Little Katie was screaming upstairs. I didn’t want the spoiled brat in my house, but she and her mom were a package deal. I’ve been so lonely since Samantha’s mom died. So my Samantha had a play date with her Katie and I was to get to know Linda better. It almost worked.
And not for the lack of trying – but the screaming couldn’t be ignored. Eventually, Linda went up to talk some sense into that little shit of hers. While I waited, I whipped together a couple more vodka gimlets.
When Linda screamed, I felt it in my spine. Deep down inside, where the father instinct takes root, the darkest thought surface: what happened to my daughter?
When I reached the room, I saw that they had that stupid game out, the one with the board and all the letters on it. Katie’s hand gripped the corner of it while the rest of her screamed and thrashed on the floor. Linda had her around the waist and was trying to pull her away. And Samantha…
Sam sat there, calm as she could be, staring into nothing while her hands flitted with the pointer across the board: “-M-Y-S-E-E-S-Y-O-U-M-O-M-M-Y-S-E-E-S-Y-O-U-M-O-”
A great many horror stories revolve around the supernatural and the unexplained. And why shouldn’t they? The unknown is terrifying. Ghosts and the shambling dead freed from the grave, alien intelligences and gibbering horrors from beyond the stars, madmen and their unholy experiments gone awry, ancient rituals and evil words that shift and bend reality, lost prophecies and inescapable century-old curses, missing links and reptilian beasts from black depths—all these and more make up the nightmare worlds of the uncertain and unnatural.
In this chapter we will discuss the presence of the supernatural, in all of its manifestations, in your stories.
Keep the unknown hidden as long as possible. The less mysterious your supernatural world becomes, the more difficult it becomes to make it scary. Dragons, by all accounts, should be terrifying creatures to behold. Giant lizards with vast leathery wings and infernal breath—what’s not to fear? Yet, it would take a considerable amount of work to make a Dread story in which your players confront a dragon and feel anything other than the thrill of battle. This is due in part to how much is understood about these mythical beasts. No matter how dangerous its breath, a creature loses its power to instill fear once it is well known.
That is, unless you pull the rug out from under the players and drastically alter the nature of the beast. This can be an effective way to reinvigorate a classic horror monster that has lost its edge, such as the vampire or werewolf. Keep the suspense chapter in mind; when dealing with the supernatural more than other themes, it is vital to keep the players guessing about what they’re dealing with.
Some stories may allow the players’ characters to wield supernatural powers of their own. In this case, the players will often want at least a rudimentary understanding of how it works. Indeed, you may even have the players create and govern their own preternatural abilities. Whether they have powers granted by an alien virus or spells purchased via dark pacts with the Devil, you should always develop a secret side to these abilities. As the game progresses, this other side should slowly manifest itself. Enough so that the players will question the wisdom of using their unusual abilities every time it is convenient.
There is no need for these secret sides to be crippling. In some types of games, the characters are expected to be able to do the amazing as if it were routine. However, it should never feel routine. Each time they employ such a power, make sure it is described in a way that invokes the appropriate sense of awe and fear.
Much as with gore (see Chapter 11: The Gory Game), the supernatural should be described by bringing out the concrete details. If the force of a vampire’s will has subdued a player’s character to the point where they will lie still as the blood is suckled from their neck, then take a moment to describe what that character hears or smells. Look to senses the players may not initially consider, and then let them paint the picture themselves.
What if your story takes place in the minds or dreams of the characters? In a land where reality itself is not consistent, how do you maintain the sort of reality players need to be grounded in the story?
The mental landscape is an interesting theme in horror fiction and movies. However, it often does not operate in the same manner as our own minds. The reality of these dream worlds is far more resistant to change than the reality of actual dreams. In most of these cases, the characters in the story can change the reality by forcing their will upon it (possibly requiring some pulls). Therein lies the underlying consistency. If you wish to make a story where reality is somewhat fluid, you need to establish what will alter reality up front, and stick with that throughout the story.
Design the nature of your supernatural world as you design your story. Lay out the rules, if any, of how it works. Can a line of salt prevent evil from passing through a doorway? When the beast assumes a human form, does its odor betray it? What is the cost of magic? If man has developed a method for traveling between stars in the blink of an eye, what effect does that have on the travelers? What happens to the mind of a character that sees the impossible angles of the mad architect’s masterpiece?
By deciding as much as you can about how the supernatural works beforehand, you can remain relatively consistent during the game. This consistency will give your players something to work with. If the supernatural aspects of your story are random, there is nothing for the players to grab on to. This inconsistency will seem far less real, which will erode the suspension of disbelief.
When constructing a questionnaire for a story with supernatural elements, you may want to include a question that delves into previous experiences the character has had with the unknown, and how they were affected by it. This should help you determine if extra pulls are necessary to deal with these encounters. It will also help to flavor the character’s reactions.
The questionnaire becomes vital in games where the characters themselves have supernatural abilities. “How is it you are able to read the minds of the sleeping?” “What did the elder gods grant you power over?” “What price for your magic are you afraid to pay?”
For the most part, you can let the players define their characters’ powers, but don’t let them get away with murder. Monitor this with a keener eye than you normally would use on the questionnaires. Make sure that there is a price for whatever they choose. Many horror stories involve protagonists who are well versed in the ways of magic, but few have their heroes tossing flashy spells about willy-nilly. Ask questions with a sinister twist: “Who will you never see again now that you have your powers?” “Every time you step through a wall, what do you leave behind?”
Usually, you should try to avoid powers that can short-circuit a plot or break through the isolation you’ve created. A murder mystery is not much of a mystery if the character can read the mind of the murderer, nor is a story about being lost in a hostile jungle isolating if the character can simply fly out of it. On the other hand, you could try to write your story around the abilities. Even if the character can read the murderer’s thoughts, will anyone actually believe him?
Opportunities abound for pulling blocks in a supernatural tale. Characters unaccustomed to the strange and eerie will cause their players to pull when they first witness something beyond their ken. This pull can prevent any number of fear responses, but most likely it will keep a character from freezing or fleeing. For particularly delicate characters, you may require a pull to avoid fainting followed by a pull to avoid running off screaming. Particularly stubborn characters in the vein of Ebenezer Scrooge may cause a pull just to believe what they are seeing.
All of this happens even before you take into account the intent of the supernatural influence. In whatever manner the supernatural interacts with the characters, you can be sure pulls will need to be made. Resisting a demonic possession, extinguishing a pyrokinetic fire, holding the transformation of a lycanthropic infection at bay for just one more night, avoiding the dominating gaze of the nosferatu, or overcoming a voodoo-inflicted palsy long enough to fire a gun—all of these will require at least one pull, and more than that may be necessary.
Keep in mind that every pull has to mean something. If you want the players to have to pull more than once to resist a creature or other supernatural effect, you will have to come up with what each pull means. Pull once to resist being dominated by the vampire’s stare alone. Pull once again to resist her beckoning voice. And, as a last resort, pull once more to escape her taloned hands.
You can also coax quite a few pulls out of the players whose characters have supernatural traits. In many of these cases, a host can ask for a pull just to do the most basic of functions reliably. Simply let the players know up front: if your character can teleport, you can choose where she ends up only by pulling.