What is it about a good horror story that sends chills of fear and delight up our spines? Why is it that, even as we double-check to be sure the locks are locked, we tune in to the fright fest of fearsome flicks on cable TV as Halloween approaches? What causes us to peek from between the very fingers that wisely cover our eyes as we cringe in terror? And what is it that compels the intrepid hero or heroine - or the hapless, not-so-bright supporting cast member - to climb those blasted stairs despite the scary music and the fact that even an idiot would know the slasher is hiding in the bedroom closet?

In "A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful," Edmund Burke wrote, "When danger or pain press too nearly, they are incapable of giving any delight, and are simply terrible; but at certain distances, and with certain modifications, they may be, and they are, delightful, as we every day experience."

Aristotle, in Poetics, proposed that "Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play; in the form of action, not of narrative; through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these emotions." Or, put another way, by moving the audience to fear and pity, they would be purged of these emotions and capable of experiencing pleasure.

This is catharsis. The purging of fear and pity, by reminding us that we have it so much better than the characters in the story. By tricking us into thinking we are so much smarter than the wide-eyed innocent tromping up the stairs. Read and be terrified, watch and feel smug, then go out into the sunlight and be joyful.

Some might argue that it's not catharsis so much as it is schadenfreude - taking pleasure in others' misfortunes. But I think that is more likely in the realm of comedy than horror. Horror allows us to feel terror for a little while, and then realize the pleasurable relief of realizing that our own reality is something brighter and finer. Some might sum it up by whispering, There but by the grace of God go I...

That said, if anyone can figure out why our wannabe victim is still climbing the stairs to certain doom, please clue me in. I have no answer to that one.

The Gothic Novel

The Gothic novel was the precursor to the modern horror story. Characteristics of the Gothic novel include strong supernatural elements and superstition; sensational, passionate emotions; decay and death; crumbling castles or other old, ruined buildings; madness and hereditary curses; and a dark, foreboding atmosphere.

The Castle of Otranto, by Horace Walpole, published in 1754, is generally considered to be the first novel of this genre. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, and Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights are two of the best known and most popular of Gothic novels.

Where today's horror often relies on similar fantastic elements and blatant shock value, novels like Frankenstein combined horror with deeper themes. In Frankenstein, Viktor beholds the fruit of his labors to bring the dead to life, and grapples with the uglier side of playing God:

It was on a dreary night of November, that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.

How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! - Great God ! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

Ahh, be careful what you wish for. Could there be any greater horror than to stand before the hideous, visceral reality of a re-animated corpse - the crowning achievement of your dedication to science and study? Doesn't this just beg the question: Is God ever so repulsed by us?

Who, in fact, is the monster? Viktor, or his creature? When confronted by such thorny questions, we are forced to look inward and consider horrors even greater than zombies and giant bats and vampires.