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TedTalk: Lessons from a terrified horror researcher

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TedTalk: Lessons from a terrified horror researcher

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Mathias Clasen is a researcher in horror media and has spent years getting to the bottom of the paradox of horror: Why do people seek out the kind of entertainment that’s designed to make them feel bad? Drawing from research on human cognition and evolution, Mathias argues that our appetite for horror and our fascination with monsters run deep in our nature. Horror entertainment serves important functions for us by satisfying a deep-seated need for imaginative experiences with scenarios of danger. Essential Questions: What kind of horror media do you enjoy most: movies, books, games, or real-life, but controlled scares? Is there any horror media you choose not to consume?

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Lessons from a terrified horror researcher | Mathias Clasen | TEDxAarhus

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A Will-O'-The-Whisp has two meanings: in literature, a Will-O'-The-Whisp is meant as metaphorically referring to a hope or goal that leads one on, but is impossible to reach, or something one finds strange or sinister. In folklore, it's an atmospheric ghost light seen by travelers at night, especially over bogs, swamps or marshes,  said to mislead travelers by resembling a flickering lamp or lantern. In his poem, Madison Julius Cawein sets a spooky scene of an unnamed individual getting lured into the night... Essential Questions: What is the scene Cawein is showing to us? What is the meaning of the phrase at the end of the poem "the face of me"?

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Will-O'-The-Wisp by Madison Julius Cawein

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Comments & analysis: I. / There in the calamus he stands / With frog-webbed feet and bat-winged hands;

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Video: The History of Halloween - Halloween Traditions Explained

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Video: The History of Halloween - Halloween Traditions Explained

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This YouTube Channel, Mythology & Fiction, delves into the historical origins of Halloween (or known as All Hallows Eve), and how this holiday has grown from the superstition of dressing up to protect themselves from evil spirits to what is known as today. From the holiday itself, to Trick-or-Treating, and to the iconic Jack-o-Lantern, and more, Halloween has undergone a change.
Essential Questions: Did you know that Halloween has religious origins? How do you feel about the commercialism of Halloween now?

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The History Of Halloween - Halloween Traditions Explained

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Article: Vlad the Impaler: The Bloodthirsty Truth Behind Dracula's Namesake

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Article: Vlad the Impaler: The Bloodthirsty Truth Behind Dracula's Namesake

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Taking a look into one of the most famous horror icons, in pop culture and in myth, vampires are all about mystique and intrigue. While the most famous of all vampires is Count Dracula of Romania, he comes from history as inspiration by Vlad Dracul, more commonly known as Vlad the Impaler. The article discusses the historical origins that Vlad the Impaler that connects him to the fictional character.
The guiding questions for the article would be: What other historical figures merged into Halloween? Do you believe that because Vlad the Impaler and Count Dracula are Romanian, it creates a stereotype for Romania?

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Vlad the Impaler, also known as Vlad Tepes or Vlad III Dracula, gave his name to fiction's most famous vampire. The Romanian ruler had been dead for 400 years when Bram Stoker borrowed it for his 1897 novel. As Stoker lifted a moniker from the mists of history, much of the true story of the man who came to be called the Impaler was obfuscated by myth and make-believe.

Yet Vlad the Impaler was a real person, not a mythical monster. His life, though obscured by the haze of the past and distorted by countless fictions, tells a story as dramatic and compelling as the narrative to which he unwittingly lent his name centuries after his death.

The real Vlad the Impaler was born in Transylvania sometime between 1428 and 1431, at the tail end of the medieval era. The sobriquet that he would inadvertently make so famous came from the fact that his father, Vlad II, was a member of the Order of the Dragon, a chivalric order started by the Holy Roman Emperor Sigismund in 1408. Dracula, in the medieval Romanian of Vlad's place and time, meant "Son of the Dragon".

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Vlad became Voivode-a type of military ruler, similar to prince or duke-of Wallachia during a turbulent period, which may explain why he actually ascended the throne three separate times, most of them for relatively short durations.

Vlad's father, Vlad Dracul, had reigned over Wallachia since 1436. Six years into his rule, the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, began to question Dracul's loyalty. Dracul had refused to support a Transylvanian invasion. To prove that he still deferred to Sultan Murad II, Vlad Dracul and his sons, Vlad Dracula and Radu, went to Gallipoli, where all three were promptly imprisoned.
Related: 10 Epic Medieval Battles That Shaped History and the World's Borders
After about nine months, Murad II freed Vlad Dracul, but kept his two sons as hostages. It's unclear exactly when Dracula and Radu were released, but by the time John Hunyadi, regent-governor of Hungary, invaded Wallachia in 1447, the two were back in their homeland. John Hunyadi deposed Vlad II Dracul, ensuring that both he and his eldest son, Mircea were killed.

Hunyadi installed Vladislav II, Vlad's second cousin, as voivode after his invasion. When Hunyadi and Vladislav launched a military campaign against the Ottoman Empire, Vlad saw a chance to take back what was rightfully his.

Thanks to Ottoman support, he was able to retake Wallachia in October 1448. Holding the throne proved much harder. Vlad was driven off and out by the end of the year.

Vlad's return to the throne of Wallachia in 1456 was longer-lived. The alliance between Vladislav II and the Hungarians had turned brittle. Vlad, who had been driven into hiding first in the Ottoman Empire, then Moldovia, then Hungary, saw a chance to once again retake his throne, this time with his own Hungarian aid.
Related: 5 Dumb Military Tactics That Actually Worked
The campaign was a success, and Vladislav was slain in battle. Vlad once more assumed the title of Voivode, and began a rule that would last until 1462. It was during this time that much of Vlad the Impaler's bloodthirsty reputation would become cemented.

To strengthen his position and-according to some contemporary scholars, especially in Romania, where Vlad is considered a national hero-to secure public order in the region, Vlad began a purge of local boyars, the regional nobility. According to various sources, hundreds or even thousands of people were executed during this time, some of them impaled on wooden spikes, the action for which Vlad would become best known.

Perhaps the most well-known, though likely apocryphal, tale is that of a banquet Vlad held. Supposedly, Vlad invited hundreds of boyars to a feast at his home, then ordered a mass stabbing of his guests. Each boyar was then impaled and left to die, still moving, upon their stakes.

Vlad came into conflict with neighboring Saxon villages. After any attack, he would reportedly bring captives back to Wallachia to be impaled. "When a man or a prince is strong and powerful he can make peace as he wants to," Vlad wrote in one of his first letters during his second reign, "but when he is weak, a stronger one will come and do what he wants to him."

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Related: Behind the Crown: 8 Books About Royalty
This approach worked for Vlad for many years. He continued to consolidate power and seemingly found gratitude amongst his people for protecting them from outside raiders. Wallachia was doing so well that they were able to dictate the terms of trade within their borders. Vlad even stopped paying his dues to the Ottoman Empire, feeling that the Wallachians were secure.

Near the end of 1461 or the beginning of 1462, Mehmed II, Murad II's successor, sent two envoys to Wallachia, demanding that Vlad come and pay homage to him personally. Instead, Vlad had the two men impaled. Then, in February of 1462, he led an attack against Ottoman territory in a battle that cost the lives of tens of thousands of Bulgarians and Turks.

The Ottoman Sultan raised an army "second in size only to the one" that occupied Constantinople in 1453 and marched against Wallachia. They intended to topple Vlad's regime and replacing him with his younger brother, Radu. Driven back by the superior numbers of the sultan's army, Vlad attempted to capture the sultan himself at Târgoviște-but attacked the wrong camp.
Related: 11 Beautiful Medieval Castles History Lovers Can Visit Today
When the sultan's army followed the retreating Vlad into Târgoviște, they found the town deserted and surrounded by a "forest of the impaled" stretching for more than a mile. According to The Histories by Laonikos Chalkokondyles, a contemporary of Vlad's, "There were large stakes there on which, as it was said, about twenty thousand men, women, and children had been spitted."

"There were infants too affixed to their mothers on the stakes, and birds had made their nests in their entrails," Chalkokondyles continued. Upon seeing this, "The sultan was seized with amazement and said that it was not possible to deprive of his country a man who had done such great deeds, who had such a diabolical understanding of how to govern his realm and its people. And he said that a man who had done such things was worth much."

By today's standards, the mass murder committed by Vlad and his troops would likely be considered genocide. Former Romanian Minister of Defense and current Member of the European Parliament Ioan Mircea Pașcu has said that Vlad would have been "condemned for crimes against humanity had he been put on trial at Nuremberg."

Despite several victories, more and more of Vlad's followers deserted him to follow his brother Radu. Ultimately, Vlad sought the aid of Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, who had him imprisoned rather than risk war against the Ottoman Empire.

While Vlad was in prison, Basarab Laiotă toppled Radu from the throne of Wallachia. When Vlad was released three years later in 1475, he launched an army of Moldavian and Hungarian troops against Basarab, forcing him to withdraw and beginning Vlad's third and final reign as Voivode of Wallachia.

It was short lived. Basarab returned with Ottoman reinforcements. Vlad died in battle, likely sometime in the beginning of 1477.
Featured photo: Wikimedia Commons
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Ironically, modern sources believe that Bram Stoker actually knew very little about Vlad Tepes when the author borrowed his sobriquet for his famous literary vampire. What he did know was probably drawn from William Wilkinson's Account of the Principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia with Political Observations Relative to Them, which had been published in 1820.

Stoker likely chose Vlad because he was the most famous medieval ruler of the Romanian lands, and Stoker was already planning to tie his book to Transylvanian superstitions which he had read about in an article by Emily Gerard.

Long before Bram Stoker immortalized his name, however, Vlad was more than capable of selling books on his own merit. Stories of his bloody deeds had begun circulating even before his death, and German-language books depicting his cruelty were among the first "bestsellers" in Europe. Perhaps it should come as no surprise that the literary infamy of Vlad the Impaler continued long after his death.

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Vlad the Impaler: The Bloodthirsty Truth Behind Dracula's Namesake

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The mists of legend rose up around Vlad III Dracula nearly immediately, thanks in part to the Gutenberg press's invention. Discover the bloody truth behind his reign.

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One of Edgar Allen Poe's most known works, the Tell-Tale Heart, tells a story of an unnamed man who addresses the audience that although he's overly nervous, he is not mad. He was caring for an old man, but he was afraid of his one pale eye, and every night he would check to see if that eye was closed. One night, the old man woke up and hearing the heart pound made the man think the neighbor would hear it, so he killed the old man and hid his heart under the floorboards. When the police looked into the old man's passing, he was going to get away with it, until he heard the heart beat, and began to feel paranoid that the police could hear it and then he drastically exposed where the heart was.
The guiding questions for this short story would be: How does the narrator feel immediately after he commits the murder?  Do his feelings change after the killing? Is his nervousness madness? Do you feel like the narrator is a reliable narrator?

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Hear "The Tell-Tale Heart" read aloud.
The Tell-Tale Heart

True! - nervous - very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses - not destroyed - not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily - how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture - a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees - very gradually - I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded - with what caution - with what foresight - with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it - oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly - very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! - would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously - oh, so cautiously - cautiously (for the hinges creaked) - I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights - every night just at midnight - but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers - of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back - but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out - "Who's there?"

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; - just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief - oh, no! - it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself - "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney - it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "it is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel - although he neither saw nor heard - to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little - a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it - you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily - until, at length a single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.

It was open - wide, wide open - and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness - all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.

And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses? - now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! - do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me - the sound would be heard by a neighbor! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once - once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye - not even his - could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out - no stain of any kind - no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all - ha! ha!

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o 'clock - still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, - for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbor during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, - for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search - search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: - it continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness - until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; - but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased - and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound - much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath - and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly - more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men - but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed - I raved - I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder - louder - louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! - no, no! They heard! - they suspected! - they knew! - they were making a mockery of my horror! - this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! - and now - again! - hark! louder! louder! louder! louder! -

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! - tear up the planks! - here, here! - it is the beating of his hideous heart!"
Edgar Allan Poe January 1843 Illustration by Harry Clarke

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Hear "The Tell-Tale Heart" read aloud. True! - nervous - very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses - not destroyed - not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute.

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This small graphic web novel created by Em Carrol is intended to be the first piece to present to the class. A story of two brothers who go and hunt a monster that has been terrorizing their village, where they successfully kill the monster, and the more perfect brother was killed by his own brother. After framing it as the beast and being hailed as a hero for some days... His brother returns from the woods, unharmed, and joyful, embarrassed at getting lost. And no one questions it, except the brother, who knows very well that his brother is dead. The guiding questions for this web novel would be: Is that really the brother? What is the significance of digging holes? Does the ending have any real meaning?

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This poem by Louise Glück would be delivered as a means to show how Halloween can inspire unique works of poetry. Seemingly innocent and a little bit spooky, the poem describes a landscape, a farm at night, with a field that's barren. After the wife calls out to someone, a soul creeps out of the trees.
The guiding questions for the poem would be: Is the soul that left the tree a person, or is it a ghost? How would you describe all Hallows Eve with this poem?

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All Hallows by Louise Glück | Poetry Foundation

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One of the most iconic poems by Edgar Allen Poe, it describes an unnamed man who is going through grief having lost his love, Lenore. As the man mourns, he hears strange noises: tapping, a raven that talks to him, and his own whisper speaking back to him. He goes through a night of madness as he longs for silence and to be left alone, until he finally ends the night with overcoming his grief.
The questions for this poem would be: Does the poem end the way you expected it to? Is Lenore represented by the Raven, or is it the main character's mind? How is the main character's insanity explored in the poem?

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Helen, thy beauty is to me
    Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
    The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
    To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
    Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
    To the glory that was Greece.
And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
    How statue-like I see thee stand!
    The agate lamp within thy hand,
Ah! Psyche from the regions which
    Are Holy Land!

The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere-
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year:
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir-
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul-
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll-
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole-
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sere-
Our memories were treacherous and sere,-
For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!)-
We noted not the dim lake of Auber
(Though once we had journeyed down here)-
Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent
And star-dials pointed to morn-
As the star-dials hinted of morn-
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn-
Astarte's bediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said: "She is warmer than Dian;
She rolls through an ether of sighs-
She revels in a region of sighs:
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion
To point us the path to the skies-
To the Lethean peace of the skies-
Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes-
Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes."

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said: "Sadly this star I mistrust-
Her pallor I strangely mistrust:
Ah, hasten! -ah, let us not linger!
Ah, fly! -let us fly! -for we must."
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust-
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dust-
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied: "This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its Sybilic splendour is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty tonight!-
See!-it flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright-
We safely may trust to a gleaming,
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloom-
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tomb-
By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said: "What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?"
She replied: "Ulalume -Ulalume-
'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sere-
As the leaves that were withering and sere;
And I cried: "It was surely October
On this very night of last year
That I journeyed-I journeyed down here!-
That I brought a dread burden down here-
On this night of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon hath tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber-
This misty mid region of Weir-
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of "Mother,"
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you-
You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you
In setting my Virginia's spirit free.
My mother-my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,
And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
By that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

XXXIV There is a very life in our despair, Vitality of poison,-a quick root Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were As nothing did we die; but Life will suit Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste: Did man compute Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er Such hours 'gainst years of life,-say, would he name threescore?XXXV The Psalmist number'd out the years of man: They are enough; and if thy tale betrue, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo! Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say- "Here, where the sword united nations drew, Our countrymen were warring on that day!" And this is much, and all which will not pass away.XXXVI There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, Whose spirit antithetically mixt One moment of the mightiest, and again On little objects with like firmness fixt, Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt, Thy throne had still been thine, or never been; For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st Even now to re-assume the imperial mien, And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene!XXXVII Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, Who wooed thee once, thy vassal, and became The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert A god unto thyself; nor less the same To the astounded kingdoms all inert, Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert.XXXVIII Oh, more or less than man-in high or low, Battling with nations, flying from the field; Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield: An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star.XXXIX Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide With that untaught innate philosophy, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled With a sedate and all-enduring eye;- When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child, He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled.XL Sager than in thy fortunes: for in them Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show That just habitual scorn, which could contemn Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to feel, not so To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, And spurn the instruments thou wert to use Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow; 'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose; So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose.XLI If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock; But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy throne,Their admiration thy best weapon shone; The part of Philip's son was thine, not then (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) Like stern Diogenes to mock at men; For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den.XLII But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, Andthere hath been thy bane; there is a fire And motion of the soul which will not dwell In its own narrow being, but aspire Beyond the fitting medium of desire; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore. XLIII This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule:XLIV Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, And yet so nursed and bigotted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.XLV He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow. He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below. Though highabove the sun of glory glow, And farbeneath the earth and ocean spread,Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.

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Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece.

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TedTalk: Hauntings, Histories, and Campfire Tales: What Ghost Stories Tell Us About Ourselves

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TedTalk: Hauntings, Histories, and Campfire Tales: What Ghost Stories Tell Us About Ourselves

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It doesn’t matter if a ghost is real, what does matter is the ghost story. Coya Paz, interim dean of The Theatre School at DePaul University, delves into three different categories of ghost stories and why it’s important to listen closely - because the dead want just as much from us as we want from them. Ghost stories connect people together, it could be silly, sad, or scary, so long as it connects them together. From folktales to old lore, they have an inkling of truth as they come from real history. Essential Questions: Do you know of any ghost stories from your home? Have you ever seen a ghost? Has a family member? Do you even believe in ghosts?

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Coya Paz: Hauntings, Histories, and Campfire Tales: What Ghost Stories Tell Us About Ourselves

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It doesn't matter if a ghost is real. But what does matter is the ghost story. Coya Paz, interim dean of The Theatre School at DePaul University, delves into three different categories of ghost stories and why it's important to listen closely - because the dead want just as much from us as we want from them.

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Article: The Psychology Behind Why We Love (or Hate) Horror

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Article: The Psychology Behind Why We Love (or Hate) Horror

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This article by Haiyang Yang and Kuangjie Zhang delves into the psychology of what it is about the horror genre that makes us scared or in love with it. They suggest three different interpretations of why we do (or don't): One reason is to experience stimulation. Exposure to terrifying acts, or even the anticipation of those acts, can stimulate a person physically and mentally, either negatively, in fear or anxiety, or positively, in the form of excitement or joy. The second is to gain a novel experience, perhaps to overcome fear, or to live out an alternate reality, from zombies to aliens. The last suggestion offered is the most intriguing, that exploring horror allows humans to safely satisfy the darkness of the human psyche, via observing the different storylines actors portray serves as a character study of the human condition.
The guiding questions for this article would be: What reason do you think you fall under for horror? Do you feel attracted to a certain subgenre of horror? What subgenre of horror do you NOT enjoy?

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Article: Why do we like to be scared? USC experts explain the science of Fright

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Article: Why do we like to be scared? USC experts explain the science of Fright

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This news article by Eric Lindberg from USC will help serve as an introduction to students on why people get thrills and chills on Halloween, and why we are fascinated by tales of the dark. This article is meant to provide an expert's insight into the reaction people have to horror, from the body, and from the mind, but also the cultural diversity of horror is unique, and the life lessons that can come from such a grim tale can have on people. The guiding questions from this article would be things such as: What do you feel from scary stories? Is there any life lesson to be gleaned from scary stories, or are they just stories meant to entertain?

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The heartbeat quickens, muscles tense and the stomach churns - all telltale signs of fear.

For some, fear is an unpleasant experience they avoid at all costs. But many others revel in the adrenaline rush of a good scare. They dash off to catch the latest horror flick or gleefully enter a haunted house to be terrorized at Halloween.

So why might we subject ourselves to these frightful ordeals? The answer lies within both the mind and the body, according to USC experts in all things spooky.

Why we like to be scared

Being petrified can be exhilarating and addictive, said Irving Biederman, a specialist in cognitive neuroscience and the Harold W. Dornsife Professor of Neuroscience at the USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences.

"We like novelty, something that departs from our everyday experience," he said. "Some of the attraction of being scared comes from the deviation of having a new experience that we know is safe."

A flood of fear paired with the relief of safety can release naturally occurring opioids like endorphins that signal pleasure, along with a hit of dopamine, a chemical linked to the brain's reward center.

Young children can get especially excited because they don't yet grasp that a haunted attraction or a creepy movie are just make-believe, Biederman said.

"Your amygdala will give you a fear response, an avoidance response to stay away from something that is legitimately frightful," he said. "So, for a child, going to one of these haunted houses could be truly scary."

That might explain why slasher films and scary stories are primarily geared toward people in their late teens and early 20s, said Tok Thompson, an associate professor of anthropology and communication at USC Dornsife.

The transition to adulthood, Thompson said, is "an interesting phase of life in which people are establishing their belief system. They are away from their parents and are often trying to test themselves, to figure out what scares them."

Life lessons lurk in ghost and monster tales

Thompson is an expert in folklore who studies how cultures use stories about ghosts and monsters to shape personal identities and systems of morality.

Fear-inducing tales were useful in early societies as a way to teach children about natural predators like bears and wolves, he said. But as people started to ponder the meaning of life and death, their stories began to reflect that self-recognition and struggle with inner demons.

"The monsters are us, in a sense," Thompson said. "They are that very dangerous part of us. And it's good to recognize and be afraid of those evil parts of yourself."

A good example of ethical guidance embedded in a scary story can be found in the Latin American tale of La Llorona. The spirit of a mother who drowned her children in a fit of jealous rage, La Llorona wails as she regretfully searches for their bodies, bringing misfortune to those who hear her cries.

La Llorona subverts the societal norm of mothers as loving and protective, Thompson said, becoming a cautionary lesson for others to consider when they get angry with their children.

Scary stories can reflect a culture's hidden demons

Thompson teaches "Ghost Stories: Throughout Time and Across the World," a freshman seminar at USC. In it he covers common themes in the folklore of fright across cultures.

Stories of ghosts are prevalent in most societies and often carry cultural implications. In the United States, they feature prominently in connection with slavery and the mistreatment of native tribes, like the trope of the American Indian burial ground as an explanation for supernatural events.

"We like to think of ourselves as a good society in America, and yet we're aware of these horrible things that happened," Thompson said. "They are still haunting us in a metaphorical sense."

Folklore about monsters is also useful when tracking the influence of cultures as people spread across the globe, he said. Zombies are part of West African traditions, vampires have been traced back to Eastern Europe and genii likely originated in the Arabic world.

There's an interesting role these monsters play in shaping our cultures.

Tok Thompson

"There's an interesting role these monsters play in shaping our cultures," he said. "And people are constantly reinventing these stories to talk about what they fear and are haunted by."

Newer themes often deal with science, particularly the potential for technology to turn against its creator. Evil robots and smart devices that turn malevolent abound, like the computer Hal in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Thompson also noted the rise of internet monsters like Slender Man, an abnormally tall humanoid that stalks and abducts children online.

"When these new monsters come up, that shows you people aren't too sure about some of this new technology, that maybe there is something to be frightened about," he said.

Cinema offers window into society's collective fears

Similar trends can be seen in recent films, said Alex Ago, a horror movie buff and director of programming and special projects at the USC School of Cinematic Arts. Modern-day thrillers often reflect fears over technological and biological experimentation, such as the accidental release of a man-made contagion in 28 Days Later.

"Horror as a genre is an expression of the collective anxieties of a society at the time in which these films are made," Ago said. "They allow us to collectively get a sense of catharsis by the vanquishing of these fears."

His go-to example is Godzilla, the classic 1954 sci-fi film featuring a dinosaur-like monster created by nuclear radiation. It's a thinly veiled representation of shared anxiety in Japan about the lingering effects of the atomic attacks during World War II.

"You've got this nuclear monster that's a stand-in for the bomb that rampages through a city like Tokyo," Ago said. "It's only by defeating Godzilla that you achieve that collective catharsis."

Other films in the vein of Halloween and its many knockoffs and sequels, like the Friday the 13th series, tapped into growing fears in the 1980s of random acts of violence and the emergence of the serial killer in the public consciousness.

Zombie films are another illustration of this point, Ago said. A zombie movie might represent concerns about the atomic age as in Night of the Living Dead, fear of supernatural religious forces like in The Serpent and the Rainbow or a critique of mass consumerism as in Dawn of the Dead.

"Conquering the fear of death is at the core of all horror films," he said. "It's the way in which that problem is presented by the film that speaks to the specifics of the society at any given time."

More stories about: Cinematic Arts, Entertainment, Faculty, Research

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Why do we like to be scared? USC experts explain the science of fright

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The heartbeat quickens, muscles tense and the stomach churns - all telltale signs of fear. For some, fear is an unpleasant experience they avoid at all costs. But many others revel in the adrenaline rush of a good scare. They dash off to catch the latest horror flick or gleefully enter a haunted house to be terrorized at Halloween.