Crafting the Gothic Horror Tale

 

Origin

Gothic is defined as "medievalism with horror and romantic elements". The first Gothic novel was The Castle of Otranto, written in 1794 by Horace Walpole. It was Walpole himself who coined the term, adding "A Gothic Tale" to the second edition of the wildly popular book. Prior to this point in the eighteenth century, most ghost stories were written by women, featuring damsels who cleverly get themselves out of supernatural peril. Things took a more sinister turn in the nineteenth century, when the genre reached its zenith under authors like Sheridan Le Fanu, R L Stevenson, and M R James. 

Mechanics

Science was coming of age, and modern man liked to pit himself against the powers of primordial darkness (which seldom ended well for him). Authors flaunted their education, using Latin without a translation, in the assumption their readers didn't need one. The writer's voice was as much part of the entertainment as the story--a chatty style where 100 words did the work of 10--since there were no time constraints like those we face today. Flowery prose lent itself to the required over-the-top drama.

Today

Hollywood adaptations of Frankenstein, Dracula, and The Mummy aided the transition to America. The speaking style lives on in characters like Jack Sparrow, since American English is uninspired by comparison. If you plan to use this method, you'll need to be widely read in it. A good place to start is Victorian Ghost Stories, edited by Cox and Gilbert. At the very least, your character will stand out by his speech alone. 

A Question of Trust (conclusion)

 

Previous  Orchidia's AI rejects the Bot Queen's program in favor of a jointly-designed astrogater. It will backtrack the ship's movements, allowing them to return to their future. 

Commander Moast fought the insane illusion of taking a fatal plunge to the big blue orb far below. His mag boots prevented that, gripping the port wingtip's flight bay strut. 

Looking down from the perpendicular, an unsuited Wicca said, "And you call me crazy." She was unable to teleport through the ship's antiproton hull, leaving Cambris to pull off a stunt the designers never intended. 

"Orchidia," Moast said into his mike. "Final instructions for getting this thing installed." The astrogater resembled an old style water heater with a bad hangover; protruding data ports made it look about to sprout alien parasites. 

"I have chosen a subsystem isolated from main power. Deadspace cubicle 3847 was the last constructed, and so has handoff hardware to prevent dock workers being trapped inside."

"In other words, it's a tougher job than it needs to be. But I can appreciate your caution against the Bot Queen."

"Inside is a manual switch that will open the hatch for ten seconds." The avatar silently activated a hulking servobot, which ripped out a secondary maneuvering thruster.

Into the fist-sized hole Moast pressed a conical rubber boot sealed around the steel canister containing the mist form of Cambris, which would otherwise fly apart in the icy vacuum of space. She would reform on the other side, press the switch, then re-enter a second canister taken from her belt. A sudden buffeting heralded pressure loss as the rectangular hatch cycled upward. Moast wrestled the astrogater inside, then crammed a rubber cone into the hole left by the missing thrust pipe. 

"Pressurize." In the wan glow of his helmet beam, the magnetic canister clung to the hatch frame where Cambris had left it. Moast tapped it three times to signal the all clear. Cambris misted out in vaporous tendrils.

Moast removed the helm, uncomfortably close to her in the cramped space. The unit stood between them, and wrangling it into place would be a disturbingly intimate experience.

Compelling eyes had a light of their own in the gloom. "What purpose has this far-flying closet?"

"The ship has thousands of them. In days of sail, they were called various things: innerbottom, cofferdam. They serve as a buffer against collision."

"You bear resemblance to my eon-lost husband."

Epic.

"Do you find it so hard to believe in me?"

"Orhidia feels your race arrived here in antiquity, though I don't find evidence of your kind anywhere in the future."

"My sisters and I are the last who are capable of converting others. The Outworld is full of bastardized types beneath our  notice." The way she looked at Moast's neck unnerved him. "And how does your ghost woman," meaning the avatar, "explain Wicca?"

"She ascribes to the Bot Queen's native force theory: stored metals in the brain are converted to energy by means unknown."

"So shall it ever be for unbelievers, trapped in their five senses." Cambris' nose crinkled in distaste at the scent of digestion on Moast's breath. She wasn't accustomed to being this close without setting off predatory instincts. "Let the device be installed. I weary of it being in the way." Under Moast's direction, it was coaxed overhead, turned horizontal, and linked with remote data ports. "So ends my dream of seeing the stars."

"There isn't much to see up close," Moast said hastily. Her lips parted in a way suggesting she'd get some compensation from the whole thing. "They're big balls of fire too bright to look at." Inspiration seized hold. "Orchidia, have Wicca establish a comlink."

"What is it, Spaceman? Has Cambris done you already?"

"I'd like to do something for her. Since you're being so lavish with. . . .magic. . . .I thought you could expend a little more. We're coming out." He avoided looking directly into those hypnotic eyes. "I've trusted you, Cambris. Now I ask yours in return."

Reluctantly she misted back into the canister. Its lid screwed shut. 

Moast put his helmet on. "Depressurize." He plucked the canister off the frame and pressed the switch. Starlight flooded in as the hatch pulled upward. A perpendicular turn brought him atop the port wingtip, where he set the canister on the hull. "I want Cambris to see this."

Wicca's mouth rounded. "I'm using gonzo magic as it is!" Seeing Moast's determination, she walked over and tapped on the container. A tendril cautiously snaked out, quickly becoming the full manifestation. "Like Jeannie coming out of her bottle."

Cambris gawked at the planet's night side. "It is indeed round!" Australia rotated up from the horizon. "And a globe, not a disk!" She flitted higher up the broad plane of the wing.

"Stay close, missy!" Wicca cautioned. "It's all I can do to keep this soap bubble going!"

Now Cambris turned to take in the seemingly endless curves and angles: hyperlight engines rising on graceful pylons; wings that cuddled flight bays like chicks; a long  neck with an equally predatory droop. "It is the size of a kingdom. . . ."

"Actually," Moast said, "she's modest compared to the heavier warships, but I'll stack her against them any day."

Wicca snapped open her curious "flying stick", bidding Cambris to mount up behind. As they lifted off, Cambris was too enthralled to think of looking back, though Wicca threw a jaunty wave. 

"Well," Moast said to the avatar, "you're looking pensive about the caper."

"The cyborg has attempted to insert a virus, though was handicapped by the primitive satellites she commandeered. I recalled her taunt against the fanged one, which appeared an effective distraction, and sought advice from the corpse woman."

"Oh, brother, I can't wait to hear this."

"When I disrupted the exponential loop, I inserted the comment 'Too slow!'. When I locked out the program, I inserted "Nyah nyah!', though  I am unable to find an adequate definition."

Moast laughed. "Why would you do that?"

"To make the cyborg believe I have allied with the corpse woman."

"Now there's a scary thought. Helm, bring the astrogater online. Let's get the hell out of here."

A Question of Trust (3)

 

Previous The Bot Queen, vampire Cambris, and tha avatar of starship Orchidia convene to figure out a way for the ship to return to the future. Young Eric has been sent back to New York.

On the set of the Wicca Horror Show, the namesake diva paced peevishly about a bizarre trio. The two bot brains were doing most of the talking; something about the whole affair had Cambris in a dreamy state, with no more understanding of the technobabble that had Wicca. 

Producer Ed lounged on the set's red divan next to Commander Moast. Both savored beers while keeping a wary eye on the proceedings. First Officer Kyra stood nearby with coffee, looking ready for action.

Ed took a swig for courage. "Look here, Moast--are you in charge of this shootin' match?"

"Nominally yes. But Orchidia has altered her priority to self preservation. I can't make her do anything she feels is a threat to her integrity. On the other hand, that trait has saved us more than once."

The devious mind of the gold cyborg Queenie sought to draw Cambris out of her aloof superiority over the artificials. Calculating outrageous statement for maximum impact. "I sense a sexual tension between us."

It worked. Cambris drew up in wide-eyed amazement. "I?--with a collection of wires and springs?" Fangs came out, though no target presented save for super hard metal.

Undeterred, Queenie made a proposal. "Access to the starship will allow me to reroute the injector coolant circuit for chronotronic interphasiality." 

Only Orchidia could fathom a tongue twister like that. "Plausible, though unlikely to see us home. Projected rationale: you will take the ship to Pluto Station, hyperjump to a suitable star system, and rebuild your Bot empire."

Wicca interjected herself with a toast of her small chocolate gin bottle. "A gal can dream. You know, Vern?" 

Three sets of eyes considered, then quickly dismissed her. 

Cambris recovered her aplomb. "To sojourn among the stars. How I yearned for it on summer nights."

"The observation is relevant," Orchidia said. "My alternate hypothesis relies on your species' ability for transforming into mist." 

"Species indeed!" Cambris' pinpoint pupils fastened on another unlikely target in the amorphous hologram. "My husband was village alderman centuries before you were constructed from junkyard scraps."

Not programmed for cattyness, Orchidia found the statement nonsensical. "Your data set is flawed."

Wicca spread arms in a pique. "Borrrrring!" She put a finger to Queenie's neck. "They need your help, but you aren't going near that ship. Tell Orchid what to do. Remember what I did to you once?"

"Barbaric. You briefly regressed me to my humanoid origin."

"You were a huntress, a regular Peter Pan with bow and arrow. Then the Bots came. They sure didn't bargain for a type A overachiever like you." 

"Preparing interface," Queenie prudently decided. She reached out to touch the virtual fingers of Orchidia. A clear disk formed between them, on which schematics flashed with mind-bending speed.

"Wow," Ed mused. "That's kinda hot."

Moast had arms crossed. "Your diva is unexpectedly resourceful."

"She's an enigma, all right. Still hasn't figured out the urinals in the men's room, but she can engineer the overthrow of an empire."

"Assimilation complete." Orchidia rotated to face Cambris. "You may contact the hull in an envirosuit, under escort of Commander Moast. He will conduct you to a junction of limited opening, where your mist form will deliver the required part."

Moast sat forward with elbows on knees and brow furrowed. 

"Quite a situation," Kyra observed. "Orchidia must trust you, and you must trust the. . . .the one with the fangs, in a restricted space."

"Then let's begin," said a resigned Moast.

A Question of Trust (2)

 

Previous The starship Orchidia accidentally reaches Earth in 2021. Seeking a way home, its commander identifies offworld technology involved with the Wicca Horror Show, and sets out for Hollywood. 

Commander Moast and his first officer had barely departed before two titan intellects began sparring. Orchidia came under intense scrutiny by hijacked satellites. The gold cyborg responsible was of demonstrably higher technology, but lacked the immense power available to a starship. Orchidia subjected them to rolling overload blackouts, which kept resetting the alien program in a non-terminating loop. She devoted a full second to analyzing every show from the franchise, especially those involving the cyborg called Queenie.

Assessment: evidence of long-term planning and brute force conversion. An unknown quantity exists via the subseries on Dracula Brides. Three, unnamed, appear in a period film. Cross reference with radio program of Derek von Halter, billed as a vampire hunter. Collating from Wicca Horror Show: Emmy, Cambris, Yelena, Mirjana. Portraits painted by Eric Harker. Accessing home address.

In Hollywood, a gold cyborg with a black punk 'do--courtesy of Wicca--tread heavily downstairs into the second-floor studio. 

It didn't sit well with the diva enthroned on a wing chair. "Queenie, who said you could pop out of your cubicle?"

"Alert: two crewmen from an orbiting warship. Arrival imminent."

The producer, Ed, set down his script copy. "Don't we have space weapons?"

"These are inordinately outclassed by the intruder."

Wicca stepped off the stage. "If this in one of your Bot ships. . . ."

"Negative. There is no Bot presence in this dimension."

Two people were shown in. One was a rugged type, the other a no-nonsense blonde. They looked a little out of place in L A, wearing casual hiking attire. 

"Alert. Particle weapons detected."

"Oh, we can't be having that." Wicca motioned for them to disarm. To their surprise, they came up with water pistols.

The woman squirted a few shots. "We hadn't thought you capable of transphasic conversion. Where is your emitter? I don't detect one."

"I'm not emitting anything," Wicca said. "Who says I am?"

The blonde indicated her partner. "This is Commander Moast. I'm First Officer Preston." She decided on Galactic Intro 6B. "Friends call me Kyra."

"What do you want me to call you?"

Kyra recovered smoothly until she glanced at her scanner. "Commander, this woman has no life signs. Are you reading this, Orchidia?"

"Confirmed," said the AI via comlink. "She is a fully preserved animated corpse. I detect an energizing force of high kinetic potential, type unknown."

"Just a little Outworld magic," Ed said. "She spent years finding and absorbing the five crystal skulls." He shook hands with Moast. "I'm Ed, and you can tell easy enough who the diva is. If you're like the gold one here, I reckon you're magic-challenged."

Moast eyed the cyborg. "We're from your future, here by accident. I don't suppose any of you have time traveled."

"Nothing to it." Wicca said. "I brought Queenie here from a thousand years ago because she was just too cool to kill."

"A costly mistake," Moast pointed out. "Are you aware your cities burn due to nanobot infection?"

Wicca turned on the Bot Queen. "I thought I had you neutered, missy!"

"If you mean spayed," Queenie said, "I was able to infect a cat before you corrupted my nanites with native force."

Ed shrugged. "Today a cat, tomorrow the world."

"Native force?" Kyra asked.

Wicca rolled eyes. "She's another unbeliever."

"What about you, Commander?" Ed shook hands again, forgetting he'd already done it. "Forget magic--I mean, what's it like in your time?"

"Thanks to your gold friend," Moast said, "Earth is one big video game playground where soldiers of fortune hone their skills. The uninfected live on Mars. And. . . .elsewhere."

Queenie faced him squarely. "You believe I don't know about your Pluto Station?"

"Regrettable," the AI said. "Her access to satellites briefly penetrated our peripheral files." 

Wicca leaned forward to address the unit on Kyra's hip. "Relax, girlie. Queenie's nanites--at least the ones still inside her--only do my bidding."

"Ladies--" Ed raised hands to interrupt.

They encountered another surprise when Eric Harker came in. The young college student was a long way from home. Ed and Wicca rushed to greet him, launching a flurry of questions. 

"Hold on," Eric protested. "I got kidnapped aboard a spaceship. The AI asked a lot of questions about the show, the Outworld, the Brides. Then she sent me here on a remote-controlled skimmer," 

"Accessing Bride One," Orchidia said. From Kyra's hip unit she sent an energy beam that unscrewed the top of a coffee mug on Wicca's belt. A mist flowed out, taking the white-gowned form of Cambris.

The vampire stared daggers. "Who dares to summon me?"

Eric came forward. "It's okay, Miss Cambris. These are some space people who need help getting home." 

Tearing her gaze from Moast's muscular neck, Cambris said, "I will see the one who disturbs my repose."

Orchidia's avatar materialized, a ghostly waif with a power crystal set in the forehead. She formed a very odd trio with Queenie and Cambris as they gathered for high-level talks.

Wicca's mouth went aslant. "Freak showwww. . . ."

A Question of Trust

 

The return hyperjump to Pluto Station was anything but routine. Orchidia's mission to the dwarf starburst galaxy NGC 4449 turned up little of profit; only a plant that could copy appearances, even human heads. Yet they arrived at a dark and deserted moon-sized sphere, not one bustling with activity. The logical course was a return to Earth for answers. During final approach, the AI switched them to stealth mode, making them invisible to observers below.

Commander Moast looked up from the tactical display. "Orchidia, explain."

"Problem: this is the year 2021."

That was a problem to say the least. "It explains Pluto Station: it hasn't been discovered yet."

First Officer Kyra methodically got down to cases. "The Builder portal  has a time-travel aspect it wasn't designed for. Orchidia, account for influencing factors."

"The dwarf galaxy inhabits the star cluster Canes Venatici. Its blue spectrum is indicative of metal-deficient stars of ancient origin. Theorizing: its hyper rate of star production has altered the enhanced dark matter content typical of dwarves, diverting the stellar stream from the Magellanic Clouds. The portal's quantum field generator--"

"Message received," Moast said. "The portal has a bug. The question now is how we get home."

Berl, the beefy helmsman, swiveled about. "If it helps, I'm seeing a lot of civil strife worldwide, especially in the U.S." 

"Ancient history," said bearded navigator Chet. "That was the start of the Cataclysm Wars."

That worldwide collapse of civilization gave rise to soldiers of fortune like Moast. His exceptional talent led to his being chosen as a starship commander by the Mars-based Consortium.

"Warning: scanning two anomalies."

Moast sprawled in the command chair. "Helm, transfer graphics control to the AI. Orchidia, we may have a unique chance to determine the cause of the insanity. Proceed with analysis."

The main viewer featured a human figure alight with thousands of bright dots.

"Violent anarchists and their handlers are infected with nanobots."

Moast traded a puzzled look with Kyra. "That technology wasn't available at the time. It suggests an offworld source."

"Collating a series of unexplained events. All are beyond scientific plausibility."

Kyra frowned. "If not scientific, that leaves the supernatural."

It caused the AI a rare second of hesitation. "There is no verification of the supernatural. However, I have used a matrix construct to locate the origin of these events."

Moast stared at the screen. A man with a goatee stood with a mischievous-looking woman and a large-boned man in a suit. At the end was a dwarf in logger's cap. He read the graphic. "The Wicca Horror Show?"

"I am scanning a super intelligence that has just become aware of us. The source is verifiably offworld. In addition, the dwarf and the female vibrate at different galactic frequencies compared to indigenous forms. They are not from this dimension."

Moast took a  moment to digest it all. "Are these people responsible for the wars? They must be stopped. Kyra, you're with me. We'll need clothing from this era."

"There's a bigger problem," Kyra said as they walked to the turbolift. "Can they or will they help us get back to our own time?"

Stereo Pairs as Inspiration

 

We've seen stereo pairs before: you look "through" the screen until the two images overlap. That third image--in the center--will be in 3D.  Hint: look between the L and R at the top, then make them overlap. The view directly below will be 3D.  That places you right in the cockpit with Koenig and Helena. Now you're off and running with a fanfic adventure. If Space 1999 isn't your bag, there are other stereo sets you can do a search for. Harry Potter is one example.

Borga Lisa

 

Disaster! The Borg went back in time and. . . .well, you know.