This article kicks off what I hope will be a weekly column highlighting a variety of subjects that I feel are suitable for horror films. My intent is to focus on those very real ideas or events that have been relatively glossed over or overlooked entirely in horror films, all while providing a little dose of education.

"For what seemed ages piled on ages, I lay there, frozen with the most awful fears, not daring to drag away my hand; yet ever thinking that if I could but stir it one single inch, the horrid spell would be broken. I knew not how this consciousness at last glided away from me; but waking in the morning, I shudderingly remembered it all, and for days and weeks and months afterwards I lost myself in confounding attempts to explain the mystery." -Moby Dick

Ever since I began writing about the horror genre I have remained steadfast in my belief that the real world and the many maladies that plague our daily lives have the potential to serve as a greater inspiration for horror films than vampires, zombies, and vampire zombies combined. These types of films, although frightening in their own unique ways, allow the viewer to suspend disbelief for a short while and get lost in a world that has little to no basis in reality. As such, the fear they elicit is short-lived, often ending as the screen fades to black and the credits roll. The terrifying realities of life, however, do not afford us such a luxury.

Films such as The Exorcist, Eden Lake and Session 9, all of which deal with seemingly real fears, are for more apt to leave a lasting impression on the human mind that the latest zombie or vampire film. The Exorcist dealt with religion in a manner that was apropos of the time period; Eden Lake revealed just how dangerous seemingly innocuous children can be; and Session 9, which was inspired by true events, dealt with the fragility of the human mind. These terrifying realities of life that welcome us every morning do little to diminish the paralyzing fears that greet us as we drift off to sleep, blissfully unaware that there is a very real chance that you can wake up completely unable to move.
One morning several years ago, I woke up and could not move. I struggled to lift a finger or move my leg, but I was completely paralyzed. A few short seconds into my struggle I heard a loud ringing in my ears that got progressively louder, a shrill noise not unlike the ringing one hears after a loud concert. Increasing in intensity, panic started to overwhelm me. I was completely aware of everything that was happening, and attempting to call out for help proved futile. After about ten seconds, the ringing came to end with a loud *POP*, and as it faded away I was able to move once again. My heart pounding, i sat up, and made the decision to do everything in my power to recreate that experience.

You have not known fear until you've experienced sleep paralysis, and I say this having experienced the bare minimum of what this condition has to offer. Most everyone is familiar with REM (rapid eye movement) sleep, that period of slumber where dreams are at their most vivid. Studies have determined that sleep paralysis, wherein the body is immobilized during periods of REM that occur at the onset and offset of sleep, occurs in part to dissuade the body from acting out the events that occur in one's dreams. Often accompanying the phenomenon are hypnagogic hallucinations, which can manifest in a variety of ways. Examples include the aforementioned ringing or a loud buzzing noise, a feeling of dread brought about by the sensation that someone is in the room with you, and the sensation that something is pressing down on the chest.

Sleep paralysis is not new to the arts. The condition is immortalized by the 18th-century artist Henri Fuseli in his sprawling 40"x50" painting The Nightmare. Featuring a woman lying resplendent on a bed with an imp on her chest and a wild-eyed horse in the background, the painting seemingly depicts a woman in the throes of sleep paralysis, with her nightmares manifesting themselves in reality. The imp sitting on her chest is said to represent the centuries-old belief that the pressure one feels during bouts of sleep paralysis were caused by demons, specifically incubi or succubi (often referred to as the "Old Hag"). These malevolent creatures were known as mara in Germanic folklore and thought to ride on the backs of horses, bringing with them an etymological link with the term mare, a term for a female horse derived from the Old English mearh, meaning horse. From this arose the term nightmare, which is in turn characterized by the presence of a horse in the painting.

The very notion of a malevolent creature sitting on your chest is perfect for horror, sufficiently representing not only the object but the abject. Merely a hallucination, the imagined physicality of the creature can serve as a source for visceral horror while the notion that its presence is all in your head is perfect for psychological terror. An adept hand can seamlessly merge the two, creating a horror film that's not only believable but effective in inspiring a lingering sense of dread. One, however, would have to be careful to not fall back on pop-horror sensibilities, and instead approach the subject in a way that places all focus upon the victim and his or her experience. There will be no need for a heavy metal soundtrack, nor egregious amounts of blood. Teenagers or college students will be verboten. Given the subject matter, attention would need to be paid to sound design and lighting to achieve its intended effect, all while drawing the viewer in with a storythat makes it seems as if this could very well happen to you.

My bias toward minimalist horror notwithstanding, sleep paralysis folklore is suitable for exploration into the condition while still appealing to a broader fan base (read: not pretentious horror nerds like me). A common concern of mine is the conspicuous lack of effective period horror, and sleep paralysis' presence among countless cultures can serve as an adequate remedy for this. The most common belief is that of the Old Hag, a wicked spirit who leaves the confines of her physical body of the day to sit on the chest of her victims and induces them with nightmares. The figure of the hag is a common belief in southern American folklore, and is considered to be an indication of impending doom or disaster. Think the film Knowing but, you know, not stupid. Among some African communities the condition is known as having "the Devil on your back," while countless other cultures, including the Greeks, Persians, Hungarians, Koreans, Chinese, Japanese and many, many more all have similar stories that put sleep paralysis within the context of a ghost or other malevolent creature asphyxiating the individual while they sleep and rendering them completely immobile.

Sleep paralysis is a simple condition, inextricably linked to the complexities of the human mind and its tendency to foist upon us unimaginable horrors that rival those thought up by H. P. Lovecraft. One of the leading architects of fear, Lovecraft's creations have nothing on the horrifying realities of the utter infallibility of the human mind. We are a fucked up species that need not the shuffling zombie or the blood-sucking vampire to frighten us. Everything we need is right in our heads.

Sources:

http://www.arts.uwaterloo.ca/~acheyne/S_P.html

http://www.stanford.edu/~dement/paralysis.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep_paralysis