movie review

Movie reviews for horror fans; from gruesome bone-chillers to dark horror thrillers, a showcase for frightful films that seek to entertain and to terrify.

A Tale of Horror and Survival
Barron, Wisconsin, was a peaceful small town of fewer than 4,000 residents, the kind of place where everyone knew each other and crime was rare. That peace was shattered on the night of October 15, 2018, when tragedy struck the Closs household in a way no one could have imagined. At around 12:53 a.m., a 911 call came from the Closs residence. No one spoke on the line, but commotion and yelling could be heard. By the time deputies arrived, they found the front door kicked in and a horrifying scene inside: James Closs, 56, and Denise Closs, 46, had both been shot dead. Their 13-year-old daughter, Jayme Closs, was missing. There was no sign of forced entry beyond the door, no fingerprints, no shell casings left behind. It seemed like a professional hit, but who would want to hurt a quiet, hardworking family? The community rallied, holding vigils, fundraisers, and search parties. The FBI got involved. Billboards went up across the country with Jayme's face. For months, there were no credible leads. Theories ran wild — maybe it was someone from school, a stranger, or even a family acquaintance. But the truth was far more chilling. --- The Predator in Plain Sight The man responsible was Jake Thomas Patterson, a 21-year-old from the nearby town of Gordon, Wisconsin. He had no criminal record, no online presence, and was barely noticed by his neighbors. He didn’t know the Closs family, had never met them, and had no prior connection — except one fateful day. While driving to work at a cheese factory, Patterson stopped behind a school bus and saw Jayme Closs get on. In that fleeting moment, he decided he would take her. He didn’t know her name, her family, or anything about her life. He simply saw a girl and made a monstrous decision. He spent days planning the kidnapping meticulously. He shaved his head to avoid leaving DNA, removed license plates from his car, and chose the time of night to strike. On October 15, armed with a shotgun, he approached the Closs house in the dark. James Closs came to the door. Patterson shot him on sight. He then found Denise and Jayme hiding in the bathroom. Forcing Denise to duct-tape her daughter, he then murdered Denise in front of Jayme. He shoved the terrified 13-year-old into the trunk of his car and drove off. Jayme Closs had just lost her parents and was now a captive of a complete stranger. --- Eighty-Eight Days of Terror Patterson brought Jayme to his remote, rundown cabin in the woods. He told her that if she tried to escape, something worse would happen. He kept her under his bed for hours or even a full day at a time, barricaded with weights and boxes so she couldn’t move. He’d play loud music to mask any noise. When guests came, he’d force her to hide silently, threatening her each time. Despite the psychological torment, Jayme remained alert. She studied her surroundings, memorized details, and waited for a chance to escape. Her opportunity came 88 days later, on January 10, 2019. Patterson had left the house for a few hours, and for the first time, Jayme wasn’t locked up. Seizing her chance, she put on shoes that were too big for her and ran. She encountered a woman walking her dog — Jeanne Nutter, a social worker who immediately recognized Jayme and took her to a nearby home. The call to 911 was electric: “I have Jayme Closs!” It was the break authorities and her family had been praying for. --- Justice and Aftermath Just minutes after Jayme’s escape, Patterson was pulled over and arrested. He confessed almost immediately, describing the murders and kidnapping in chilling detail. He was charged with two counts of first-degree murder and one count of kidnapping. In May 2019, he pled guilty and was sentenced to two life sentences without parole, plus an additional 40 years. The judge described his crime as “the most dangerous kind” — premeditated, calculated, and devoid of empathy. Jayme Closs, meanwhile, became a symbol of strength. Despite her trauma, she was brave enough to escape and help bring her captor to justice. Her statement at Patterson’s sentencing shook the courtroom: “He thought that he could own me, but he was wrong. I was smarter. I watched his every move and I took back my freedom. I will not let him define who I am.” --- Impact and Legacy Jayme's case stunned the nation not only because of the brutality, but because of her resilience. Experts and law enforcement praised her courage and composure. Her escape remains one of the most remarkable stories of survival in modern American true crime. The case also raised serious questions about how someone with no prior offenses could carry out such an elaborate, horrific act. It highlighted the randomness of some crimes and the need for vigilance even in small communities. In the years since, Jayme has largely stayed out of the public eye, living with relatives and trying to heal. Her story has been featured in books, documentaries, and podcasts, but she has declined interviews, choosing privacy and peace over publicity. --- Conclusion The kidnapping of Jayme Closs is one of the most haunting true crime cases in American history. It’s a story of a cruel predator who planned a senseless act of violence — and a brave young girl who endured unspeakable terror but never gave up hope. In a world where many true crime stories end in tragedy, Jayme’s tale is one of rare survival and triumph. Her courage not only saved her own life but brought justice to her family — and a small town forever changed by evil.
By D A R Kabout a year ago in Horror
Camp Hounted
From a distance, The sign looks weathered, with a dark, silent atmosphere, and the faintest sounds that add to the spooky atmosphere of the place.
By junjunabout a year ago in Horror
The Graveyard Bride
It was supposed to be a joke A simple dare among friends Spend one hour in the old graveyard at the edge of town Harith laughed as he accepted the challenge It was just a graveyard after all Dead people don't talk Right His friends dropped him at the broken gate It creaked as he pushed it open The air inside was colder Still Too still Graves stood like silent statues Old Cracked Some with names rubbed off by time Harith switched on his flashlight Its beam shaky but strong He walked deeper in Passing trees that whispered with the wind He tried to stay calm Even whistled But the sound died quickly Like the graveyard swallowed it Half an hour passed Silence Just silence Then He heard it A whisper A woman’s voice Calling his name Harith He froze Turned around No one Harith Again Closer this time His flashlight flickered And died Panic rose in his chest He pulled out his phone No signal Then he saw her Standing between two graves A woman Dressed in white Long black hair Head slightly tilted She was beautiful Too beautiful Her eyes lowered Her feet bare But not touching the ground Who are you He asked His voice barely a whisper She smiled Soft Sad I have waited for you Harith I have watched you Since you were a child His heart pounded He stepped back But couldn’t move far This must be a prank A setup No This was something else She took a step forward Still not touching the earth I am the bride of the graveyard She said You are mine You have always been mine Harith tried to run But the paths twisted No gate No way out She was in front of him Then behind him Then beside him He screamed But the wind swallowed it She came closer Her face changed Eyes turned black Skin pale and cracked Her mouth stretched into a grin Too wide Too dark You cannot leave She whispered Your place is ready She pointed to a grave Fresh But already carved with his name Harith bin Bashir He fell to his knees Shaking Begging Crying But the grave opened And darkness pulled him in --- Morning came His friends returned Laughing Calling his name No answer They found the flashlight And his phone Lying near an open grave A grave that wasn’t there yesterday They read the name Their laughter faded Harith bin Bashir He went in to win a bet But never returned And as they stood there The wind whispered Soft And chilling Harith
By Noman Afridiabout a year ago in Horror
The Whisper Door
The house was old, much older than anyone in the town remembered. It stood at the edge of Gray Hollow, half-swallowed by overgrown vines and shadows. No one dared approach it—not since the Henderson girl vanished one autumn night, last seen walking toward its porch. But I was curious. Curious and stupid. They dared me, of course. My friends, half-drunk and restless on Halloween night. “Go knock on the Whisper Door,” they laughed. “Bet you won’t make it five minutes.” Whisper Door. That’s what they called it. Because sometimes, at night, you could hear it—soft whispers from behind that peeling black door. They said the house was alive. That it fed on secrets. That once you opened it, it never let you forget. I didn’t believe in stories. Not really. So I took the flashlight, crossed the empty field, and stepped onto the crooked porch. --- The door didn’t creak. It sighed. A low breath, like something exhaling in relief after years of silence. My skin crawled. The doorknob was ice cold. The wood damp under my palm. And as I leaned close—I swear to God—I heard it. “Come in, Emily…” No one had said my name. --- Inside, the air was thick, like breathing through wet cotton. Dust floated like ash, and the floorboards groaned beneath each step. The living room was frozen in time—cobwebbed furniture, a broken clock ticking without rhythm, a portrait of a family whose faces had been scratched out. Then I heard it again. A whisper, not from the door this time, but deeper inside. “Upstairs…” It wasn’t a command. It was a plea. Against every sane instinct, I climbed. The staircase bent like it might collapse, and halfway up, something brushed against my leg. I spun around—nothing. Just the house watching. --- The hallway at the top was pitch black. My flashlight flickered like a dying heartbeat. Doors lined the hall, some closed, some cracked open just enough to suggest something might be watching back. Then I saw it. The last door on the right. It was red. Not painted. Stained. Something darker oozed from its frame, and the handle pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own. And still, I reached for it. Because the whisper had changed. “Help me…” --- Inside was a girl. At least, what used to be one. She sat in a rocking chair, long dark hair hanging in clumps over her face. Her skin was gray-blue. Her hands clutched a doll missing an eye. The walls were covered in writing—words etched in fingernail scrapes. LET ME OUT HE COMES THROUGH THE WHISPERS DON’T LISTEN TOO LONG I stepped back. The girl’s head snapped up. Her eyes were gone. Just two gaping sockets leaking black tears. “Emily…” she croaked. I turned to run. The door slammed behind me. --- The room twisted. I wasn’t in the house anymore. Not really. The walls stretched, warped. Voices pressed in from every side—whispers of people I knew. Dead relatives. Old friends. Even myself. Screaming. Begging. Laughing. The girl stood, her feet dragging, twitching like a puppet on tangled strings. “You heard too much,” she said. “I—I didn’t mean to—” “You listened. That’s all it needs.” Suddenly her face twisted into a scream, and the whispers exploded into howls. The walls cracked. Shadows bled down from the ceiling like tar. Something massive moved behind the wall, thudding closer. “It’s coming,” she whispered. --- I bolted. The door was gone. The room stretched on and on, endless like a maze. But I ran. I didn’t look back. I didn’t breathe. I found a window. I threw myself through it. --- When I hit the ground, the house was gone. Just gone. Behind me was only field. I stumbled back to the others, covered in cuts and mud, shaking. They laughed at first, until they saw my face. I never told them what happened. Not all of it. Just that the house was empty. That I’d been scared by rats. That I tripped. But some nights, I wake up to the sound of a soft knock. And a whisper just outside my window: “Come back, Emily…” --- Would you open the door a second time?
By Herbert about a year ago in Horror
Coraline – Neil Gaiman
When Coraline Bennett’s family moved into the old Carver House on the edge of town, she wasn’t scared—just bored. Eleven years old, smart beyond her age, and curious to a fault, Coraline had a habit of exploring places she wasn’t supposed to. Her parents were too busy renovating their “dream home” to keep much of an eye on her. And so, left to her own devices, Coraline explored.
By Jawad Khanabout a year ago in Horror
The Haunting of Hill House – Shirley Jackson
They said Hill House was just a house. Bricks, wood, mortar. A crumbling estate tucked deep in the New England countryside. But to those who had lived there, to those who had tried to leave, Hill House was more than that—it was a thing that breathed.
By Jawad Khanabout a year ago in Horror
Trust Can Be Deadly. Content Warning.
He looked like a perfectly ordinary man. A warm smile. Polite, calm, well-mannered. The kind of man anyone would feel safe with — someone you’d never suspect of hiding a horrifying secret.But that’s exactly what made him so deadly.Behind that charming face… was a monster.A cold-blooded killer who stalked, tortured, and murdered dozens of innocent women. Yes, I’m talking about one of the most terrifying and sadistic serial killers in American history: Ted Bundy. Ted wasn’t your typical criminal. He was handsome, intelligent, and had an almost magnetic charm. He used that charm as a weapon — to trick, trap, and destroy.He had a pattern.He would approach young women in public places — libraries, parking lots, college campuses.Sometimes he pretended to have a broken arm or a limp, asking for help with his books or loading something into his car.And when a kind-hearted woman stepped in to help… it was already too late. In a blink, he’d knock them unconscious — with a metal rod, a crowbar, anything he had.Then he’d drag them to his car, handcuff them, and drive to a secluded location. There, the true horror began.
By Alone about a year ago in Horror
The Shadow of Silence: A COVID-19
#Public Health Literature #COVID-19 Stories #Psychological Fiction #Contemporary Literature #Pandemic Narratives Guest of Silence
By Md. Atikur Rahamanabout a year ago in Horror
Deafening Hysteria: When Bugs Take Over
"Honey, I told you that you cannot eat those," I whispered, trying to cajole one of my patients who had this strange fixation on catching insects—and worse, trying to eat them. I held out my hand to retrieve the insect from his hand, but instead, he squashed it until it popped. I sighed and glanced over at my coworker Jake, who was barely suppressing a laugh.
By MD NAZIM UDDIN about a year ago in Horror
Right on Time
I had always pictured "due date" as a deadline—a definitive, tangible one, like the deadlines on school assignments that came with red pen and stern lecture. But pregnancy isn't tangible, and nothing on my journey to motherhood went according to plan.
By MD NAZIM UDDIN about a year ago in Horror
The Lost City Of Zarnath
**The Lost City of Zarnath** Lara Blake had always been drawn to mysteries, to the allure of ancient civilizations hidden beneath layers of time and legend. As an archaeologist with a penchant for uncovering lost histories, she spent her days poring over maps, deciphering symbols, and dreaming of uncharted worlds. But nothing prepared her for the moment she stood at the edge of the dense jungle, staring at the faint outline of a forgotten city—Zarnath.
By obadiahabout a year ago in Horror
You died today, what will happen next? Have you ever thought about it?
You Died Today: What Happens Next? The final time you shut your eyes was now. The world you knew—the voices, the light, the laughter, the worries—all slipped away like a dream fading at dawn. Despite the fact that your body is still, you are aware. And now the journey begins. A journey every human must take. The journey of the soul.
By Dr Sazidul about a year ago in Horror