So I realized that this is slowly becoming a series on my blog because I really like finding horror in everyday places, and sometimes not-so-everyday ones. I’ve tackled creepy corridors and the dread of the ocean, and I think now that this makes three entries I figured it needed a name. So this is now called the Everyday Fear series, where I tackle this topic and take requests for more areas to explore. Whether it’s something simple like an architecture design or a part of the natural world, I enjoy getting to research and explore the creepy factor!
For this next entry in the Everyday Fear series, I had a fantastic recommendation last week from Priscilla Bettis. (She recently had a horror short story picked up! You should totally go give her blog some love!) She recommended I tackle a location that she herself found frightening, the inside of a glacier.
Now if you’re new to my blog, you may not be familiar with this, but I am a huge wildlife and nature buff. I love watching nature documentaries so my brain is jam packed full of weird little tidbits about nature and unique places around the world.
First, a little bit first about glaciers. They are huge slabs of ice that are partially visible but are mostly submerged underwater. They are also constantly shifting and moving, so you can often hear the movements of the glacier while inside of it. When a glacier calves it can be enormous and incredibly destructive. Here is a short video called “Chasing Ice”, the largest glacier calving ever caught on film.
I’ve never been inside of a glacier, but I have been inside of a cave before in a visit to Tennessee’s The Lost Sea. There’s always that fear in the back of your mind that the cavern will cave in. There’s always that fear of how much weight is hanging over your head, and what could cause it to collapse. Being in a glacier where you’re hearing the ice moving and buckling the entire time you’re inside of it, knowing that something as simple as a temperature change could cause it crashing down on you, can be absolutely terrifying.
Now, after everything I’ve said, would you believe that there are glacier climbers as well? They have to be very careful about which glaciers they climb since choosing one that is close to melting or one that is calving would be super dangerous. It’s risky because science can’t completely guarantee that the glacier won’t collapse.
What places would you like me to tackle next in this series? Have you been somewhere and felt a little voice in the back of your mind whisper those little words: “What if…”? Share them below and I might include it next!
While on a trip down to Florida years ago, we had the benefit of staying in a hotel right on the ocean. The sand dunes ended only a foot away from the wall of the hotel. It was beautiful, but there was also a sense of urgency to it. In a few years it was likely the ocean waters would rise enough to flood the bottom floor of the building. At night a lightening storm blew in from the ocean, and we turned out the lights to our hotel room and sat staring out with the window open to our balcony.
The ocean was completely black and it was too dark to even see the sand or the waves crashing in the distance. All we could see was emptiness. In the intense blackness the roar of the ocean was like a train that wouldn’t stop. Not even flashes of lightening would illuminate the water below or hint at the thrashing waves. In that moment, it was easy to imagine how terrifying it would be to see a dinosaur emerge from the sea to snatch its prey. It was easy to imagine how a ship would get misdirected and crash against unseen rocks. It was easy to see how dangerous it would be out on the ocean in that storm.
There’s nothing quite like the feeling of respect and adoration the ocean gives. It is both beautiful but at the same time dangerous.
In a separate post I made about creepy corridors, I briefly talk about how vulnerable it can feel to be on a boat in the middle of the ocean. At night when I slept listening to the motor of the ship humming in its belly, I wondered what I would do if the engine stopped, or if I would hear the squeal of metal, or if the alert sounded in the middle of the night. Needless to say it took some time to sleep the first couple of nights. During the day the ocean provided a beautiful picturesque paradise and I absolutely adored being able to watch the ship break through the waves. At night however it could be alarming to look out during a storm and see only empty ocean in every direction. (The stargazing, however, was incredible.)
I loved going to the beach, going on cruises, and appreciating the ocean (back when I could), but it’s good to have a healthy respect for it too. Movies and pictures don’t quite grasp the chilling emptiness that comes from looking out at a black, stormy ocean and realizing that anything could be out there.
Or maybe that’s just my love of monsters talking…
Do you have any creepy stories about the ocean that you’ve experienced? Do you know of any other places you want me to tackle in my horror analyses? Let me know below!