Maintaining the Horror Campaign – Exiting the Comfort Zone
Demon: I’m not Regan.
Father Karras: Well, then let’s introduce ourselves. I’m Damien Karras.
Demon: And I’m the Devil. Now kindly undo these straps.
Father Karras: If you’re the Devil, why not make the straps disappear?
Demon: That’s much too vulgar a display of power, Karras.
—from, The Exorcist
Cobwebs. Lots of cobwebs. You’re running a horror game tonight, and you need the right atmosphere, so the apartment is coated in stretched out cotton with the occasional plastic spider ring tossed in. Last week you assembled a playlist of spooky music, and your work is paying off as Tocata and Fugue spins out the MP3 player. Ten minutes before the players appear, you light insense and let the scent waft in the air. The lights are dimmed and the candles lit (though, you’re carfeful to keep the candles away from the cotton.) The players appear, and walk through the threshold of your apartment with a devilish smile on their faces. Tonight, the players’ characters will be guests to a dark baron; a vampire in disguise. Everything is primed for an excellent night of horror.
Within a few minutes of the adventure, however, everyone slips into their usual routine. The players, being players, are suspicious of all foreshadowing. The dark baron is an ovbious villain and he’s therefore supernaturally evil. The players prepare themselves against every detail, except for the one time you didn’t give any warning, and they called fowl.
The clock strikes eleven, and you wrap up the game, seeing your players to the door. As you blow out the candles and pull down the cobwebs, you think back on the night. It wasn’t a bad game by any stretch of the imagination. Everyone had fun. It’s just… well… that’s not what you had in mind. You weren’t expecting to scare the players, but it would have been nice if you excited them, or, at the very least, creeped them out. But tonight’s adventure ran like all the other adventures these players played, with a couple more props than usual. What did you do wrong?
Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong. Your players did. And that’s your fault.
But before we get into what went wrong, let’s go over what went right.
There are a lot of people on the internet who’ve written about horror-themed adventures. If there’s a constant among these articles, it’s that almost all of the writers recommend props. The cobwebs, the music, the lighting and insense are good choices. In fact, these choices are so good, that some internet articles on horror campaigns begin and end with “Use lots of props. Here are my suggestions:” But the use of props alone can’t be the difference between a normal game and a horror game. So why do these writers focus so much on the props?
It’s true; it’s easier to write about physical objects. But candles and music also tug at the memory centers of your brain, pulling up associations you haven’t used for years. The tinkling of soprano wind chimes can transport you to grandmother’s front porch, creaking back and forth in a warped, peeling rocking chair while the dogs play in the high grass. A whiff from a sea breeze scented candle can prompt you to snag your hand through dried out hair, while your mouth waters for another sugary slice of beach pizza.
Props open us up in a way that game manuals and dice can’t. No illustration in a book can replace the rough texture of brick or the musty sweet smell of cinamon. Crush some pine needles, and you’re in a forest. Burn frankensense, and you’re in church. Our unconcious brain collects information, despite whatever puzzle our concious brain is grappling with. With time, you’ll forget both. But run your bare feet on a deep pile carpet, and a slew of memories will shoot to the front; memories which are tied to your emotional state the last time you riggled the cords of a carpet between your toes.
This is the point of a lot of horror-adventure-shopping-list-articles. Props evoke memories and emotional responses. You want to scare your players. So why are you reminding them of Halloween? The associations people make with that holiday are often good clean fun. But people also tense up around Halloween, expecting a surprise or two. When you show your players fake cobwebs, your players will retreat into themselves. They’ll open doors with weapons drawn when they hear the strain of traditional vampire waltzes. Your props have the right theme, but they fail at their obvious purpose: to give the players a chance to scare themselves.
Let’s take a step back and look at the theme movie for today’s article: The Excorcist. The scenes that most people take away from this horror classic is that of a young girl tied to her bed, locked in a battle of wills with two priests excorcising the demon within her. The scene is dramatic and visceral, but all of this action takes place in the last fifth of the movie. In Start Well, End Well, Sacrifice the Middle, I wrote that game masters should strive to skip the set up and start with the action. Why did William Friedkin, director of The Excorcist, choose to keep the long set up established in the book?
The reason is that the ‘good parts’ of The Excorcist would feel too random without the accumulation of details which prepare us for the final scenes of the movie. Father Karras is confronted with his mother’s illness and doubts his faith. Something unexplainable is wrong with Regan McNeil, who’s body is wracked with seizures. Her mother is willing to pay any amount of money to fix her daughter, but Regan’s doctors can only attribute her convultions to ‘puberty’. They don’t have a proper explination for what’s wrong with her. In a striking scene, while her mother hosts a party, Regan walks downstairs in her nightgown. As party guests turn to see who entered the room, Regan gazes into the void beyond the company. She then urinates, soaking her bedclothes, dripping onto the carpet.
What is the point of this scene? It’s not scary, but the audience is filled with revulsion and confusion. We don’t know why Reagan is acting this way, but we know ‘fixing’ Regan will take more than what traditional medicine covers. Regan is unwell on multiple levels. Something is very wrong, and our innability to understand Regan both disturbs movie goers and leaves them sensitive toward the plot in a desire for answers. Later, when the movie reaches into the surreal, the audience accepts it because they opened themselves to possibilities, and are suspending disbelief in search of a conclusion.
This the role your props should play in your game. They’re here to wake your players up to possiblity, and to stir a deep emotion. The props themselves, however, shouldn’t instill fear. Your selection should include textures that demand to be touched, music or sound effects that keep players invested in the game without offering dramatic spikes and earthy scents that rummage the player’s brain pan for nostalgic twists. You don’t need to heavy hand the connections. Without explicit instructions, humans make their own connections. All you need is to provide your players with material, then move to the plot.
But the most important thing to remember when using props is why you’re using them. Props are here to jog players out of their comfort zone, and get them to act and respond in ways they weren’t prepared for. The more players move from their heels to their toes, the more likely they are to jump when you surprise them, and the more likely they are to surprise themselves. If making the players uncomfortable is the plan, then there are a number of other options available to you beyond the introduction of props. Feel free to use any or all of these suggestions:
Remove the table and the miniatures: There is no bigger distraction for an elaborate story than a pile of intersting miniatures and a complex tactical map. Sometimes the map helps to simplify an otherwise complex description, or makes a fun change of pace. But if your players can’t focus on the props, players or the story, than the table is your most likely culprit. Personally, I’ve found a sitting room environment with plenty of endtables for rolling dice does wonders for the player’s ability to tell a story and communicate with each other.
Ditch the game master screen and sit among the players: This option is more about attitude than it is about physical objects. The idea here is to think of yourself as a player among players, and act accordingly. Ask your players for advice. When you aren’t prepared for something, for example the players enter the basement of a house you never expected them to be in, ask another player to describe what’s down there. Cede control of the game. If you’re having problems with players who can’t go with the flow of a horror game, then the best thing you can do is lead by example. Scare yourself, and the players will follow.
Stop rolling dice: Dictate the action. Ask your players to do the same. Dice make an excellent tool for adding a sense of excitement, and build a sense of fairness into your game. But roleplayers use them all the time, and take for granted the security they feel when they roll their dice. If you want your players to be uncomfortable, few things will set them at edge more than taking their precious dice away. Horror, by its nature, is unfair. Take advantage of the mob mentallity of your group to dictate story, and leave individual players feeling vulnerable.
Have some players play NPCs: Over time your players build a raport with you. They know its not in the game master’s best interest to kill their characters. So when a dangerous situation comes up they trust everything will work out for the best. Just to be safe, however, your players won’t stick their necks out. After all, the most likely reason that a player would die in a campaign was if he or she did something stupid. If you don’t take risks, you won’t do stupid things and you won’t die.
Players, however, don’t have the same scrupples that game masters do when playing non-player characters. To the player, it often doesn’t matter if the NPC lives or dies. This gives them an opportunity to roleplay by the seat of their pants. Meanwhile, the other players in the game can’t out predict a player in charge of an NPC. If offered a lot of money, would the NPC betray the players? Probably. He might bungle the job, or he may be an effecient assassination machine. That mostly depends on the attitude of the player playing the NPC. Your players may be able to judge what you would do to furhter the story given certain restraints, but they don’t know how the other players would react when given the opportunity.
Eat: We’re not talking about chips and soda here. Prepare a meal, and present it as part of the adventure. Few things get people talking more than food. Food also does an excellent job of dropping the players’ guards. Early in my career as game master, I ran an adventure where the players needed to investigate a tavern owner. Since I knew the players would work their way to the tavern, I set aside a large pile of warm bread and a couple packs of chilled root beer. When the players met the bar keep, I pulled the food out. The players dove in, chomping on the loaves and swigging beer while they questioned the bar keep. The beer, however, was drugged, and knocked everyone out in ten minutes. If, instead, I said to the players, “the barkeep offers you some bread and beer,” without offereing physical food, what do you think my players would have done? I’m guessing they would have questioned the ‘suspicious’ food and refused to eat any, except for maybe one outlying taste tester. Instead, everyone drank a bottle and no one questioned it.
Move: If you want to get your player’s blood pumping, there’s no faster way to do it than through physical activity. Remove the chairs from the room and roleplay while standing, Have the players act out their actions.
Leave: Or leave the house altogether. Grab the pencils and dice and play a session in the woods behind the house, in a musty basement, or in an old warehouse. Peak player’s sense of adventure by visiting places they’ve never seen before, then relating it to the game you’re playing.
In a few weeks, we’ll move onto Chapter 4, and talk about killing your darling players. Until then, avoid conversations with the demon. You may ask what is relevant but anything beyond that is dangerous. He will lie to confuse us. But he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us, so don’t listen to him. Remember that—do not listen.
Return to Maintaining the Horror Campaign – Introduction: Why? Why?!
