Tales from the Void (2024) Carefully Curated Horror Anthology based on R/NoSleep

In the late 2000s a whole eco-system was being born from the depths of the controversial forum 4Chan that would create a digital cavern for internet horror legends. The first Creepypasta to emerge from there spread like wildfire, and soon enough dedicated websites to these frightening tales were born. These tales grew with the internet, and as the lines between reality and fiction blurred, people began making their own versions or adding layer upon layer of evidence or different levels to certain stories. Arguably the most infamous home for these stories away from their origins is r/Nosleep – a Reddit community dedicated to creepy tales that could become an internet legends, and after years of uploads, many stories have been turned into short films, full lengths features, or successful podcasts. 

Out now on Screambox TV, Francesco Loschiavo’s (Show Creator and Runner), Tales of the Void brings some of these stories to life, and six stories that blend genre thrills with social commentary have been resurrected to terrify us.

Into The Unknown (directed by Joe Lynch)

A mysterious black cube is found in the centre of an apartment complex, but nobody saw anyone build or deliver it, so where did it come from? The fear and curiosity of the residents is palpable as everyone tries to figure out what it is, but a throughline is the environment itself as the residents seem to inform the cube’s behaviour. There were many times I thought the cube was feeding off everything around it and, given the ending, it could be a massive possibility as the whole piece seems to hang on whether our moral codes can exist or withstand the intensity of fear. Are we as moral when our fight or flight instinct kicks in, and when we’re trying to keep order, how do we control ourselves? 

The cube’s imposing stillness is amplified by a lovely performance from Mpho Kaoho, whose sincerity, genuine unhinged curiosity, and ability to build intensity makes him one to watch – he has a promising career in horror if he wants it. Backed up by Martin Roach as the conflicted Anton and Joey Freddy as the imposing pressure cooker Bill, the cube’s unrelenting presence engulfs the small apartment complex and forces the residents to see their true selves. With moody cinematography and wonderfully refined special effects, this a solid story of humanity’s fallibility, and our horrific pinhead turn towards violence and harming others in the name of “order.” 

Because it’s not about the cube at all. It’s about us. 

Fixed Frequency (directed by Francesco Loschiavo)

Three friends have a penchant for hacking baby monitors, but when they pick up something more sinister, who’s to say how their privacy may be invaded, or indeed indeed their bodies and souls? There’s something genius about the use of baby monitors as they’re intimate devices, and with babies being the most vulnerable among us, they allow parents to watch over their resting children. Invading that space is already sinister, and as the friends use gruff voices and horrific lines to prank the unsuspecting families, the stage is set up perfectly for their comeuppance. As the story progresses, you have to remember they’re just kids who, by invading people’s personal spaces for a laugh, have allowed their childish, ignorant pranks to go too far.

We’ve all seen teen focused horrors where the dialogue feels flat, but there’s a good balance here between banter and the notion that the kids know what they’re doing is wrong, but they don’t care because “boys will be boys”. They capture the brilliant moment when the “weakest”, who’s often the person with strong feelings of right and wrong, is unsure about taking the prank as far as the others, and for the last house of the night they soon learn that they’ve picked the wrong place. The actors really shine when the consequences of their actions loom, and they perfectly capture teenage fear, keeping us invested through breathy pleads and conflicting emotions. Have one of their friends gone rogue and played a prank on them? Do they stay strong and stand their ground, or do they run?

Sean Bandiola (Juan), is a perfect leading actor in this because his emotions are so believable, and his fear envelopes everything – just like TV static does on a late night when you’ve fallen asleep on the sofa. Complemented by meaningful cinematography and camera work, you feel the world closing in on him, and his frustration with his friends builds as they won’t take things seriously or, even worse, want to completely disengage from events and put their heads in the sand. 

Fixed Frequency is one of my favourite films in the anthology, and it has all the energy of beloved ’90s and early 2000s slashers. 

Starlight (directed by Francesco Loschiavo)

Whitt Barnet has had dreams of stardom all his life, but when a new gameshow called The Magnificent Million Dollar Question offers him an opportunity, it may be worth more than he bargained for. The quest for fame has taken many a poor soul and Whitt is no different, so from the minute the story starts you can see his desperation play out as anger, causing the mask that will take him to fame – his online character “whitt” – to keep slipping, which immediately gets us on board. This episode has the throughline of what is actually likable, and asks if anyone can ever be “likable”? It also questions whether it’s charity if you’re doing it for yourself, and asks where the line should be drawn between genuine altruism and selfish, egotistical saviourism?

Before Whitt can be released onto the world, the show stops him in his tracks as it preys on people desperate for fame, drawing in those with lower moral compasses who’d do anything for a chance at the big time. Sean Meldrum plays Whitt as a vessel for anything, and his frustration and anger at struggling to be famous bleeds through everything he does, leaving shadows of desperation in their wake that unhinge his centre and make him willing to be and do whatever the viewers want – signifying that he has no sense of self. My favourite actor in this episode was Dan Ambramovici (the Host), who struck a perfect balance of camp, enthusiasm and manipulation that created a seething dark underbelly to the game show, making him the best catalyst to reveal that Whitt is not, and has never been, in control. 

Carry (directed by Maritte Lee Go)

Katy’s getting everything she ever wanted, from a beautiful wedding to her grandparents in-law’s house, and a child on the way, but the best laid plans sometimes fall apart in the worst ways, don’t they?

This is arguably one of the hardest hitting stories in the anthology as the fear isn’t caused by the paranormal or a rampant murderer, but from the real life conflicts of motherhood and complicated pregnancies. Andi Hubick (Katy), handles these complexities beautifully, and as Katy fights for her own autonomy the question changes from should I have it or not, to whose life are we going to save? Andrew Chown (Norman), is great as the constantly tunnel-visioned antagonist who disregards Katy as a whole person and storms forward with the horrific birth. Both Hubick and Chown play their parts wonderfully, riffing off each other with just the right amount of weight to ensure the subject matter doesn’t veer into parody. 

Practical effects have been used empathetically and at the most crucial times, highlighting the severity of the situation by adding texture to the battle Katy has on her hands. The shadow of judgement, religious and otherwise, is handled with grace, adding tension to the story in a way that makes sense. The message and horror of Carry never seems preachy as it’s deeply rooted in real life – which makes it all the more devastating.  

Plastic Smile (directed by John Adams & Toby Poser)

Plastic Smile frames survival in how children cope with their surroundings, and the things they do to make themselves feel safe. In Abigail’s case, her parents are addicts, and she finds solace in a creepy porcelain doll called Betsy who can move, speak and cry. The most captivating thing about this is the way the complexities of grief are dealt with, especially when it’s a loved one who’s the source of pain and neglect. John Adams and Toby Poser are the creative team behind this episode, and they don’t shy away from the disconnection we feel in these situations because when the grief comes with release, then who are we actually grieving for?

Beatrice Schneider (Abigail), gives us a stunning performance that constantly interrogates the mood swings caused by grief in such a complex dynamic. This builds a steady foundation for Betsy, who seems to draw from not only Abigail as a child, but also her environment, and this is where Plastic Smile differs from other paranormal doll stories. The tragedy here is that Betsy becomes a vessel for Abigail’s pain, but the doll in turn is reliant on Abigail, forming a terrifying co-dependent bond that we think may be unbreakable. Within that terror there’s a deep sadness borne from Abigail’s need to escape her harsh reality – something she may never have addressed without Betsy which creates a lifelong bond to the doll. 

The cinematography for Plastic Smile really leaps out, and Scott McClellan’s use of angles with Abigail’s child and adult perspectives is perfect. He’s playful and almost fantasy-like when she’s a child, leading us through her low and high-points, and taking us back to our own adventures in the woods. Knowing everything we do, this deepens the impact of Abigail’s childhood as it’s perhaps one of the only escapes she has. When we’re slammed back into Abigail’s present life or whenever the doll is present, everything takes on a sombre note with darkness and harsh reds, Betsy’s face being lit more often by torchlight than sunlight. This draws us back to Abigail’s isolation and her need for nurture that she just can’t get from the people around her. Her confrontations with her mother are almost always off balance, the diagonal angles and sharper cuts bringing together the mania and overwhelming tones that a child should never have to deal with. These are the finer details that rip at our hearts, making us see Abigail and Betsy in more complex ways as we try to pick apart the texture that gives the story so much richness. 

Whistle in the Woods (directed by Francesco Loschiavo)

It’s just an unassuming sleepover, right? Sawyer would love nothing more than to spend a night at her new best friend Nola’s home – a beautiful, huge house with a picture perfect family. But Nola’s house has rules that must be followed. Rules that conceal a dark secret that arrives each night at 3:03 AM.

Nola’s mother, Mrs Toles (Cara Pifko), cuts a restrained figure as the perfect matriarch, holding the whole story in her unwavering poise and making makes the events that follow all the more terrifying. She sets the tone for the terror that will ensue by giving us a stable foundation, but it’s one that can be broken apart in unexpected ways as she’s integral to the horror – and she plays her role perfectly. Sawyer (Molly Lewis), has a rebellious and imaginative nature that gives momentum to what’s going to happen, creating a wonderful contrast with her surroundings as you wonder if she’s naive, or just bowled over by the excitement of her new environs. She’s both, which makes the horror all the more delicious as it adds an undertone of “I watch horror films so I know what I’m doing or I’d love to see something”. Nola (Anna Moridin), shines when she tells the tale of the whistle and plays the twist exactly how it needs to be done, rooting us in the horror that’s about to be unleashed with expert timing – which is no small feat. 

Whistle in the Woods is arguably the darkest of the episodes in terms of cinematography and colour palette, its moody aesthetic a stark contrast to the light and airy beginning at Nola’s house, and the change in tone happens on a hairpin. The angles and space becomes tight, focusing on the furniture and giving us a sense of the terrors being locked away, dying to be unshackled. The colour red appears again, but in subtler ways as the deep washes of it that alert us to massive danger are gone, and an alarm clock gives us the grounding we need – which is cleverly done. That’s all the red we need as there are rules to follow and times to be respected, and the alarm clock sits to remind us of those things so when a boundary is crossed, the creative team gives us layers of mimicry and outright malevolence. 

That’s a wonderful end to Tales from the Void, a wonderful end to an exciting and carefully curated collection with clear thought, passion and creativity at its helm. 

Sampira’s Archive – Tales from the Void (2024)