My first real love, when it comes to media, is horror. This is an easy recall for me because I can remember sitting in the basement of my Grandma’s cigarette-infused house in Chicago, watching A Nightmare on Elm Street on VHS with my brother and sister in the early 90s. That memory stands as a landmark, a snapshot before my life was upended by the grossly incompetent foster care system of the time. It’s not just about the movie; it’s about the sense of safety in the dark, the thrill of fear shared in whispers, and the electric hum of the VCR as Freddy Krueger clawed his way into our nightmares.

If I push my memory needle a little further, I see flashes of Svengoolie on TV, the howling shadows of Wolfman on tape, and the unshakeable terror that gripped me during my first sleepover in middle school as The Exorcist played. That experience was life-changing—not merely because it frightened me, but because it revealed the raw power of horror, its ability to make the impossible feel real and the familiar feel foreign. It was a baptism by fire into a world where fear could be transformative, even beautiful.

Now, as a man in his mid-30s, that feeling is distant, like a ghost haunting the edges of memory. It’s not that horror has died; on the contrary, it thrives, having clawed its way from the shadows into the bright lights of the mainstream. But therein lies the problem. What was once forbidden, hidden in the dim back aisles of video stores, now parades openly. Horror used to be a secret handshake, a whispered dare at parties, a virus that spread from one brave soul to the next. “Did you see that?” or “Did you read that?” were questions wrapped in equal parts curiosity and fear. Now, horror is everywhere—in commercials, kids’ shows, even in breakfast cereal mascots. The darkness has been diluted, the fear commodified.

Horror is no longer the specter in the corner; it’s the clown dancing in the spotlight. It feels like an echo of what it used to be, a ghost of the terror that once gripped me.

So, how do I find it again? How do I reconnect with that feeling I had rewatching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre on DVD, my pulse quickening as Leatherface brutalized the scene? How do I recapture that excitement of sitting in a dark theater, the anticipation almost as terrifying as the movie itself, as I prepare to watch Hostel or Paranormal Activity?

Part of it is growth. I’ve changed, matured, expanded my mind and interests. But there’s also a sense of loss, a nostalgia for the days when horror was more than entertainment—it was oxygen. It was a way of understanding the world and a way for me to tap into the early days of my writing ventures. I can still remember writing my first horror screenplay after watching Candyman for the 100th time.

I realize now that to truly find that feeling again, I have to understand what I’m searching for. Is it the simplicity of childhood fears? Is it the thrill of the unknown? Or is it the power of horror to reflect and distort reality, to make us confront what we’d rather ignore? Maybe it’s all of that, or maybe it’s something else entirely.

But the search itself is part of the answer. It’s about seeking horror that challenges, that lingers like smoke in the air long after the screen goes dark. It’s about finding fear not just in monsters and ghosts but in ideas and emotions that refuse to let go. It’s about finding horror that is YOURS and not belonging to a fake vegetable rating system, TikTok trend. It’s about remembering to tap into your source of fear and not some stranger on social media.

An example of this is my love for Found Footage. I kind of left the sub-genre in the dark but found a movie on Tubi called #Missingcouple that reminded me that found footage is awesome.

So, maybe, just maybe, the horror I’m looking for isn’t gone—it’s just waiting, somewhere in the dark, ready to find me again or me to find it. It’s a genre that I can sneak in while my daughter sleeps. It’s a genre that gave me the creative bone that I have.

And, in a few months, it will be a genre that I will join with my upcoming horror book. Which is crazy to think because I was ( always will be) a horror reader, viewer, listener. But throwing my hat in the sacred ring is surreal. I guess that’s what triggered this recycled thought. And I’m glad I did put this thought on paper because life is too short to be fake.

Be you, dear readers.