Men called me a philosopher once, but as the years burdened me further I cared less and less for the pressing questions of astronomy and geomancy and… - Darrell Schweitzer

I saw again in the morning with the holy Tancred, Bishop of Anjou, of Averoigne, and Poictesme, stood before the troops in the dim light of dawn with the walled city at his back. There was complete silence, save for the cawing of expectant crows and the flapping of banners in the brisk wind. He spoke:
“Soldiers of Christ, in yonder city wait ten thousand pagans, idolaters, devil-worshipers, atheists, and Jews, each of them by every breath he breathes an affront to the God who created him and a triumph for the Adversary who corrupted him. This is your task, mighty men of valor and virtue, your task set for you by God on high, to rid the land of this infection, to cleanse with fire and sword the very pavement on which the unclean ones walk. I have prayed for victory this day, and just before I came to you I had a vision. I saw in the sky, above the hills and above the pagan city, the great sign of the Cross, blazing as it did for Constantine when he embraced the Saviour, in this sign we too shall conquer. Jesus looks on. His Holy Mother waits to take any who die today in her own arms into paradise. Onward! For Christ and the Cross!
“Christ and the Cross!” The cry returned from every throat, and the host surged thunderously forward like an inexorable tide. The first wave broke against the stone walls of the city, and the battle was joined. “Christ and the Cross!” men shouted as they fell screaming beneath curtains of molten iron poured from above. “Christ and the Cross!” resounded once more as mangonels, catapults, and ballistas filled the air with death.

One more thing I will tell you, the great secret I learned through my experience."
"What was that?"
"Never listen to idle tales. They make you mad and lead you through the bowels of a god."
"Of course," said one of the disciples after he had left, "it is the nature of the madness that one never heeds these warnings.

Horror is not quite as elusive as science fiction, for which there are as many definitions as definers . Most modern practitioners will agree that it's a a matter of mood , not of specific content . A story can be horrific without being supernatural or even fantastic , as much of Edgar Allan Poe readily demonstrates. In the simplest sense, a horror story is one that scares us.