Meet the architect
The “House of Vale” was built by Z.P. Dawson, a British horror writer, critic, and narrative designer specialising in the architecture of fear, monstrous femininity, twisted folklore, and the psychology of evil.
Z.P.D gave Serena Vale her voice, and together they’ve created an archive forged from years of study: a hybrid literary project weaving criticism, original fiction, digital storytelling, and immersive metafiction. It is part archive, part trapdoor.
In her own words, Z.P.D says:
“Horror is saturated with the voices of men, but throughout history, who stands at the centre of the myth? Women. Their stories endure. Their voices deserve the page. We are here to tell them, and to train a new generation of survivors.”
What you're reading here is only the blueprint of a nightmare.
The House of Vale is what happens when a what started off as bricks and mortar learns how to re-build itself.
Why do we build?
The horror genre is often seen as a novelty. Jump scares. Blood and gore. Dark nights and half- naked college- aged teens.
But that's too simplistic. And it's incorrect.
Horror is so much more than that. It's a way of understanding and reading the world.
The Final Girl blends genre analysis, cultural criticism, and character-driven narrative design with worldbuilding rooted in psychological realism. This work, whether fictional or essay, favours the slow reveal:
Horror that pretends to be about one thing but inevitably folds back into something closer to truth.
This is not a blog. This is an archive.. a collection of truths that can be too traumatic to face.
The house itself is a collection of myth, research and stories that turn it into a collective tool for survival. Each room contains a segment, and each segment has a purpose:
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The Library houses lore, research, and the bones of stories.
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The Lounge observes the genre through critique and commentary.
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The Studio explores creative process and craft.
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The Basement contains the fiction that shouldn’t be left upstairs.
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The Vault… is sealed for a reason.
The House of Vale exists for readers, writers, and survivors of every kind.. anyone who believes horror can be more than spectacle.
This archive preserves what frightens us, what shapes us, and what we refuse to ignore. It is a place for rigorous thought, for storytelling with weight, for truths that hide in metaphor until they’re ready to surface.
If you’re here, then something brought you. Stay. Explore. Contribute, if you dare.
There is always room for another survivor.
It would be rude to leave without introducing you to our narrator.. although calling her fearless might be overstating things.
Serena Vale is what happens when the dark notices you noticing it. A by-product of whatever cosmic malfunction spits out survivors instead of corpses. She’s our investigator, our liaison between the living and the dead, our unwilling tour guide through whatever dimension keeps leaking into this one.
She’s seen, and outrun, the worst of the worst, and has somehow come out the other side.
Not unscathed. Not sane.
But functional enough to take notes, which is all we can reasonably ask of her.
Her voice threads through the House: scribbled warnings in the margins, field reports from places you shouldn’t follow, commentary that borders on prophecy or psychosis depending on the night. She interprets what the house is trying to build. She records what we all refuse to look at directly.
If the House is the architecture, Serena is our translator for the darkness within.
Every archive needs a translator
The House of Vale is alive.
Its walls breathe, expand, and shift with each new story. Each day, new corridors emerge; each day, new thresholds await. Like the Winchester Mystery House, it is ever-growing.
Unlike that house, we have no caretakers, only translators. Here, horror is evidence: cultural residue, psychological artefact, a symptom in narrative form.
If you are a writer, researcher, folklorist, or collector of the uncanny, we invite you to contribute. We seek work that demonstrates intellectual rigour, emotional precision, and a healthy disregard for personal safety.
Genres of interest include, but are not limited to:
– Original fiction with a pulse (metaphorical or otherwise)
– Essays and analyses that treat horror as literature, not novelty
– Folklore, hauntings, and field notes from the uncomfortable edges of reality
– Accounts that do not violate ethical guidelines (we don’t ask; you shouldn’t tell)
If accepted, your work becomes part of the House’s architecture: a new corridor, a new threshold, a new hazard for future readers to misinterpret at their own peril.
Currently, submissions to the archive are voluntary and unpaid. The House demands a lot of upkeep, and Serena requires supplies to keep us safe. Should you survive long enough to see the House become a successful tourist attraction (thank corporate lawyers for liability agreements), contributors will receive support to maintain their survival.. at least in part, anyway.
Contribute with care.
Build the house. Help to breed a new generation of survivors.