In
1982, the cult classic Creepshow
hit cinemas. Written by Stephen King and directed by George Romero,
this anthology film was designed to be an homage to the beloved EC
horror comics of the 1950s, Tales
from the Crypt,
The
Vault of Horror,
and The
Haunt of Fear.
Similar to the comics, it features five unconnected stories, some
serious, some darkly humorous, and some a mixture of both. Also like
the comics, the theme that irresponsible behavior leads to severe
consequences is prevalent. Murderers never get away with their
crimes, and despicable people get what's coming to them.
(Interestingly enough, King himself plays a yokel named Jordy Verrill
in one of the segments, to great effect.)
Five
years later, Creepshow
2
was released. Though produced by the same team, it is, like many
sequels, generally considered to be inferior to its predecessor. It
still packs a wallop, though, with its top-notch special effects and
eerie cinematography, and features a fantastic animated frame story
involving a young horror-comic fan and a group of bullies. It only
has three stories (a fourth was planned but never completed), but all
are arguably excellent. It takes a different approach in the way it
connects to the comics, which is quite satisfying. (King has a bit
part in this one, as well, as a truck driver who makes a couple of
flippant remarks about a hit-and-run.)
The
second story, “The Raft,” is based on a yarn that King published
in Gallery
in 1982 and later appeared in his 1985 collection Skeleton
Crew.
Four college kids are headed to a mountain lake in late September for
a weekend of sex and recreational drug use. To reach the eponymous
raft, they must swim fifty yards or so through icy water. Already,
viewers are wondering why the hell they thought it was a good idea to
do something better suited to summer weather; the only explanation
seems to be that the place will be deserted, thus giving them carte
blanche to party down unobserved. I have no idea what's supposed to
be so special about the raft, but it's clearly a big deal to these
idiots.
Once
they reach their destination, they notice a black slick in the water
that appears to be moving. One of the girls foolishly sticks a finger
in it and is pulled off the raft and devoured. Naturally, the other
three are panic stricken, realizing that trying to get back to shore
is highly unlikely to work, as the thing can probably move faster
than they can swim. To make a long story short, two of the others get
eaten, and the remaining one, cold and exhausted, decides to make a
break for it. He manages to reach shore, but the goo turns into a
wave and engulfs him.
The
nature of the black stuff is never explained, and it leaves viewers
to speculate about what it might be. As the story ends, the camera
pans over to a “No Swimming” sign hidden in the woods, which
serves as a kind of catharsis. One has to wonder, though, about the
lake's previous visitors. It doesn't seem as though they were eaten
because it would have been a big deal, and everyone would have known
to stay away. Is the sign even related to the ooze, or was there some
other reason that swimming was forbidden? The sign has clearly been
there for a while, as vegetation has grown around it, so what are we
to conclude? It would be fair to say that the thing hadn't always
been there, that its incursion into the lake is, in fact, fairly
recent, and that the sign was just thrown in as a joke to wrap the
story up neatly.
One
of the most well-known monsters in Dungeons
& Dragons
is the black pudding. Not unlike the goo in Creepshow
2,
it is a large, moving mass of hungry darkness. It has been a part of
the game since its first edition. Incapable of thought, it is an
amoral killing machine that hangs out in the shadows of dungeons and
caves, waiting to devour hapless adventurers. When Paizo introduced
the Pathfinder
roleplaying game, it included the black pudding in its first
Bestiary.
After much demand from fans, it received its own miniature in the
latest set; it looks about as silly as you'd imagine, but I had to
have one.
I've
always found it humorous that the creature is called a black pudding
because that's the name of a dish popular in England and Scotland.
Over here, we associate “pudding” with the sweet, creamy Jell-O
stuff. On the other side of the pond, it can refer to a number of
different things. Yorkshire pudding, for example, is a kind of bready
thing served with beef and gravy. Pudding in a general sense can
refer to dessert. (In a Monty Python's Flying Circus sketch,
the quixotic Mr. Badger requests whiskey for pudding, as well as for
all of the other courses, resulting in all of the actors deciding to
cut the sketch short for being too silly.) A black pudding, however,
is something else, which Americans are likely to find distasteful.
The
author/intelligence agent W. Somerset Maugham once remarked that if
you want to dine well in England, eat breakfast three times a day.
The British are not known for their cuisine (which might explain why
there are so many Indian restaurants there), but the “full
breakfast” is exquisite. In addition to eggs, bacon, hash browns,
and sausage, it also includes baked beans, half a tomato, and
mushrooms, things not normally associated with breakfast in the
States. I have had the pleasure of having this meal a few times. Its
preparation is pretty time consuming, so it's not something one would
simply whip up on a whim. The other common ingredient in this meal is
black pudding, which is essentially—get ready—fried blood. Yes,
sir. They mix blood with fat and barley and fry it up in a skillet.
The resulting concoction is indeed black.
But
enough about that.
I
have read Stephen King's nonfiction works On Writing and Danse
Macabre, both of which contain autobiographical information, and
he never once mentions having played D&D. It seems
unlikely that he ever took an interest in it, as most of his time has
been consumed by writing. The game was first released in 1974, the
same year that King's first novel, Carrie, was published. Its
success wasn't immediate, and he received a relatively small advance,
so he continued writing furiously, not seeing it as his breakthrough.
When the novel was published in paperback, his work finally paid off,
and once his subsequent novels 'Salem's Lot and The Shining
came out, he had established himself as America's premiere horror
author. Even after that, though, he continued to churn out novels,
stories, and screenplays like mad. He
does not appear to be a gamer.
What
I'm getting at is that the thing in the lake and the black pudding
have nothing to do with each other. King did not get the idea for his
story from D&D. They serve similar purposes within their
respective narratives, but they are unrelated. Both are derived from
an idea that has likely crossed all of our minds at some point: the
menace of shadows. Fear of the dark is a common thing, especially
among children, and what are shadows if not fragments of darkness
that constantly surround us? Light and darkness coexist, but darkness
is more pervasive. You can find areas of complete darkness (inside
the earth, for example), but areas of light without shadow are
nonexistent. Once you introduce an object into light, a shadow is
cast. And what if those shadows have the power to hurt us, devour us?
It is also clearly a metaphor for the idea of becoming lost in the
darkness.
In
the Doctor Who episode “Silence in the Library”/”Forest
of the Dead,” the Doctor and his allies are threatened by the
Vashta Nerada, creatures that live in shadows and, not unlike
piranha, skeletonize those who happen into their territory. This is,
of course, a different concept than an ooze that devours you, but
it's kind of the same thing.
In
short, stay out of the shadows, and don't swim in remote mountain
lakes unless you're looking to become a slime's next meal.