always believed the scariest thing about Jason Voorhees was his unstoppable nature.  How he kills you is less important than the inescapable doom he represents.  You can only slow him down, but if he is after you, you’re pretty much screwed.  Unless you’re lucky enough to be the hero, who can usually manage to survive.  Considering how many people Mr. Voorhees tends to kill in these films, the odds of you being the hero are slim to none.  But if you happen to find yourself in the woods, being chased by a guy in a hockey mask, then you might as well stick it out.  You could be the lucky one.

But cosmic horror ratchets this notion of powerlessness up to true terror.  If you’re attacked by a vampire, you can survive.  Maybe even triumph.  If you are stuck in a death trap engineered by an evil genius, you might be able to find a way out.  And even if a natural disaster sweeps across the planet, you can be one of the fortunate few who cling to life, get aboard the giant ark, and live to see another sunrise.

It still won’t matter.  The universe will kill you eventually.  Maybe Cthulhu won’t rise out of the ocean and destroy the world.  Maybe Nyalarathotep won’t appear to you one night in one of his terrifying forms and offer you a deal you can’t refuse.  Maybe you won’t end up being fed to a giant slime monster that lives in the bowels of the earth.  Congratulations.  You’re still going to die with probably not much to show for it.

I am not a horror writer, but this theme has always intrigued me.  It’s what drew me to write Chasing the Moon.  It was a chance to ponder what it means to be human and non-human, to reflect on how vast and indifferent the universe can seem.  And to write a scene where our hero discusses the meaning of life with a fluffy, green eating machine before she must away to battle a werewolf cult that is trying to sacrifice the moon to their god.

It’s cosmic horror.  Just not quite as depressing as we’ve come to expect.  Does that make me a genius?  A madman?  Or possibly just a guy who empathizes with tentacles monsters way too much?  I guess that’s up for the universe to decide.

Although I’m fairly certain it doesn’t actually give a damn one way or another.