This column was created to give proper notice to the motion picture’s kith and kin: the television drama. Each installment, we’ll closely examine a stalwart story from the land of anthology horror. Why? Because as you’ll soon find out, they are all small, dark wonders unto themselves. First up: Holly’s House.

Sleep loss doesn’t just make you tired—it dismantles the cognitive systems that storytelling and creative work depend on. Here’s what the research shows and what horror writers need to understand.

If you want to sell me on a movie, you’ve got plenty of options. Folk horror, for sure, will get my attention, but mentioning a mythological creature or two will have me listening closely. Make that movie found footage, and suddenly, I’m leaning forward in my seat. Then I found out that the film comes from Australia—the country that has some of the bleakest, most unique, and culturally rich horror stories we’ve seen in decades—well, then there’s no question: It’s a must-see for me.

Beyond the Drumlins is a folk/cosmic horror film directed by Daniel W. Bowhers and co-written by Bowhers and Michael Kowalski. WSB had the pleasure of viewing Beyond the Drumlins at last year’s Thriller Picture Show Festival. In this interview, Ande sits down with composer, Johnny Tomasiello, an artist based in New York City, who gives a deeper look into his incredible and experimental process for scoring the film.

Fear is one of the few things people spend their lives avoiding, then willingly pay to feel. That contradiction is the engine of horror. It gives us a controlled brush with panic, dread, and the sense that something is wrong. We step into it knowing we can still step back out. That safety matters. It is what lets horror get under the skin without becoming real harm.

A cocktail built for fighting zombies.

When Alice Maio Mackay was 16 years old in Adelaide, South Australia, she released her first feature film, So Vam, which was then acquired and distributed by Shudder. Just two years later, she was already releasing her third and fourth films. Now, at 21 years old, she’s about to release her sixth venture, The Serpent’s Skin. It’s also her best.

 Filmmaker and artist rebecca shapass debuts her newest film tempus fugit at the Mattress Factory in Pittsburgh, PA. In tempus fugit, shapass combines shots of three primary locations—a cryogenics facility, a pile of writhing worms, and a house filled with items left behind by the previous owner—while incorporating elements of horror and experimental cinema.

As part of Women in Horror month, What Sleeps Beneath is celebrating women in Pittsburgh who are keeping the spirit of the horror community alive. In a city where the genre is deeply rooted, from serving as the location for classic horror movies to being home to the University of Pittsburgh’s Horror Studies program and archive, locals know that horror has always been more than just a story in a book or on a screen.

Have you ever wondered why we pay money to feel terrified? It seems like a biological glitch. We spend two hours watching a masked killer like Michael Myers stalk teenagers, yet we walk out of the theater grinning. As a horror editor with a decade of experience, I can tell you that this isn't just a niche obsession. It is a calculated chemical reaction that turns a nightmare into a mood booster.

This wasn’t going to be a rehashed tale of Frankenstein and Pretorius joining forces, inexplicably transplanted into 20th century America. This was beginning to look like Sid & Nancy. This was Bonnie and Clyde. Or more accurately—this is Nancy. This is Bonnie. This is The Bride!

When it first hit the theaters, audiences viewed the movie as a standard slasher. The trailers promised dark comedy and quick scares. Yet, the narrative connected with viewers through profound existential dread. Intense paranoia and the psychological torture of repetition create the actual terror.

From solidly Weird tales of ghostly hauntings and unseen things to more subtle stories of lost children and malevolent housekeeping, Women’s Weird contained a vast range of subjects reflected through the lens of female experience.

Horror movies often relied on familiar visual tropes. Dark hallways with flickering lights. Fog machines going crazy. Monsters staying partly in the shadows to enhance suspense and sometimes to manage effects limitations. Big old mansions with doors that always creaked.

One of the things I like most about horror is its range. Horror can be represented across the full spectrum of media and found lurking within even apparently-conflicting genres. I look back over the past few years and think beyond the obvious horror-homes of film and TV to examples like Tom Wright’s harrowing stage adaptation of Picnic at Hanging Rock, the haunting and hauntological sci-fi horror art books of Simon Stålenhag or even Cryo Chamber’s ever-expanding discography of sinister, abyssal dark ambient.

A closed door with a warning sign does not just stop people; it gives the imagination a job. The forbidden is rarely about the thing itself. It’s about the tension around it: the whisper of consequences, the thrill of crossing a line, the private sense of choosing your own story. Fear adds flavor.

Horror movies often succeed or fail because of their endings. A film can build fear for a long time with great acting and scary scenes. But if the ending feels weak, that is what people remember most. At the end of the day, the final moments shape how viewers feel when they leave the cinema.

The Long Walk, a film adaptation of the Stephen King story, is grim reflection of authoritarian control—and an unlikely harbinger of hope in dark times.

Horror has a blunt kind of truth. In a dark theater, fear becomes a shared language: a gasp, a laugh after tension breaks, the urge to glance at the aisle. Yet great horror films do more than scare us. They show what a culture worries about when the lights go out. Horror as “a cultural mirror” is not just a clever phrase. It explains why certain creatures and villains surge at certain times, then fade when new fears replace them.

Stop in to Pittsburgh’s Vinegar Syndrome - the best place to grab your horror, thriller, smut, and hard to find films on DVD and VHS.