Safe Space (Ghosts Welcome)

EDITORIAL | ISSUE THIRTEEN | SPOOKY

Written by Tashi Donnelly (she/her) | @tashi_rd | Editor-in-Chief

Illustrated by Niamh Donnelly (she/they) | @zaxoof | Contributing Artist

Kia ora, nau mai, haere mai! Spooky season is almost upon us, and we’ve chosen to honour the time of year with this very special, first time ever, 13th issue of Debate. As per usual, I looked into the etymology of spooky (I suddenly panicked that I’d accidentally given our final issue of the year a racist name) and found that spook originally entered English around 1801 from Dutch, meaning “ghost”. The less-good news is that spook did later become a racist slur for Black people in the US, but that meaning came well after its ghostly origins and isn’t where spooky comes from. So, after a brief editorial crisis, the Spooky Issue lives on.

Ironically, this issue feels like a lighter one. There is something comforting about spooky stories during our current … I was going to write “political climate”, but it’s more than that, isn't it? The whole darn planet is at the brink of climate collapse. The economy is in the tank. The AI bubble will burst soon and is estimated by some economists to be “ten times worse than the 2008 financial crisis”. Very mindful. Very demure. Very end-of-days.

Anyway, ghosts.

When the world is collapsing, it’s nice to find something else to be scared about. I love the chilling feeling in my spine and the way my hair stands on end when I hear a ghost story. In a way, it's like ASMR. The best part about ghost stories is that they’re (mostly) fictional, and therefore cannot hurt us. Unlike our current Government’s plans to open up more of Aotearoa to mining and oil drilling. That absolutely will hurt us. (Remember to vote in the upcoming general election.)

I promised myself I wouldn’t get too political in this editorial, though, so back to the ghosts. Admittedly, I find most horror films a mixture of boring and scary, a combination of emotional states that should not exist in nature. There are exceptions, but I’m a bit of a Goldilocks when it comes to horror. Everything needs to be just right in several vague, seemingly arbitrary ways. Incidentally, that’s also a perfect description of my favourite kind of horror: vague and seemingly arbitrary. To me, nothing is scarier than an unpredictable, invisible monster. Something I can’t see, but know is there.

The moment a monster is revealed, it has a lot to do to remain frightening. And unfortunately, horror creators often resort to making their monsters disfigured, as though physical difference is inherently terrifying. This seems more than a little unfair to people with facial differences and disfigurements in real life, who probably have enough to deal with without Hollywood using their appearances as shorthand for evil monsters. Personally, whatever my imagination conjures up in the dark is far scarier than anything a special effects department could put together. And let’s be real, Rule 34 is coming for every monster eventually. Today’s nightmare is tomorrow’s sex symbol. I see you, monsterfuckers, and I respect the hustle. 

That’s what makes the real world so frightening, too. Uncertainty, unpredictability, and the horrible feeling that something terrible is lurking just out of sight ... The difference between scary fiction and scary reality is that, in fiction, we get to experience those fears on our own terms. It’s wonderfully cathartic to be scared within the safety of a story. We can indulge in all the dread, anxiety, and adrenaline of something terrifying, knowing that, ultimately, we’re in control. We can close the book, turn off the television, or put down the magazine whenever we like. Real life, unfortunately, doesn’t come with an off switch.

It’s been fun putting this issue together and seeing all the different things our contributors find frightening. We’ve got everything from the horrors of self-inflicted delirium to the terror of watching someone you love suffer. There are childhood folktales that turn out to be far scarier in adulthood, ghosts of the lives we never lived, and the unsettling consequences of traditions we don’t fully understand. Some of these horrors are supernatural. Others are painfully real. That’s what makes scary stories so interesting: they give shape to fears that are otherwise difficult to articulate. Whether it’s grief, regret, helplessness, or the unknown, putting our anxieties into words brings us comfort. Even if those words make us sleep with the lights on.

That’s why this issue feels like a lighter one, despite its rather macabre theme. There’s comfort in choosing what frightens us for a change. So, dear reader, I invite you to indulge in a little fear of your own. Enjoy the strange, the unsettling, and the downright spooky stories within these pages. The horrors of the real world will still be there when you’re finished.

But for now, let’s worry about ghosts.