The Fear of Disappearing
I still remember my mom absolutely fascinated by the sixteenth century ‘inexplicable’ disappearance of the settlers at the Roanoke Colony off the coast of North Carolina. Growing up in Norfolk, Virginia and the descendant of coastal North Carolinians, the mass disappearance lived in her imagination more vividly than the fairy tales later settlers brought with them. She knew each and every detail the books left out, the theories about why the ‘doomed’ settlers left the tiny island when their lifeline to Europe sailed away for supplies, and perhaps most impactful on my burgeoning creative mind, where those likely unfortunate people went.
Even then, Mom was almost certain the colonists made their way to the mainland when the elements turned on them and their food depleted. That is, after all, the going theory amongst many modern historians. But that didn’t detract from the mystery for me or for my mother. If anything, the colonists’ final trace—the word ‘CROATOAN’ carved into a tree without further explanation—made their disappearance all the more chilling. It’s likely no one will ever know for certain, but I’m not convinced that matters. For many Americans, the story of the Lost Colony of Roanoke will persist in perpetuity—a mystery which we perhaps do not want to solve. That would spoil the legend, and for those of us who cling to folklore, legends are our lifeblood.
That’s why the Kennans, the family at the center of my debut novel, Nowhere, reside on Croatoa Drive. It’s why the lone remnants of the vanished citizens of Dahlmouth, the tiny town featured in the book, are only carvings on nearby trees. And much to my delight, it’s why many readers have conflated the mountainous, modern city of Roanoke, Virginia with the tiny, wooded Roanoke Island off the coast of North Carolina.
It was when the first readers of Nowhere assumed the two vastly different locations were the same that I realized, the legend of the Lost Colony lives with many of you as well. And my heart glowed. We share the same horrifying fascination: when we disappear—truly, inexplicably, permanently disappear—where do we go?
Unexplained disappearances are the bread and butter of thrillers and oftentimes, horror. They are the foundation of fairy tales, legends, and the cautionary tales we teach children. Don’t take candy from strangers. Don’t let go of your parent’s hand. Don’t wander into the woods alone. Those warnings don’t fade once we’re grown either. It is equally dangerous to stray from the beaten path along the Appalachian Trail as a child as it is as an adult. We never forget that violating these rules may very well result in our own disappearance. What lies on the other side of that moment—the one where the stranger shoves us into a van, or a sprite lures us into a hidden cave—is unknown, and there is nothing more terrifying than facing what we cannot anticipate.
For this reason, fiction centered around sudden and tragic disappearances captivate audiences. We gobble up tales like Stephen King’s The Outsider and HBO’s True Detective series where innocents are swallowed into oblivion by evil forces, perhaps because of our need to process the very real threat of losing those we love without explanation.
However, readers are often given some resolution in these disappearances as well, though that may not bring them the comfort they hoped for. From the moment little Georgie spies Pennywise the Clown in the storm drain in It, we know who is responsible for the little boy’s deadly abduction, even if we don’t entirely understand why. More recently—and in my opinion, just as likely to become a classic on par with King’s coming-of-age horror tale—The Staircase in the Woods by Chuck Wendig (Del Rey | April 2025) features a disappearance where the characters ‘know’ in theory where their loved one has vanished, but there are no clear answers right up to the end.
We know the fate of those we care for is bleak, yet we remain glued to the pages, hoping to better understand the forces that stole our fictional loved ones away. And there’s a good reason for that. The horror genre provides a safe space for humans to experience our worst fears with some measure of control, a luxury real life does not often provide. In thrillers and horror fiction alike, we find a kind of catharsis ‘the real world’ forbids. Horror allows us to indulge our worst fears, including the unimaginable loss of those we hold dearest, if not ourselves.
Yet, we also embrace stories where characters choose to disappear regardless of the damage they cause others. Think of Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl or Kimi Cunnigham Grant’s These Silent Woods. In these novels, our main characters take matters into their own hands, deciding what their new identity will be and where they will spend their new lives, shrugging off the path that trapped them in a narrative they never wanted. This form of vanishing equals freedom few of us are able or willing to attain. It represents visceral liberation.
Then, there are stories such as that of The Lost Colony of Roanoke and fictional tales, like Storm of the Century or HEX that threaten mass disappearances. Whether a product of paranormal interference or an oncoming apocalypse, the idea of an entire community falling victim to powers beyond our control is horrifyingly alluring . . . or is it comforting? Because, even if these tales feature a parade into the unknown, it’s not a solo-march. In these instances, extinction is not a lonely affair. Our characters hold hands as they face The End™. And really, at the core of disappearing, is it not that we are afraid to go there alone?
Disappearing is our fear, our freedom, our comfort, and our shared plight because, in the end, we all march into the unknown. How to process such a fate is left up to the individual. As for me, I prefer to find myself lost amongst the wooded fairyland of Appalachia, be it in my imagination or with my final mortal heartbeat. Either way, be careful if you come along with me: you may just find yourself lost in the middle of Nowhere too.
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At the same time, a disturbing crime rocks their tightknit, religious community, sending Rachel chasing leads in a place that does not take kindly to outsiders. When an ominous force in the forest starts calling to the children, fear spawns hate among the townspeople, placing the Kennan family directly in the line of fire. Left with no choice but to rely on each other, Rachel and Finn must come together to face threats inside and out.
A haunting family saga and a disquieting horror debut, Nowhere draws from Appalachian folklore to caution us that true terror is what we bury in our own hearts.
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