Her grandfather scared her, and sometimes did things to her.
—Nina Kiriki Hoffman, “A Resonant Darkness” in Cold War Cthulhu (2025) 76
Child protagonists are an interesting choice for horror stories. They are often innocent, ignorant of the way the world works, ignored by grown-ups, relatively powerless against threats they cannot name, prone to fantasy and flights of the imagination, yet credulous to their own senses and the existence of the supernatural. A child in danger tugs at the heartstrings of many, and often readers can sense and understand that a child is in danger before the character realizes it, which helps to build tension.
More than that, perhaps, adult readers know the ways that children are vulnerable to abuse. There is an intersection of real-world fears that underlies every interaction in a story told from a child’s point of view. Not just predation, but the need to grow up too soon, the way their childhood can be taken from them, how easily traumatic events can upend their lives and rob them of safety and security.
Home, where she helped Mom take care of the five younger children. Mom had weird moments where, if one of the babies was crying, she’d curl up in a corner with her hands over her ears. Then Twyla would go in and take the bay out of his or her crib and check and change the diapers and warm up formula and feed the baby, and the baby would relax, and eventually Mom would come out of her weird fit and pretend it never happened.
—Nina Kiriki Hoffman, “A Resonant Darkness” in Cold War Cthulhu (2025) 76
Adding a supernatural element to that mix can either be the nudge that turns domestic tragedy into dark fantasy or stark horror. In the hands of a skilled writer, it can sometimes redefine the nature of the seemingly mundane if terrible threat. Recasting child sexual abuse or the early shouldering of responsibilities for a failing parent into…something else, more disquieting.
Preparation, perhaps. Or initiation.
There is a history of Mythos fiction centered around a child protagonist or victim, the most famous stories of which are probably Robert Bloch’s “The Unspeakable Betrothal” (1949) and “Notebook Found in a Deserted House” (1951). Nina Kiriki Hoffman’s “A Resonant Darkness” is alike to these stories in some of the techniques: the child is often isolated; adults are either powerless to help them, or prove complicit in their victimization. Someone wants something from the children, and without any support network, they are left alone to face whatever seeks them.
In terms of plot, “A Resonant Darkness” feels more like a prologue than a complete story. Many questions are left unanswered, and while there is a beginning, middle, and end, the story feels like a beginning—certainly it is for young Twyla. The story earns its place in the anthology Cold War Cthulhu due to its setting: 1958, the World’s Fair in Denmark, where a visit to the U.S.S.R. exhibition to see Sputnik 2 prompts thoughts of the things in the outer darkness and the sacrifices made to them their, animals sent up as astronauts to die in space, far from home. It is a workable setting for the theme, although for plot purposes, the time and place matter less than the relationships and actions involved.
It’s the child in danger that matters, that keeps the reader on their toes, and keeps them reading to the last page.
Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos.
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Deep Cuts in a Lovecraftian Vein 