THE POWER OF PLACE
An abandoned mall. An island. The woods. When it comes to speculative fiction, the setting isn’t just where the story takes place, it’s a character in its own right. And as such, it should feel as real and alive as the main protagonist in the book.
But how do you make a place feel scary? For me, it’s all in the mundane. A house-lined street is innocent enough until a street lamp starts to flicker. A playground is suddenly made unsettling when the swing begins to move on its own. These places have the power to be scary because of how common they are. When done correctly, readers will wonder if something sinister is unfolding on their own street. Or, if their neighborhood playground is haunted. A setting doesn’t always have to be shrouded in darkness and covered in cobwebs. In fact, for me, it’s quite the opposite. The eeriest places are oftentimes bright and full of light. At the outset, they seem welcoming. Idyllic, even. Only when you take a closer look does the sinister side reveal itself.
During the pandemic, I spent a significant amount of time living near a lake in Wisconsin. Even on the sunniest days during the summer of 2020, the normally bustling beaches were bare. The bar, usually loud and thumping with music, was quiet. The lake and surrounding neighborhood were very familiar to me and yet I hardly recognized them at all. During that time, I wondered what might be lurking in a place that’s sunny and full of beautiful homes? What happens when the interior doesn’t match the beautiful exterior? It’s that dichotomy, that push and pull, that canny and uncanny, that’s interesting to me both as an author and as a reader. We expect something scary to happen in a dark, unfinished basement full of exposed nails, but an empty beach on a bright summer day is equally creepy when approached from the right lens. Don’t get me wrong, though, I love a good basement jump scare and you won’t catch me climbing down the stairs of my own basement without a light on.
Riley Sager proves my point perfectly in ‘The House Across the Lake.’ He does a masterful job at making a body of water feel menacing. Without giving too much away, the lake is an active participant in the eeriness that is unfolding and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t pause before jumping into a lake after reading that book.
Of course, when we think about scary places, houses are normally the first thing that come to mind. Chairs that move on their own. Voices whispering in empty halls. A door creaking open. Haunted houses are trope for a reason, and I think that reason is because everyone knows what it’s like to be alone in a house and hear a noise down the hall. The hair on the back of your neck sticks up. Your mouth goes dry. And you question whether or not someone, or something, is there. Or maybe, there wasn’t a noise at all. Maybe it was all in your head.
When a setting is an active participant in the eerie story that’s unfolding, that’s the power of place.
