A collection of curated encounters with the beautifully unsettling.

You know you’ve truly made it when you release a book dedicated to nothing but your own brilliance. After all, if you’ve spent the last fifteen years turning micro‑budget gambles into cultural juggernauts across the horror genre, a little self‑worship feels practically modest. Consider it a public service.

After an extended and entirely avoidable delay, the Gallery has finally reopened. A room set aside for artwork of the strange and the beautiful.
Every so often, a game appears that makes you squint at the screen and think, “Haven’t I been traumatised by this art style before?” Enter Reanimal.
A ghost is an emotion bent out of shape, condemned to repeat itself time and time again, until it rights the wrong that was done.
Netflix is many things. Convenient, overwhelming, and occasionally determined to hide every horror film you actually want to watch. Fortunately, the House Keeper has recently discovered a little‑known workaround.
Twenty-seven rooms exploring Voodoo rites, Freemason temples, alchemical experiments, witchcraft, demonology, séances, and even the world’s largest collection of haunted dolls.
In case you missed it at the Cinema, you can now enjoy the chaos, panic, and the gentle reminder that society can, in fact, get worse, from the comfort of your own living room.
The House Keeper placed this on the list with a small, satisfied nod. “Homes like this don’t settle,” she said. “They wait.” Whether she meant the fictional house or ours was unclear. We decided not to press the matter.
The only thing more unsettling than being alone, is being alone on the Moon.
A decent into London’s underbelly.
Because apparently the Upside Down wasn’t content with just haunting Netflix.
Nothing says “fresh year, fresh start” like voluntarily returning to a town that behaves like a psychological escape room designed by someone who personally hates you.
We’re still tethered to Halloween’s shadow, holding onto the last scraps of darkness before before December’s glitter seeps into the foundations and mingles with the dust. Call it denial – or just good taste before the season turns obnoxiously bright.
London isn’t short on cemeteries. With around 85,000 deaths recorded in the capital each year, we all have to end up somewhere. And yet, in a city founded nearly 2,000 years ago, burial space is running out.
There’s nothing more beautiful than a bookshelf filled with stories, and nothing more haunting than one where the covers all speak as one.
Crooked lines, pale faces, and a kind of melancholy that feels oddly comforting. Like many, his worlds have always felt familiar to me. Instantly recognizable, and comforting in the most macabre way.