Small Town Horror
And the power of isolation.
Whether it’s Carrie’s Chamberlain, Scream’s Woodsboro, or Hawkins in Stranger Things, small towns—particularly those in the US—are a perfect playground for horror. With their commitment to community, freshly mowed lawns, smiles and sunny dispositions, small towns are places aching for something—or someone—to go wrong.
Small town horror stories are a personal favourite, and I believe their success comes down to one thing: isolation. They’re great at harnessing separation and letting it run wild.
Sometimes, that isolation is a result of physical location.
One of the things that made Midnight Mass so interesting was that it took place on Crockett Island, reachable only by a lacklustre boat schedule. Even without the island setting, the show was great at building dread. Throw in the fact that there’s only one way out when things get messy, and the people around you are people you’re stuck with, and the tension’s elevated.
Stephen King’s Under The Dome is another that comes to mind. When a small Maine town becomes trapped under an invisible and impenetrable dome, isolation is taken to new heights, and you start to see what happens when separation from the outside world becomes literal, and how quickly isolation can turn violent.
Alongside setting, isolation is perhaps most powerful when it’s subtle, triggered by people and led by emotion.
My Heart Is A Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones did a great job of exploring this. It tells the story of Jade Daniels, a half-Indian outcast who feels so lost in her rural lake town of Proofrock that she uses her impressive knowledge of slasher movies to cope.
In a small town, where community is paramount, there’s security in the notion that everybody knows everybody. If, for whatever reason, you’re not part of that community, or show up and have to prove yourself to become accepted, it doesn’t matter whether you’re on an island or in the middle of a city. All that does is the emotional turmoil of whether you’re in or out.
Something else that I feel is unique about small towns is their ability to tip the mundane into madness.
For many, routine is religion; a way to safely navigate the world. Small towns seem to embody that. If there’s ever a place you’re friendly with your neighbour or someone knows your order at the bar, it’s there.
But what happens when the person who’s been pouring you the same drink for 10 years starts getting your order wrong? What happens when the neighbour you’ve broken bread with more times than you can count starts mysteriously leaving the house at 2am every night? What happens when the community you’ve been a part of decides you’re no longer welcome?
Sure, small towns with creatures, ghosts, and monsters are a lot of fun, but when the familiar becomes tainted, routine becomes irregular, and people start acting strange, everything starts to feel a little…off.
It’s that feeling—that uncertainty—that makes horror great.
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When I was writing it, I also wanted to create a place that explored feelings of isolation. I wanted Thornfold, a small town of just 71 in the middle of the desert, to seem so isolated it felt lawless.
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That isolation! I really enjoyed that in the series The Third Day. They used a causeway to increase the tension, it worked well. Have you seen it?
Twilight Zone was all over that, too.