interview

Interviews with authors, film directors and horror snobs of all kinds; conversations that will unsettle, and shed light on all things dark and mysterious.

The Last Call from a Dead Phone
I recognized the ringtone before I understood what I was hearing. It was soft, tinny, wrong—an outdated jingle I hadn’t heard in years. The sound crept through my apartment at 11:43 PM, threading its way into my bones before my mind caught up.
By Modhilrajabout 2 hours ago in Horror
My Reflection Started Blinking First
The first time it happened, I blamed exhaustion. I’d been working late for weeks, sleeping in fragments, living on coffee and half-remembered dreams. When I stood in the bathroom at 2:11 AM, staring at my own face under the harsh yellow light, it didn’t feel strange that my eyes burned or that the reflection looked slightly off. Fatigue plays tricks, everyone says that.
By Modhilrajabout 2 hours ago in Horror
The Train That Only Runs for the Missing
The train station wasn’t on any map. I found it by accident, following a shortcut home after a late shift, cutting through a street I’d walked past a hundred times but never down. The air smelled wrong there—stale, like rain trapped underground. At the end of the road stood a narrow platform lit by flickering yellow bulbs. A rusted sign hung crooked above it, blank except for peeling paint.
By Modhilrajabout 2 hours ago in Horror
The House That Breathes at Night
At first, everyone thought the sound was plumbing. A soft groan, like old pipes stretching, always around the same time—3:17 AM. In a house as old as ours, that wasn’t unusual. The building had stood for more than a century, swallowing generations of families, secrets sealed behind layers of paint and plaster. Houses like that made noise. They sighed. They settled. They complained.
By Modhilrajabout 3 hours ago in Horror
The Voice That Waited
Seen (1) At the edge of a quiet town stood an abandoned radio station, forgotten by time and avoided by locals. The building had been shut down for over twenty years, yet people claimed that at exactly 2:17 a.m., a faint broadcast could still be heard on an old frequency. No music. No news. Just a voice. ‎ ‎Daniel was a small content creator who specialized in audio storytelling. He didn’t believe in rumors, but he believed in stories. When he heard about the mysterious broadcast, he decided to investigate—not for views, but for curiosity. ‎ ‎One cold night, Daniel entered the radio station with his recorder and headphones. Dust covered the equipment, and spider webs hung from the ceiling. Everything looked dead. Silent. ‎ ‎At exactly 2:17 a.m., the old transmitter crackled. ‎ ‎A voice broke through the static. ‎ ‎“Hello… is anyone listening?” ‎ ‎Daniel froze. The voice was calm but tired, like someone who had been waiting for a long time. ‎ ‎“My name is Arthur,” the voice continued. “I used to work here. If you can hear me, please don’t turn this off.” ‎ ‎Daniel whispered into his microphone, “I’m listening.” ‎ ‎The voice seemed relieved. ‎ ‎“For years, I spoke into this microphone, hoping someone would hear me. When the station shut down, everyone left. Everyone except me.” ‎ ‎Daniel’s heart raced. “Are you… alive?” ‎ ‎There was a pause. Then a soft laugh. ‎ ‎“That depends on what you mean by alive,” Arthur said. “I passed away in this building many years ago. But my voice stayed. This place remembers me.” ‎ ‎Arthur explained that he had been a late-night radio host, speaking to lonely people, travelers, and insomniacs. The night the station closed, he stayed behind to record one final message—something meaningful. But no one ever aired it. He died alone, with his words unheard. ‎ ‎“So I kept talking,” Arthur said. “Night after night. Waiting for someone to listen.” ‎ ‎Daniel felt a heavy silence fill the room. ‎ ‎“What do you want from me?” Daniel asked. ‎ ‎Arthur answered gently, “I don’t need fear. I don’t need fame. I just want my message to reach someone. Anyone.” ‎ ‎Daniel nodded, even though Arthur couldn’t see him. “I’ll share your story.” ‎ ‎For the first time, the static disappeared. Arthur’s voice became clear. ‎ ‎“Tell them this,” he said. “You are not invisible. Someone, somewhere, needs your voice—even if you don’t know it yet.” ‎ ‎The broadcast ended. ‎ ‎The room fell silent. ‎ ‎Daniel left the station before sunrise and spent the next day editing the audio. He uploaded the recording as a simple podcast episode titled *The Voice That Waited*. He didn’t add music. He didn’t add effects. Just the truth. ‎ ‎Within days, thousands of messages poured in. People said the voice helped them through loneliness, grief, and dark nights. Some cried. Some found comfort. Some found hope. ‎ ‎Daniel returned to the radio station one last time. ‎ ‎At 2:17 a.m., there was no broadcast. ‎ ‎The transmitter stayed silent. ‎ ‎But Daniel smiled. ‎ ‎Because he understood something important: ‎ ‎Some voices don’t fade because they are loud. ‎They survive because someone finally listens.
By Do bol ho jaaye 2 days ago in Horror
Zena Dixon on Finding Family, Community, and Freedom in the Horror Genre
There's something powerful about discovering what you love early and having the courage to carry it with you. For Zena Dixon, your horror bestie, affectionately known as The Real Queen of Horror, love for the genre showed up in the form of family movie nights that turned fear into connection. What started as a shared joy at home grew into a 14-year journey of championing horror in ways that feel informed and authentic.
By Tammy Reese10 days ago in Horror
The Echoing Asylum of Silaos: Where the Patients Never Left | SEASON 2
Chapter 7 FATHER ELIAS’S JOURNAL: Entry 3: The Queen is not a demon, but a soul. A very angry, very vengeful soul. She is the mother of the asylum. Her spirit, and her profound grief, is what has been feeding on the patients' madness. She is what has been devouring them. She is the keeper of the lost. And she is now enraged.
By Tales That Breathe at Night16 days ago in Horror
December 25th Repeats
I wake up to bells. Not church bells—those stopped ringing years ago—but the cheap electronic chime of my alarm clock playing a distorted version of “Jingle Bells.” The sound drills straight into my skull. My eyes open before I can stop them.
By Modhilraj22 days ago in Horror
The Carol That Knows Your Name
The first time it happened, I thought I was mishearing it. Christmas Eve had settled into the apartment like dust—quiet, soft, unavoidable. Outside, the city glowed in muted colors, strings of lights blinking in tired rhythms, as if even joy needed rest. I sat alone at the small kitchen table with a cup of reheated coffee, the radio murmuring to fill the silence. I always kept it on during holidays. Silence had a way of remembering things I tried not to.
By Modhilraj22 days ago in Horror
The Echoing Asylum of Silaos: Where the Patients Never Left | SEASON 1
Chapter 1 ARCHIVAL NOTES: Case File #73-B, The Silaos Exorcisms. Location: Silaos Asylum, Silaos, Argentina. Date: Winter, 1978.
By Tales That Breathe at Night25 days ago in Horror
THE HONG KONG "PHUNG TY" CASE
Behind the urban splendor of Hong Kong, dark and sinister underbelly persists. Here, a group of women known as "Phung Ty" operate outside the law, engaging in the business of selling incense and Buddhist offerings. "Phung Ty" in Hong Kong isn't a single individual's name, but a general term for women practicing this profession.
By HieuDinh29 days ago in Horror
When the Past Calls for a Ride: Ghost Passengers of the Tōhoku Tsunami
A Disaster That Still Echoes It’s been nearly five years since the devastating Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami struck Japan on March 11, 2011. The magnitude 9.0 quake triggered a massive wave that reached 133 feet in some places and pushed more than 6 miles inland.
By Areeba Umairabout a month ago in Horror