I've said this before, and it bears repeating: the point of a video game is to make you feel heroic. You're meant to pilot a character that has the ability to triumph over all adversity placed in your way. One way this is done is by giving the player everything he needs to progress through the game -- maybe not all at once, but certainly by the climax of the title. Simply giving the player control over his destiny removes most of what makes horror so effective. There is no danger of feeling helpless for too long, or the game wouldn't be fun to play. This is why cut scenes are so frustrating; the lack of control over the character's actions.

Thematically, horror operates at a different level than its cousins in genre. The goal in an action movie is to defeat the villain. The goal in a science fiction movie is to solve the problem. The goal in a fantasy movie is to realize your true potential. The goal in a horror movie is to survive. And while survival under extreme conditions in reality is heroic, for a video game, there must be more.

Another problem arises from the difficulty of merely playing a challenging game. If you're meant to navigate an alley filled with zombies and you're running out of ammunition for your gun, you may have to run the gauntlet many times in order to find the best way through, dying many times in the process. This builds up frustration, which is not conducive to the paralyzing effects of fear.

What's more, this could be thought of as the anti-Jack Thompson argument. If, as he postulates, violent video games teach players how to kill because they're the ones who are directing the action, then the corollary to this is that by being in control of their own actions in a game, the player is less likely to experience horror. The back-of-the-mind knowledge that it's just a game subtly filters through the consciousness and removes much of the threat from any on-screen antagonist. By reducing the pure sensation of fear and dread into nothing more than button-pushing mechanics, games have sabotaged themselves from being valid vehicles for terror.

Now, obviously, there is still a great deal of value to be had in playing so-called horror titles. One of the primary reasons that we, as a society, continue to create horror is that we crave that cathartic reaction of seeing our worst fears played out in a safe, behind-the-glass manner. There may well be an inoculating effect to being able to mow down a horde of bloodthirsty creatures with a railgun, providing our nightmares with an added element of empowerment. To say nothing of the powerful exorcising effect for the developer of being able to put his own personal monsters into a game and blowing them away with a shotgun.

Because let's not forget one of the methodologies of phobia therapy, which is to slowly expose oneself to the object of fear, first by looking at a picture of it, then moving on by stages into actual physical confrontation. Perhaps horror games provide this sort of therapeutic effect, allowing us to battle our inner demons from safely behind a glass screen. Regardless, video games still have a long way to go before providing the same level of true horror evident in our favorite movies and books. Will they get there eventually? I'm afraid to ask. Maybe it's better that they don't; I don't need another haunt cluttering up my psyche.