Lovers in a Dangerous Time: A Selection of Horror Romances
By Pat Brennan
I felt like I was going to throw up.
As the bus I was on lurched through traffic to its final stop downtown, my stomach was busy poppin’ and lockin’ like one of the neon-drenched dancers in Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo. It wasn’t the movement of the vehicle that was causing my gastro gesticulations, though. I was on my way to a coffee shop where, unless she’d wised up and decided to run, a young woman was waiting for me. Her name was Norah. We’d been working together for months, and during the majority of that time, it took everything in me just to make eye contact with her. How I had managed to eventually ask her out boggled my mind (the moment itself felt like an out-of-body experience) and the fact that she had said “yes” was even more bewildering.
Now, with the bus slowing towards its destination, everything in me was saying to run. Norah was smart (intimidatingly so) and deliciously sarcastic. She had a no-bullshit attitude and an air of fearlessness. She was confident, competent, and kind. And, on top of all of this, she was absolutely beautiful. So, it begged the question: why the hell did she say yes to this? Obviously there had been a misunderstanding and I was walking into a situation where I was about to make a fool out of myself. If this went poorly, I’d need to quit my job, leave town, and possibly even fake my own death. “Better to go hide somewhere than chance it,” I thought.
But I didn’t run, and it did not go poorly. We talked for hours, speaking to each other with the ease of two people who’d been friends for years. When one of the shop’s baristas started putting chairs on top of tables so she could mop the floors, we realized the place was about to close. Time had passed so quickly, and we hadn’t even noticed. We left the shop and I walked her to the street corner where our paths would split. I remember nervously asking her if what we’d just been on was a date. It wasn’t what you’d call a “smooth move,” but if I didn’t have clarification, I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. Norah smiled up at me, giving me a look as if to say, “This dope really needs things spelt out for him, doesn’t he?”
Then she kissed me and everything in my life changed forever.
Romance in horror is a difficult thing to write about. So many of the relationships that manage to stay intact when the credits roll (i.e., both participants are still alive) are usually of the shallow variety, typically made up of one-dimensional participants who walk off into the sunset after slaying the proverbial (or sometimes literal) beast together. No real insight is given as to the mysteries of love: what keeps it alive, how it transforms over time, or the truly terrifying things it can make you do.
However, that doesn’t mean there aren’t examples out there of cinematic unions that would give the most hardened of horror fans a case of the feels. What follows are a few that I hold close to my heart.
In David Cronenberg’s remake of The Fly (1986), we meet one such couple. At first, Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) and Ronnie Quaife (Geena Davis) seem to be an unlikely pair, the former being a socially awkward nerd while the latter is a career-focused hardnosed journalist. But as is the case sometimes, compatibility comes in unexpected combinations. The love that eventually blossoms between them is the beating heart of the film. That emotional gut punch we experience during Brundle’s slow deterioration, mutation, and ultimate demise would not hit as hard as it does if it wasn’t for the moments of happiness we see between him and Ronnie before everything goes so terribly wrong.
The spark they have feels so real (which makes sense as the two actors were actually dating at the time) and reflects much of what is so intoxicating about the early stages of a relationship. It’s all breathless nights and whispered promises until you eventually find yourself wondering what you were doing before that person was in your life. Most folks call this the “honeymoon period,” and more often than not it can skew your perception of the connection you think you have with your new partner. You know, “rose-colored glasses” and all that.
In rare instances, though, the happiness you feel in those first weeks and months together is a sign of something deeper making itself known. And when that realization eventually washes over you, it can make you go out on a limb in ways that are horrifying.
I proposed to Norah about a month after our first date. Sorta.
We were walking back to my place after hitting up the supermarket and liquor store. In tow was a loaf of olive bread, a wheel of brie, and 12 bottles of beer. If you looked up the word “decadence” in the dictionary, you would have seen our smiling faces. Then, around the halfway mark on our trip, the heavens opened up and we had to seek shelter under a nearby tree.
Moments before the rain began, we had been playfully making plans about the future. Everything was prefaced with the phrase “when we’re married,” and it kind of felt like the two of us were sheepishly trying to gauge what each other’s reaction to those words was. As seen earlier, I’m not the kind of person who deals well with ambivalence in any way, so as the rain came down around us, I once again asked Norah for clarification.
“So, uhhh, I’m not actually joking about that.”
“Joking about what?” she asked.
“You know, the whole ‘when we’re married’ thing.”
I remember staring at my feet, too terrified to see the look on her face. Nothing was said for a few seconds, and I silently congratulated myself on jamming my foot so far in my mouth that it would probably burst forth from my backside at any moment. Then she took my hands.
“Me neither,” she said.
We kissed for quite some time after that.
One hallmark of a solid relationship is the ability to work as a team. One of the best parts of sharing your life with someone is knowing that you don’t have to go it alone in the world. You have a partner, and together you can take whatever obstacles life throws your way and overcome them. Or, at the very least, share the load. There are many examples of these kinds of power couples in horror, but few top the one found in the 1990 creature feature Tremors.
Burt and Heather Gummer (Michael Gross and Reba McEntire respectively) can be called a lot of things. Survivalists. Gun nuts. Conspiracy theorists. But you sure as shit can’t say they’re unprepared. They’re an army of two and one of the biggest highlights of the film is getting to watch these two violent weirdos work their magic on the “graboids” that descend upon their tiny desert town.
But it’s more than just their action hero insanity and occasional one-liners that make the couple so memorable. It’s the way they work in tandem that endears them to us. Whether it’s putting together a pile of pipe bombs with the precision and speed of a well-oiled machine or having each other’s six as they take on a pissed-off sandworm, Burt and Heather know how to get shit done. That kind of teamwork takes a ton of trust and an almost telepathic link between the partners involved, and that’s exactly what’s happening between these two societal castoffs.
They have their guns and each other. Taken in the context of a monster invasion, you can’t get more romantic than that.
We didn’t get hitched immediately.
In the end, cooler heads prevailed, and we decided that we should probably try living together first before making such a huge commitment. This doesn’t mean we weren’t tempted, though. Once, while we were visiting friends in Las Vegas, I did try to convince Norah that we should elope. A drive-through wedding chapel (featuring an Elvis impersonator as officiator) was right there for the taking, but the idea of our families not being there with us for that moment just didn’t seem right.
On June 21st, 2014, we finally made it official. The day was a complete blur. Looking back now I find it difficult to recall much of it clearly, but there are a few memories that stick out to me. I remember me and my groomsmen laughing as we got ready that morning. I remember my little nephew getting bored during one of the dinner speeches and running around the event hall like a bat out of hell. I remember dancing with my mom and her laughter at my obvious lack of coordination. But the memory that overwhelms me, due to both its clarity and the emotions it brings back, is how it felt standing at the altar with Norah.
No one has ever looked at me the way she did in those moments.
As Father Brennan (no relation) spoke, Norah and I held hands and beamed at each other. Tears spilled from my eyes as if two miniature versions of Niagara Falls were plastered to my face. I was so happy to be able to spend the rest of my life with the woman standing across from me, and absolutely astonished that Norah felt the same way. She chose me. As someone who spent most of his life feeling like he was below everyone, seeing the pride on her face as she said the words “I do” made me feel as big as a mountain.
Vows exchanged, the priest announced that we were now husband and wife. Then, well, you probably know what’s coming next.
To the best of my knowledge, there hasn’t been a more divisive series of films in the past few decades (at least in the horror genre) than David Gordon Green’s Halloween trilogy. The level of vitriol surrounding those movies then and now is just silly, but there’s one thing both sides of the isle can agree upon: the unexpected romance between Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis) and Deputy Frank Hawkins (Will Patton) was goddamn adorable. Watching those two characters, whose entire lives have been marred by tragedy, find a shred of much-deserved happiness together was absolutely lovely and a welcomed breath of humanity in a story that desperately needed more of it.
One scene in particular sticks out. In Halloween Ends, Strode and Hawkins come across each other while shopping at the grocery store. They exchange greetings and some small talk. Color rises to their cheeks, shy smiles spread across their faces, and suddenly these two senior citizens are transformed into a couple of nervous love-struck teenagers. They walk together to the cash register slowly, enjoying the comfort of each other’s company, and you can plainly see the cautious happiness that radiates from them.
It’s a beautiful moment and seeing it for the first time immediately made me think of Norah.
Norah and I have now spent a third of our lives and the majority of our adulthood together. We’ve seen each other at our best and at our worst. And still there are times when I’m around her where my palms get sweaty, and my mouth goes dry and suddenly I’m back to being a terrified 20-something who desperately doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself in front of this woman who miraculously still seems to be interested in him.
In a world full of fear, where nothing is guaranteed and so many things in life fall apart, she’s my one constant. With her by my side, I can walk through any darkness that lies ahead. 🩸
About
Pat Brennan is a freelance writer whose work has appeared in Fangoria, Bloody Disgusting, Dread Central, and Rue Morgue. He lives in New Brunswick with his wife, son, and very needy cat. Follow him on Instagram @ horrordad87.
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