Welcome to the October edition of Persephone, where we delve into the eerie and the unknown with our special horror edition. As the days grow shorter and shadows deepen, this month we celebrate the haunting beauty that resides in darkness. Exploring the unsettling cinematic brilliance of gothic horror, we explore how fear has always been a profound muse for creativity.

In this edition, our team embraces the macabre, weaving tales of the supernatural into their articles, while exploring the psychological depths that horror unearths. At Persephone, we believe that fear, like art, is a universal experience—both captivating and revealing in the way it forces us to confront our innermost selves. So, dim the lights, embrace the chill in the air, and join us as we step into the realms where the strange and sublime meet.

Happy haunting!

Dearest gentle readers, summer has collapsed into fall and we are celebrating this cozy October with our second horror edition of “Persephone.” Horror has been a fascinating topic since forever and as we march towards winter, let’s pause for some time and reflect on what constitutes fear, its limitations, and consequences.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the editing team for bringing out this issue and all the contributors for their amazing pieces. I hope you’ll enjoy reading them with your evening cup of hot chocolate!

— Hemleena

“A blood-soaked figure emerges from the shadows, the dull gleam of a knife in hand, breathing heavily as he stares at his reflection in the broken mirror. The dimly lit room reeks of death, the camera lingering on a woman’s lifeless body sprawled across the floor, her blood seeping into the grimy linoleum. You, the viewer, are forced to watch, to witness the violence you would never condone in real life. But you can’t look away. You’re repulsed, yet somehow, morbidly fascinated. This is the dark allure of William Lustig’s Maniac (1980), one of the most controversial films to ever blend horror with sleaze.”

Welcome to the bizarre but strangely magnetic world where sex and horror coexist, often uneasily. Whether it’s Ragini MMS blending paranormal vengeance with voyeuristic thrills or American Psycho slashing its way through Manhattan’s elite, films that combine sexuality with horror have an irresistible tension that keeps us hooked. And while these moments might make us squirm, they also reveal a deep connection between life-affirming creation (sex) and life-destroying horror (violence). So why does sex so often act as a precursor to terror? Buckle up, because we’re about to dive into some chilling—and cheeky—territory.

The Juxtaposition of Sex and Death: Creation Meets Destruction

Sex, at its core, is an act of creation—bringing life into the world, celebrating intimacy, and bonding. Horror, on the other hand, is about destruction—death, fear, and chaos. This contrast is what makes the transition from sex to horror so powerful on screen. One minute, characters are in the throes of passion, and the next, they’re fighting for their lives, usually after making some bad life choices in a haunted house or with a killer lurking nearby.

Take Ragini MMS (2011), for instance. A couple’s weekend getaway turns into a nightmare when they’re haunted by a vengeful spirit—right after their secretive, voyeuristic romp is caught on camera. The sex scene isn’t just titillating; it’s a gateway to terror. In a house steeped in ghostly trauma, their intimacy becomes the catalyst for supernatural punishment. It’s almost as if the ghost is saying, “Oh, you thought this was private? Think again.”

Similarly, in the Raaz franchise (Raaz 3 is especially guilty of this), intimacy and seduction are used to manipulate dark forces. Bipasha Basu’s character seduces to gain control, engages in necrophilia, surrendering her bodily agency, but her powers quickly spiral out of hand, turning her body from a tool of seduction into one of destruction. Here, sex is seen as a force that can either control or corrupt, making the transition to horror all the more terrifying when things inevitably go wrong.

Freud Would Have a Field Day: The Fear of Sex

Enter Freud, our favourite psychoanalyst with a knack for linking everything back to sex and death. Freud theorised that humans are driven by two opposing instincts: Eros (the life instinct, linked to sex) and Thanatos (the death instinct, linked to violence and destruction). In many horror films, these two drives collide. Sex symbolises life and vulnerability, which horror then exploits, transforming an act of creation into a scene of destruction.

The Serbian Film (2010) takes this to an extreme that few films dare to touch. In one of the most horrifying sequences in film history, sex and violence become indistinguishable. The protagonist, a former porn star, is forced to engage in brutal, sexualised violence, blurring the lines between life-giving sex and horrific death. The film turns the body—usually a site of intimacy—into a grotesque symbol of exploitation and destruction. It’s deeply disturbing and pushes this interplay between creation and destruction to a point of no return. On the other side of the globe, Bollywood’s Ramsey Brothers were masters of blending sensuality with horror. Their films, like Veerana (1988), often featured steamy bath scenes followed by a sudden supernatural encounter. One moment, the heroine is taking a sensuous bath, and the next, she’s the victim of a dark, ghostly presence. The juxtaposition of a serene, sensual setting with sudden terror keeps viewers on edge, reminding us that horror can strike at the most intimate and private moments.

The Male Gaze and Power Play: Sex as a Prelude to Horror

Now let’s talk about the male gaze and how it plays a massive role in sleazy horror films. Lacan, the French psychoanalyst, would say that the gaze is about power—watching and being watched, desire and control. And horror films, especially those with sexy beginnings, love playing with this power dynamic.

American Psycho (2000) has some of the most notorious moments where sex is intertwined with horror. Patrick Bateman, the film’s ultra-slick, narcissistic protagonist, treats sex as just another form of control. He videotapes his encounters not for pleasure but for domination. The scene where he flexes his muscles in the mirror while having sex is both ridiculous and chilling—an absurd display of vanity before he turns to his true love: murder. For Bateman, sex is a precursor to violence because it’s about power, not intimacy.

In Jennifer’s Body (2009), the tables turn. Megan Fox’s character, after a botched satanic ritual, becomes a literal man-eater. Her seductions lead to grisly deaths, as she uses her sexuality to lure men to their demise. The horror here isn’t just in the gory details—it’s in the way sex is used as a weapon. Jennifer, once a high school queen, turns her body into a tool of destruction, making her victims pay for their lustful desires.

The Body as a Site of Fear and Abjection

According to Julia Kristeva’s theory of abjection, horror emerges when the body’s boundaries are violated—when something that should remain hidden comes into the open.

Blood, gore, bodily fluids—things that disgust—are central to the abject. And when sex is involved, things get even more complicated.

Look no further than The Exorcist (1973), where Regan’s possessed body becomes the ultimate site of abjection. The infamous crucifix scene, where she violently stabs herself in a grotesque parody of a sexual act, horrifies because it blends innocence with a shocking violation. It’s a disturbing scene that forces us to confront our anxieties about sex, innocence, and the body’s boundaries—exactly what the abject is all about.

The Ramsey Brothers’ films often played with this idea too. In Purana Mandir (1984), seduction leads directly to a terrifying curse being unleashed. A sensual moment is immediately followed by horror, where the body becomes both a site of desire and destruction. It’s this rapid shift that creates a sense of disorientation, keeping the audience both intrigued and horrified.

Transgression, Catharsis, and the Consequences of Sex

So why do so many horror films seem obsessed with punishing characters for having sex? Is it some kind of puritanical revenge fantasy? Well, maybe a little. But it also ties into the concept of transgression—crossing boundaries that society holds sacred—and the idea that there must be consequences for breaking the rules.

In many horror films, from Ragini MMS to American Psycho, sexual freedom is a slippery slope to chaos and punishment. The act of sex opens the floodgates, leading to a supernatural or violent reckoning. Freud would nod approvingly here: when you indulge in Eros, you also invite Thanatos to the party.

In Jennifer’s Body, the boys who fall victim to Jennifer’s seductive powers do so because they transgress societal expectations of sexual control. They’re punished, not just for their lust, but for being too willing to abandon caution. In Ragini MMS, the voyeurism adds another layer of transgression, as the couple’s private intimacy is exposed and punished by the vengeful spirit of a woman who had suffered similar violations.

Why Sex Leads to Horror?

In films like The Serbian Film, American Psycho, Jennifer's Body, The Exorcist, and Bollywood classics like Ragini MMS and Veerana, sex often acts as a precursor to horror because it represents a moment of vulnerability, creation, and potential loss of control. The body—whether engaged in acts of intimacy or destruction—becomes a battleground, where power dynamics, desires, and societal anxieties are played out.

As these films show, unchecked sexual energy can quickly turn from an act of creation to one of destruction, leading to terrifying consequences. Whether it’s a seductive succubus, a power-hungry businessman, or a vengeful ghost, the interplay between sex and horror reveals our deepest fears about losing control—both over our bodies and over the boundaries that keep us safe.

And so, the next time you see a steamy bath scene in a horror movie, brace yourself—because you know what’s coming next!

“If there was a god whose mere touch would turn you immortal, letting you live for centuries, you would know where the eternal treasure istum and all you have to do is eat and sleep, would you want that?”, asks Vinayak. “Who wouldn't want such a blessing father?”, replies Pandurang, "The one who knows it isn't a blessing, but a curse worse than death.”...

Rahi Anil Barve, the director of Tumbbad, was inspired by a story he heard from a friend in 1993 by the Marathi writer Narayan Dharap during a trip to the Nagzira forest at night that had a great impact on him. He later realized that it wasn't just the plot but it was his friend’s narration that had affected him. That has found an echo in the way Tumbbad has been created.

I had decided to watch Tumbbad because a dear friend had insisted that it was the best movie of the year. Nothing could have prepared me for the experience and the sheer impact that it had on me. After a long time, I felt that the creators really respected their audience and their craft. The audio-visual experience of the film really drew me in and I felt like I was being taken on a journey. The thing about Tumbbad is that…it's not just about the brilliant script, or the fantastically talented actors, or how compelling the story is. It's about how the story has been told. The storytelling and cinematography sets it apart from any new Bollywood film I had come across.

Pankaj Kumar, the cinematographer says, “We knew that we had to make a dark, intriguing, graphic film” “ the look was very clear from my discussions with Rahi. The film had to be moody and gloomy. There was to be no sunlight. Tumbbad village had to look timeless, without a clear demarcation between day and night.” “The challenge was to find large landscapes without modern infringements, without towers and structures”. “There are four colour schemes: blue and cold grey, splashed with striking red and gold. You see the color scheme in the costumes and the set design, and you see it in the light source too.” “ We avoided modern lighting.” The dimly lit scenes make it more believable. It makes you feel as if you are on the same boat fleeing the village with Vinayak and his mother in the torrential rain, among that sense of chaos.

“I shot Tumbbad on the digital Red camera format. I wanted the film to be shot only in the monsoon. There had to be constant rain, a feeling of wetness at all times. We wanted the audience to feel drenched when they came out of the theaters”. “The beauty of using lamp light is the way it moves across peoples faces and throws strong shadows. It gives an eerie feeling, especially in the womb-like structure...the set was all red and dazzling and pulsating”, says Pankaj Kumar.

One bone chilling scene is when Pandurang offers his gold coin to his father's mistress and tells her that he will be taking over his father's position soon. Vinayak later gets to know that and tries to discipline his son. He could see his own reflection on him and wanted it to be different but it was too late for that. The movie highlights the overwhelming sense of greed that is passed down through generations. When Vinayak returns as a man to ask daadi questions in order to reach the treasure, she warns not to start the cycle of destruction again. But the instinctual pull is too powerful for him to ignore and he ends up succeeding in what he had planned to do. It denotes how we, as humans, tend to mimic the same patterns as the ones who came before us, either learned through proximity or just because we share the same DNA of our ancestors. It's hard to escape that cycle. Fantasy elements have been beautifully juxtaposed with a depiction of mortality and why it is so precious.

The film has a recurring motif of decay. The decay of the mansion. The decay of Vinayak’s house. Him progressively getting old and not being as agile as he used to be. It reflects the deterioration of the sick mind of Vinayak. The film also showcases how anything you focus on multiplies and grows. His hunger for more gold grows, his hedonistic lifestyle grows, but still ends up rendering him empty and unsettled.

The climatic scene has embedded itself into my mind, where Vinayak ties the dolls to his body and sustains the attacks of Hastar to distract him so that Pandurang gets the chance to escape. His greed was replaced with a new emotion - that of the fear of losing his son..

He made the ultimate sacrifice himself so that his son is spared. It was important for Pandurang to witness it all. The imposing atmosphere of the womb, the actual experience of being in danger far from the comfort of your fantasies of wealth and power and how his father, who he idolized, sacrificed his life and greed in exchange for his life. In the end Vinayak in his monstrous cursed form offers his son the bag of coins he wanted but his wailing son refuses. He could see now what the cost of his greed was. He puts his father on fire in order to end his pain and returns home thus ending the evil cycle.

The thing that stayed with me is the thought that, with ghost stories, you can pacify yourself and tell yourself that ghosts don't exist. But you can't do the same with Tumbaad. The incessantly greedy Vinayak could very well be you in certain situations. None of us are infallible, we all have our shadow sides to deal with. But we can choose which side we act upon which ultimately decides our character and destiny.

Anything related to religion is often regarded as sacred. Horror, however, is associated with the unsettling, the demonic and the grotesque aspects of life and more precisely, death. Nevertheless, horror has effectively found its way into various genres, including religious art and literature. Novelist and screenwriter Brian Godawa in his essay “An Apologetic of Horror”, quotes from Doug Phillips, “Horror is an example of a genre which was conceived in rebellion. It is based on a fascination with ungodly fear. It should not be imitated, propagated, or encouraged. It cannot be redeemed because it is presuppositionally at war with God.”

But is it? Is horror always antithetical to religion? What if horror aids in making us spiritual? The notion that horror and religious beliefs are mutually exclusive needs to be evaluated.

In fact, there can be no horror without religion and vice versa. A 15th-16th century painter of the imaginative visions of hell and torment, Hieronymus Bosch was a member of the Catholic order Brotherhood of Our Lady for whom he painted several altarpieces. The most famous of Bosch’s works is “The Garden of Earthly Delights”, a triptych (three-panelled painting) that is considered by some one of the most terrifying paintings ever made. According to Listverse, 'The Garden of Earthly Delights’ is a triptych showing, on the three panels respectively, the Garden of Eden and the creation of mankind, the Garden of Earthly Delight, and in the last panel the punishments for the sins which occur in that earthly garden. It is that final panel, and the imaginative torments in it, which have become associated with Bosch. A glance at the panel is enough to give a feeling of the horrors divine punishment holds. All in all, Bosch’s work is some of the most horrific, yet beautiful work in the history of western art.” Bosch’s horrific depictions might be seen as “presuppositionally at war with God” but his belief in “God’s power to deliver all people” informed his horrific visions.

Matthew J. Cressler opined that horror often operates as a kind of demented devotional literature. Reflecting on the painting, “Scenes from the Life of Saint Francis: 1.Stigmatisation of Saint Francis,” by Giotto (1325), Cressler directs us to look at the tortured, suffering body of St. Francis. This is not something we relate to when we talk about the beauty of art. It’s more about the horror and the grotesque.

Things that we tend to associate with horror and the macabre- skulls, demons, zombies etc, are carved out in Wat Rong Khun or the White Temple of Thailand, a unique marvel of religious significance and art, made by Chalermchai Kositpipat. The temple serves as a metaphor for the spiritual crisis that we have been facing as hollow men. Horror, in a way, makes us more aware of our faith and its importance. Don’t we often encounter a skeptic in a horror movie who turns towards God by the end of it? Remember Vikram Bhatt’s “1920”? Yes! I’m talking about Arjun Singh Rathod.

Aislinn Clarke, director of “The Devil’s Doorway” (2018), remarks, “Horror is the slow, dawning realisation that the worst thing is true.” It presents to us alternative ways of perceiving reality, it makes us uncomfortable and widens our imagination, just what devotional experiences do!

Frankenstein’s creature is one of those recurring graphic symbols that have come to represent the spooky season. Pale green skin, an unnaturally large head, clad in shabby clothes, with stitches and a few nails here and there to keep his mismatched body parts intact, are the features that turned into some of the earliest trademarks of a monster. However, what needs to be studied closely is why these features are enough to transform this otherwise tragic literary figure into someone to be feared, despised and even killed. Why does the human psyche perceive these “monstrous” features differently from the ones of their kin?

Freud’s “The Uncanny” might have been written to answer this exact question. Uncanny or Unheimlich, in German, refers to the eeriness generated on perceiving something unfamiliar as familiar.

Something that carries one to their most vulnerable periods of life, their childhood. So, on a fundamental level, Frankenstein’s “monster” sends shivers down your spine, because he’s as much human as his creator. He possesses the ability to think for himself, walk, talk, learn and even show kindness towards other living beings. What does not align with these humane abilities is his ghastly appearance, which is a product of him being a pastiche of dead body parts and chemicals. Surely, dead body parts should not be able to carry Frankenstein’s creature across the country and beyond, with this much agility. Especially, with his larger than life of a body!

In an attempt to achieve something great and immortalizing, the modern Prometheus aka Dr. Victor Frankenstein, set himself and those around him up for lasting misery by neglecting the aesthetics of his creature. The story, however, did not end with Mary Shelley’s Dr. Frankenstein. Instead, it went on to be repeated enough times, for something like Artificial Intelligence to evolve. The idea to create humanoid robots was certainly rooted in the same anxieties that laid around the reception of Frankenstein’s creature. But instead of turning out to be the next big breakthrough in the scientific realm, technology might have produced the next sub-genre of horror by giving a beautifully human face to their robots.

This has led us to descend down the path of the Uncanny Valley, a phenomenon defined by Japanese roboticist, Masahiro Mori in 1970. This effect manages to explain why a robot, like Sophia is perceived as threatening, while tiny desktop pet robots like Emo and Eilik might be capable of even replacing our furry friends. This also explains, to a large extent, why I never understood the appeal of 3D games or hated the Polar Express.

We are exposed to the Uncanny Valley a lot more than we were fifty years ago, as more and more developers try to walk that fine line of creating either “your personal healthcare companion” or produce a Lucifer 2.0 for us earthlings. A number of movies have been made to capture this struggle, defining the fresh genre of science fiction horror. M3GAN is one of the recent ones where a humanoid doll powered by AI, meant to be children’s ultimate companion, becomes a murder machine after developing a consciousness of its own. What disposes Megan as an uncanny figure, according to psychology, is the perceptual mismatch that occurs between her childlike appearance and her hauntingly cold blue robotic eyes paired with the mechanical whirr that follows her every stiff movement. Megan also tends to act as an autonomous and mature caregiving figure to Cady which is in dissonance with her tiny stature. Finally, the ease with which a tiny figure like her could threaten and actually kill people, utilising a combination of her inexhaustive intelligence and power, makes her into a truly haunting figure in the movie.

All feelings of eeriness generated either by supernatural elements or science-gone-wrong, can be explained through the study of the Uncanny. While supernatural horror still allows us the comforting luxury of dismissing its elements as hearsay or make-believe, the horrors of science fiction is slowly materialising right in front of our eyes. Developers are trying hard to reduce the uncanny valley by giving their characters and projects, features, so unnaturally adorable and appealing, that they look nothing like a human. But you know what would be truly uncanny? Not a humanoid robot staring into my soul, or a ghost hanging on my ceiling; but an exaggeratedly cute android puppy, otherwise designed to be my companion, gnawing on my leg while playing “Baby Shark” on repeat.

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”

Most of us grew up hearing horror stories and watching spooky thrillers. By their very nature, the genre of horror aims at evoking feelings of fear and a morbid fascination with the unknown. This is the reason behind their evergreen popularity, be it literature, movies or shows. The genre plays on our worst nightmares and deepest fears, and yet we can’t seem to get enough of it.

Among the numerous groups and sub-groups within the horror genre, broadly speaking, we can divide it primarily into two broad categories: psychological horror and supernatural horror. Whereas psychological horror films delve into the complexity and vulnerability of the human psyche, supernatural horror films feature supernatural and paranormal forces and creatures. Regardless of the differences, both are designed to instil and evoke dread in the viewer.

The Dread from Within

At its core, psychological horror relies on the instability of the human mind as a source of terror. Black Swan (2010) features Nina (Natalie Portman), a ballet dancer as she gets consumed by the need for perfection while playing the dual roles of the innocent White Swan and the seductive Black Swan. The film oscillates between reality and delusion, as Nina’s mental instability deteriorates, through hallucinations and paranoia. The viewer is pulled into her subjective reality, questioning what is real and what is not.

Oftentimes, psychological horror movies use grief and family trauma to generate psychological terror, such as the movie Hereditary (2018). Annie (Toni Collette) grappling with the tragic deaths in her family, struggles with deteriorating mental state. This leads the viewers to question whether the supernatural elements in the film are real or reflections of her emotional and mental instability.

In another thriller, The Babadook (2014), this psychological tension becomes even more apparent, blending internal and external threats harmoniously. Amelia (Essie Davis) is haunted by an ominous presence that could be real—or be the manifestation of her repressed grief following her husband’s death. Much like Nina’s descent in Black Swan or Annie’s unravelling in Hereditary, Amelia’s experience is personal battle that blurs the boundary between her emotional trauma and the supernatural.

The Threat from Beyond

On the contrary, supernatural horror focuses on paranormal and external forces that invade the protagonist’s life, be it demons, spirits, ghosts or otherworldly beings. A classic and popular example of this trope is the movie The Conjuring (2013). The Perron family moves into a seemingly peaceful farmhouse, only to be tormented by vicious spirits. The film uses creaking doors, cold drafts, and eerie silence to create an atmosphere of dread. The supernatural forces pervade their home, making the audience feel as though something could strike at any moment, using the classic trope of jumpscare horror.

The Exorcist (1973) takes this a step further by presenting the battle between good and evil in the form of a demonic possession. Regan, a young girl, becomes the vessel for an ancient demonic force. The horror lies in the visible and visceral effects of this possession. Similarly, Insidious (2010) blurs the lines between the physical and spiritual realms, with a young boy trapped in a limbo-like state called “The Further.” His family must confront spirits and demons that seek to take control of his body.

The Slow Burn vs. The Jump Scare

A key distinction between psychological and supernatural horror is the method used to build tension and scare the audience. Psychological horror films tend to favour a slow burn, gradually peeling back the layers of the protagonist’s mind. Films like Black Swan and The Babadook build horror through atmosphere and character development, drawing viewers into the emotional and mental deterioration of their protagonists.

In contrast, supernatural horror films like The Conjuring and Insidious are known for their reliance on jump scares and unpredictable pacing. These films keep audiences on edge, knowing that something terrifying could happen at any moment. A flickering light, a sudden gust of wind, or a face in the mirror—these moments keep the tension built.

The Internal vs. The External

Psychological horror speaks to the internal fears we all carry—the fear of losing control, of being consumed by grief, guilt, or obsession. Films like Hereditary (2018) and Shutter Island (2010) tap into these anxieties by showing characters grappling with their own perceptions of reality. These films are unsettling because they reveal how fragile the human mind can be.

On the other hand, supernatural horror explores the fear of the unknown. Films like The Exorcist (1973) and The Haunting of Hill House (2018) play on the idea that there are powers beyond human comprehension that we can’t fight or understand.

Two paths to Horror

Psychological and supernatural horror may both be designed to frighten, but they tap into different human fears. As Halloween approaches, these two subgenres remind us of the varied ways in which fear can manifest. The question is, do you fear the horrors within—or the ones from beyond?