April Ghoul's Day

Cool-Ghoul graphic courtesy of the
Ghost Hunting Theories blog
http://www.ghosthuntingtheories.com

In honor of the new book, "Zombie Housewives of the Apocalypse" to be unveiled today, April 1st at the 2012 World Horror Convention, a select group of bloggers have banded together to showcase horror themes of all kinds.

Horror is a major theme in our work on Wermspittle, but it is not the only theme, we're very interested in the interplay of the rational and irrational, the real and unreal, Beauty and the Sublime, and how Horror is right there on the continuum of Awe and Dread and Wondrous and Marvelous, words that hold a lot more meaning that what people who use them casually and often are likely to realize.

"Even the dead go armed in Wermspittle. Few are so foolish as to think themselves safe in a place as infested and squalid as this festering mass of ruins, heresies, and outcast remnants from a thousand decaying or extinct principalities. Damnation and revelation walk side-by-side through the rubble-strewn streets of Wermspittle, Beauty and Terror hold court within the burned-out shells of crumbling palaces, Genius and Madness dance wantonly across the ruins of places where no one dares go any more."

(From: Less Than That)

Horror, if you accept Mister Lovecraft's premises and observations as put forth in his excellent essay, is based upon fear of the unknown. In Wermspittle, the Unknown is all around; it has not only intruded into people's daily lives, it has subverted everything around them. Madmen may in fact be correct, but they are still madmen. The world has regained a tremendous amount of uncertainty, ambiguity, and mystery. Weak Points lead to all sorts of places that might not or ought not to exist. The Cold Roads lead the unwary beyond the named or known regions, and even Wermspittle itself is not on most maps. It is a place few outside the immediate regions know about, except in folklore, rumor or superstitions. And those who know anything know that it is a bad idea to travel to Wermspittle in Winter.


"It is a strange old place, much haunted and folded in upon itself many times over as though collapsing under the weight of all its sins and secrets. It is as if all the emptiness of this place outweighed the occupied sections. Wild beasts have taken up residence in overgrown gardens. Toothsome snails slither along the cracked and peeling walls of the damper areas. Weird roots grow bloated beneath the floors of empty houses. Feral children, changelings and throwbacks of various sorts congregate behind the heavy chimneys of the rooftops, despite the danger posed by hunchbacks, prowling grotesques or worse things. And there are worse things lurking within the cellars, the closets, and the attics of this dreary place. Things that feed, and things that whisper, and things that take more than just their name from the dead. The streets are not safe at night. The surrounding woods and the near roads are even more treacherous whether they are obscured by the lingering fog or revealed by the pale moonlight. As bad as it might be in Wermspittle, it is far, far worse on the outside."

(From: Introduction to Wermspittle)

The real root of all the horrific things that take place in Wermspittle, from the Corruption Trade based off of the by-products of the White Powder and how it degrades and destroys human beings, to the Winter-time trade in 'Questionable Meat,' just to name two strong examples, is all about the consequences of appeasement and accommodation. In Wermspittle, the majority of the people allowed bad things to go unchallenged and slowly, at first, things eroded and became corrupted and tainted. Then the process accelerated. In the midst of the Midwive's Rebellion they hung (nearly) all the lawyers thereby effectively ending the rule of law, though the Low Courts still function, after a fashion and there are wandering Jurists backed-up by their gangs companies of thugs Bailiffs.

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

In Wermspittle it will take extraordinary efforts to roll back the deeply entrenched forces of evil, forces that have had their way for a long, long time and aren't about to give up without a fight. Moral courage failed in the past, mostly because it was not backed-up with action. Horrific conditions have become the norm, the basis of traditions, accepted as facts of life to be endured when necessary, and to be ignored when the good weather returns. Evil has been allowed to triumph. But it need not, must not be allowed to go on. The only question is; what will you do about it?

Abandoned By Reason (Wermspittle)

“Fantasy, abandoned by reason, produces impossible monsters; united with it, she is the mother of the arts and the origin of marvels.”

Francisco Goya

In Wermspittle it is said that 'Genius is but Madness, after a fashion.' They appreciate Madness in Wermspittle. They truly do. It has been a staple of their existence for as long back as anyone can remember, recall or recollect, even among the hierarchies of the dead and the spirits imprisoned within the most ancient reliquaries, ossuaries, and mausoleums.

Conventional wisdom broke down before it ever even reached this place; so say the Midwives.

It is considered bad luck to kill a lunatic at night.

Change, transformation and transgression circulate through Wermspittle like the smoke pouring off of the military crematoria used to clear out those of the Low Land villages, towns or enclaves where the plagues have done their worst. In these days when the dead rise to wage war, flesh melts into strange new forms under the influence of thinking diseases, and even immortals are not above the ravages of a terrible wasting that obeys no established rule or diagnosis; nothing is what it once seemed nor will any of it ever be again.

A Prodigy can be either a beautiful or a terrible thing, and often are a bit of both.

But in truth, nothing ever really was as it might have once seemed. The Past is as much fiction as the Future, only now the Present has caught-up with them both and we know them all to be ambiguous pluralities, overlapping and interpenetrating, like a bezoar caught in a Goddesses' throat. Like a bit of barbed-wire stuck in the craw of a fat magpie. A tumor metastasizing within the guts of a walking corpse. In a place so riddled with Weak Points, surrounded by the Cold Roads, where the Adjacent Worlds and Parallel Realms are imminent and accessible, no longer theories or abstractions...Time grows strange and the Unreal often has its own feelings about things.

Wermspittle was abandoned by reason, or else it was killed and eaten during one of the first Winters; so say the Butchers along the Low Streets.

Horrors are the warped reflections of Wonders and Marvels.

Plague victims are as often turned prophetic as monstrous by the horrid effects of contagions carried up from the Low Lands. Patients may be possessed, Unfortunates might still be vectors for fresh teratogenic effects or after-shocks. The Poxed are to be pitied because they lost all semblance to whatever humanity they might have once had long, long ago when their infections were still only diseases that might have been treated.

Once. Long ago. When it might still have mattered.

Dice play God with the Universe; so say the gamblers hiding in squalid cellars and filthy dens to avoid the Debt-Collectors and Catchpoles.

Ignorance proliferates wherever fear is catered to and not challenged.

Worst of times? Best of times? What does any of that matter when it is survival that occupies every waking thought, invades ones dreams and demands outrageous sacrifices, imposes terrible consequences and forces everyone into confronting decisions both horrific and unconscionable.

Evil flourishes in the absence of action on the part of those who know better.

What is, frankly, should not be. It cannot, should not persist, let alone endure. Flux, turmoil, transition--if ever there was a time for a determined few to make a very real difference...