Whist clearing out stacks of old DVDs at my mum’s house, tucked behind photo albums and paperwork, I came across a gold mine. Not a gold mine worth a thing on eBay, but a gold mine of memory, mood and the very begins of my love of Horror movies.

The sleeves were worn. The brittle plastic prongs meant to hold the discs in place were almost all broken, rattling loose inside the cases like tiny bones. The disc art was cloudy with time. But there they were: House on Haunted Hill, Thirteen Ghosts, Ghost Ship. 

My old favorites. The ones that started it all. 
Started it all for Dark Castle Entertainment.  
Started it all for me. 

Back then, horror didn’t come to you. You had to go looking for it. We didn’t have Sky. No easy access to YouTube trailers. No algorithmic nudges. We had the Horror aisle of Blockbuster. 

I was deep into my nu-metal / emo phase, and these films weren’t just scary, they were stylish, theatrical, and unapologetically loud.  

House on Haunted Hill (1999) 

This was the gateway. The first horror film I remember watching. It was twisted, theatrical, and dripping with style. The mansion itself was a character: steel corridors, flickering lights, impossible geometry. The mood lingered long after the credits rolled, sealed by Marilyn Manson’s Sweet Dreams. A cover that felt like a whispered dare. 

It wasn’t about jump scares. It was about atmosphere, design, and that delicious sense of wrongness. It taught me that horror could be beautiful. That fear could be curated. 

I didn’t lie awake at night thinking something might creep out from under my bed. I lay there thinking about colour, about sound, about the how did they do that moments in a world where CGI was still finding its feet, still full of mystery and magic. 

Thirteen Ghosts (2001) 

Then came Thirteen Ghosts. A film so visually bizarre it felt like stepping into a haunted museum. A glass-walled mansion powered by the dead, where twelve imprisoned sprits and one unsuspecting family collide. No spoilers here but the credits fade into Excess by Tricky. A glitchy, haunted pulse with Alanis Morissette’s ghostly vocals drifting underneath. This isn’t just horror. It’s design, mood, and emotional architecture. 

And now, if sources are correct, Thirteen Ghosts is being revived by Dark Castle as a 13-part series. Each episode will explore the backstory of a different ghost, drawing from the original film’s mythology and expanding it with international supernatural lore. If rumours are true, there’s even talk of augmented reality (AR) features, allowing viewers to experience ghostly apparitions in their own homes via an app. 

It’s not just a remake. It’s a full-on reimagining. I just hope Dark Castle sticks to its roots. Remembers everything that made this film unforgettable and a cult classic for emo ‘kids’ around the world.  

Ghost Ship (2002) 

Ghost Ship popped up on Netflix recently, and before I knew it, there I was. 10am on a Saturday, curtains drawn, settling in for a 90-minute blast from the past. It felt like I’d just walked home from Blockbuster.

As the end credits rolled and Mudvayne’s Not Falling exploded from the speakers, I was abruptly thrown back into reality, and one step away from reactivating my MySpace.  

These weren’t just DVDs. They were portals. They shaped my taste for the eerie, the stylish, the psychologically strange. They taught me that horror could be beautiful. That dread could be designed. 

All those years ago, standing in Blockbuster, I didn’t know I was at the start of curating a haunted archive. I just knew I couldn’t leave without something strange. 

Dark Castle wasn’t on the map. But thank you Blockbuster.

Thank you for showing me the way.