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Four voices trade ghost stories, queer horror, and cultural myths to ask what fear is really for. We swap jokes about cursed jars and rapture beds, then get serious about real danger, empathy, and how horror mirrors power and identity.

• ghost encounters as energy, memory, and suggestion
• Mr Aikman’s attic warning and childhood intuition
• consciousness beyond the body and tech’s mind fetishes
• evolution, otherness, and the roots of monster myths
• horror reframed by queer and BIPOC creators
• voodoo, charms, and culture without appropriation
• Langoliers on a foggy highway terror
• school lockdown drill stress and release
• gremlins, rules, and moral fables in cinema
• UFOs, multiverses, and living ghost towns
• upcoming live art and anti‑fascist events in Houston

Ghost stories are easy; the hard part is asking what they say about us. We kick things off with a hallway lamp that flips on by itself and a polite ghost named Mr. Aikman guarding an attic, then spiral into how memory, energy, and culture make “hauntings” feel true. From a grandmother staring down a figure at the foot of the bed to a cursed coin purse designed so something missing can never be found, we weigh belief against brain science and ask whether consciousness might reach beyond the body into a shared field the living sometimes stumble into. 
 
That curiosity pulls us straight into horror’s engine room. We talk evolution, otherness, and the uncanny—how old fears about difference created modern monsters—and why queer and BIPOC creators are rewriting the rules. Get Out turns suburbia into a trap. The Bride of Frankenstein turns the “monster” into an innocent. Pan’s Labyrinth makes fascism the true terror. Along the way, we swap unhinged folklore: a hex-breaking jar that absolutely should not have been dropped, the “rapture bed” that mysteriously vanished, and the eternal question of when it’s finally safe to feed a gremlin. We laugh because laughter releases the body after it locks up, whether it’s The Langoliers on a fog-choked highway or a real school lockdown alarm that was—no kidding—triggered when someone sat on the button. 
 
Horror thrives where we can’t say things out loud. It lets us talk about power, identity, and harm without naming names. It also reminds us that the scariest threats aren’t ghosts; they’re people who write rules, close doors, and decide whose fear counts. We close by teeing up UFOs, multiverses, and the Great Plains’ “living ghost towns,” where missile silos and abandoned plants feel like postcards from a future we’d better understand fast. 
 
If this conversation hit a nerve, follow and share the show with a friend who loves smart, strange stories. Leave a review to help others find us, and tell us, what’s the one horror scene you can’t shake—and why?

November 22nd, it is the third unprecedented show. 7 p.m. at Aurora Chapel. That’s 800 Aurora Street in Houston, Texas. $10 at the door, but nobody’s turned away. Look up Fall of Freedom and if you’re local to Houston, check out Aurora Chapel

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For more information, visit our website 22sides.com