Horror, like my longing for adventure, has always been deep in my bones. I’ve always been transfixed by those impossible monsters that lurk in the realm of myth or stalk us by the flickering light of cinema. I love telling people the story of the first time I saw a horror movie, it happened when I was home alone with my brother Kris, and it is true that I was far too young to see what I saw. But then again, seeing A Nightmare on Elm Street at the age of nine, which we found on an unmarked VHS still trapped inside a rented VCR from Video STOP in Snyder, Texas, is probably the best way to do it, if you are going to do it at that age.
Freddy Kruger is the avatar of fear, even in my adult life, he is the chief adversary in my dreams. That dirty brown fedora, the grimy, soot-stained Christmas sweater, and the mangled hand from which hangs razors bathed in crimson.
I’m a grown man and Freddy Kruger is why I am still afraid to let myself dream too deeply.
My story Rig Move, published by Perpetual Motion Publishing in 2014, isn’t a story about a stalking child-murderer, but rather it delves deeper into something more ethereal. If your wondering why I’m talking about Freddy Kruger as a lead into a Cosmic Horror story, let me clear it up for you: In this world there are many perils, snares, and foes of all shapes and kinds, and none of them need to be real in order to be dangerous.
I often talk about the importance of superheroes; that just because Superman isn’t real doesn’t mean that what Superman represents isn’t true. Superman represents the highest quality of happy service to our fellow man rather than forcing him into oppression. Peter Parker, in contrast, is a poor man who has lost and lost and lost, and still cares to save the world that will ultimately destroy him.
But if these noble and valiant things are true of heroes, then the converse must be true for our villains. Fred Kruger is the stealer of innocence, the dark truth about his pederasty hidden just below the surface of his blackened, scarred face. The really scary thing about Freddy isn’t that he’ll show up in my dreams, it’s that there are things in the world that inspire men to dream up monsters like him.
Rig Move is a story about an oil field worker who falls down into a place where men aren’t supposed to go and sees things men are not supposed to see. And so, viewed in just the light of its narrative, the story is a tale of maddening horror- mysterious in its nature, with a fun twist at the end. But the more and more I think about the story, the more I give myself over to its themes and twisting dreamscapes, the more I wonder – What horrible thing has existed in my life, that I have known either consciously or subconsciously, that allowed me to pen truth in this unreal tale?
I like this story. It’s important because it was my first publication as a writer. And I share it with you now, with the fantastic sound engineering of Joseph laboring hands, with the desire that you should first, enjoy it. Secondly, however, I hope that you will open your heart to the shadowy truths that the story conveys. For me, I keep coming back to one question, one troubling question: “What did Harvey and Eddie find in that cave, and why was I so afraid when the story began to describe it?”
It’s only a story, right?