Creepiness is a science.
Well, it’s a word that describes a feeling to be evoked. Evoking that feeling is a science. Some people might be born with this instinctively, inspiring it in everything and everyone he or she (usually he) encounters. Others have to work for it, but once they can grow a mustache, he or she (again, usually he) has it down pat.
Feeling that a person, object, or place is creepy… well, it’s not something we generally seek in real life, but it’s something we actively seek in fiction. And while some people manage to do this naturally and successfully in fiction, we mere mortals might need a bit more work to get there.
A fair amount of creepiness is generated by simple word choice, it must be said. Just like using specific colors in a picture, you can adjust your text for a creepier punch by choosing different words to say what you want to say. Warm and moist might paint a different picture than humid, for instance.
Similarly, choosing the details you include in your word picture could change the feel of the scene. Describing the sensory details— and using sensory words to convey those details, rather than more cognitive verbage— could make things more visceral. Of course, you already know all this. These are fairly standard techniques for writing horror or just good, vivid storytelling.
A little while ago, however, I started to realize part of creepiness that doesn’t involve word choice or sensory details— in other words, the macro element of the creepy, rather than the micro. While pretty much any scene can become creepy, it isn’t only a product of micro-editing it into submission.
Let’s look at what makes something creepy. It’s a term we like to throw around about people in scraggly mustaches and cocked heads, or houses with broken windows and a fence that’s falling down. Both are curious when you notice them in broad daylight, and they don’t notice you back. But in a narrow hallway, or encased in shadow, you pick up your pace. Read the full post »