Flash Fiction Month 2018, Day 11
There was once a city with wealth beyond measure. Its streets were gardens, with statues in every alcove and trees in every square. By day travellers marked the place by the mist that rose from its fountains, and by night the smoke that rose from the palace spire. The city was a lighthouse to the desert’s sea: those who passed by knew no bandits dared to stalk the roads in the places where it watched, and those who passed through knew they were sure to find cool water and a warm bed.
Though this city was home to many guards who manned towers set about its border or patrolled its roads on horseback, the king himself would often watch over the land from the palace spire. His advisers were wise and the court’s demands few, so the lord of that high palace spent his days in much the same way as the lowest of his soldiers. He did, however, have one luxury they did not: an ingenious device—a gift from an alchemist—that allowed him to view passers-by on the horizon with such clarity that they might have been walking through the gardens below.
One day, while watching over the desert, the king happened to notice a figure upon a camel, robed in garments of dust-stained linen. The sight of such a traveller was far from unusual, but this figure did not seem to be travelling at all. Observing him through the alchemist’s device, the king saw that he was indeed merely seated upon his camel, motionless in the desert. Fearing some misfortune, the king sent for a guard to ride out to meet him. Continue reading
I’ve always felt that less is more when it comes to horror. In films or in fiction, a monster is always scariest when it’s not around: or you think it’s not around. The moment it pops out at you, you know where it is, and in many ways that makes it a lot less frightening.
This is even more true in games. It’s always seemed to me that the strongest section of any game in the Resident Evil franchise is the opening, even though the most hideous monsters tend to pop up towards the end. The reason for this is simple: it’s far scarier to inch your way through a dark room knowing there might be something inside than it is to rush through a place that’s already swarming with zombies. Typically there’s a trade-off in terms of gameplay because more zombies mean more action, but for pure scare-power nothing quite matches up to that tense first hour or so.
This is not the case with Five Nights at Freddy’s which, if anything, gets scarier as it goes on. Personally, I loaded it up the first time around just because I was curious. At this point, I’m not sure I’ll ever finish the thing. Continue reading