Editors’ Note: J. Rohr is a Chicago native known for his dark humor, and love of history. He can be found online at www.honestyisnotcontagious.com dealing with the more corrosive aspects of everyday life, and on Twitter at @JackBlankHSH.
Horror isn’t always about blood, screams, and terror. Sometimes it’s unsettling truths which conjure crushing revelations. Blood washes away, screams fade, but knowledge is inescapable. It’s almost cancerous. In that regard, The House on the Borderland is certainly carcinogenic.
As such, the only
hope is that the source of its knowledge is unreliable, perhaps even mad. However, when the only hope is for an insane narrator
there is no hope. Irrevocable
revelations about reality have speared the mind of whoever is lamentable enough
to learn: the dust mites don’t control
the universe. This is an element at the
heart of William Hope Hodgson’s The House on the Borderland. However, like the cosmos, it…
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Dark Perceptions 