Alexandra Scarlatos

On June 28th, 2021, Jake Samuelson held up his iPhone to show a picture of another phone, his mother’s home phone, to a reporter. In the pictures and videos, the digital display of her home phone noted 16 prior calls from his grandparents’ caller ID. All of the voicemails left behind by their number were made up of what could only be described by the young man as “no human noises”—crackling and empty static. The nature of these voicemails may sound concerning enough alone. But these phone calls, which were confirmed to be coming from an analog landline telephone, were received after the two grandparents had been buried under millions of pounds of concrete rubble for several hours. That is what’s so hair-raisingly unnerving. How could a landline telephone survive the sudden collapse of a Floridian sky-rise condo building? More importantly, how could the grandparents? Was it at all possible that they had indeed survived and had been frantically making calls for help? According to reports, the perplexed family received the first call not even 24 hours after the collapse occurred. The rest of the phone calls were received the next day, abruptly coming to a halt that same evening. What could any of this mean? “We are trying to rationalize what is happening here. We are trying to get answers,” the grandson told reporters. (WFLA, June 28 2021)

The situation in general should be heart-wrenching to anybody because it involves the innocent lives of loved ones being held in limbo. To many, the story of these “phantom” phone calls might also sound paranormal in nature. It might sound like a “creepypasta”—a scary urban legend often based on realistic inspiration copy-and-pasted across internet forums to cultivate fear and confusion in its readers. It might sound like a concept out of a Hollywood horror film. This time, however, the horror is real, and the mystery phone calls were well documented with tangible evidence made available to the public. The family’s bizarre experience prompted multiple investigative articles from global news publications such as Insider and The Washington Post. “I don’t know how they’re getting the call,” Miami-Dade fire chief Dave Downey said of the situation in a news report. “It really doesn’t make any logical sense how you’d be dialing a phone if you were trapped. But we put resources on the area where the apartment was, and we have not found anything.” (The Washington Post, June 29 2021)

Comment sections of YouTube videos covering the story were flooded with speculations, arguments, and possible insights alike. When I personally discovered this story, it rattled me in a way I found difficult to comprehend. I sent news article links to just about any friend or family member that would listen. Though I discovered a few promising theories through my obsessive internet scouring, there seemed to be no definitive explanation anywhere. Not even from any consulted electrical-engineering experts. As of July 4th, 2021, it has been well over a week since the massive building collapse, and the pair of grandparents are still missing. There have also been no further updates on the phone calls.

So, why do stories like this elicit such intense emotion in us when we know nothing monstrous or ghostly is involved? At the same time, why do these intense emotions keep such a tight grip on our curiosity as human beings? We often associate the effectiveness of horror-genre entertainment to spooky paranormality, non-human beasts, and other beyond-the-grave creatures. But stories with real-life human implications can be just as paranormal, which makes it all the more difficult to pinpoint what exactly is so disconcerting about them. For example, eliminating the non-fact-based idea that the mystery phone calls were made by some force beyond the living, the possible scientific explanations we are left to ponder are still creepy. What is it about unexplainable events that so thoroughly scares the human species? Globally infamous Japanese horror manga artist Junji Ito was asked a similar question about the nature of what truly scares humans in an interview from 2019:

“What is it, indeed. Something which is a bit different from human, not animal either, and yet exists in our world. It spreads rumors and remains a mystery. […] Mysteries which hint at death, situations where I fear there is impending danger where something unknown lurks ahead, things that heighten my insecurity.”

Interviewer: “I see. That’s why they show up in your works…”

“Yes, I make it a point to put them in.”

In the past, Ito has cited H.P. Lovecraft as one of the biggest influences behind his work. Some notable examples include Uzumaki, a tale about a town plagued by a fatal obsession with spiral shapes, or The Enigma of Amigara Fault, which details the aftermath of an earthquake that revealed human-shaped holes in the side of a large rock, each one uniquely fitting the silhouette of every single curious visitor. Lovecraftian horror is often referred to as “cosmic horror”, a horror sub-genre that seems to accurately touch upon that specific human fear of unexplainable realities. Lovecraft claimed that his literature, and therefore the cosmic horror sub-genre, is based on the “fundamental premise that common human laws and interests and emotions have no validity or significance in the vast cosmos-at-large.” (Letter to Farnsworth Wright, July 5 1927) In both examples of Uzumaki and The Enigma of Amigara Fault, the human protagonists are forced up against unseen powers that are much larger and much more incomprehensible than the human characters could ever possibly grapple with. The forces are so daunting and cosmic that the reader gets the feeling that perhaps even science itself has thousands of years to go before catching up to any explanation for it all. They also serve as reminders of how small and insignificant humans truly are, a daunting realization in itself. While there may eventually be an easily explainable scientific cause in the case of the mystery phone calls, the thought of an inhuman force continuing to mimick human life where there possibly is none is unquestionably cosmic, and makes me, personally, feel very, very small.

In 2020, director Richard Stanley released Color Out of Space, a film directly based on H.P. Lovecraft’s short story titled “The Colour Out of Space”. Stanley did an incredible job, in my opinion, bringing the definition of cosmic horror to life by visually adapting it. The film depicts the terrifying consequences of a meteorite landing in the yard of a family’s farm. Much of the family’s downfall is driven by denial, which is a uniquely human emotion we often resort to when faced with what seems like a phantasmal situation. In the end, the film provides no definitive answer as to whether or not the family members are still alive in some other dimension after a reality-distorting and hellish purple light seeps into every fiber of their beings and engulfs their existences. The only remainder of the family’s earthly ties is a hydrologist, who had previously surveyed their farmland, and was able to survive the catastrophe by hiding in their wine cellar. Although it is understood that the force behind everything is something from another planet, the story never introduces a singular creature or character in control of the chaos. The cause can only be chalked up to being simply a faceless, cosmic power that operates on pure indifference towards human life. The film is definitely one of the more terrifying horror films I have ever seen solely because what happens to the characters is so desperately unexplainable, and desperately unstoppable. Perhaps the closest parallel to this in our own day-to-day lives is the knowledge that our human deaths are an inevitable, unexplainable, and arguably cosmic force as well. It’s that sense of not knowing who, what, when, how, or why that also applies to events in real life—such as the mystery phone calls—that involve the inevitability of life or death.

Another element of cosmic horror that exists in Junji Ito’s work as well as in Color Out of Space is body horror. However, it is body horror at an especially unpleasant level. Typically, classic Western body horror relies on humans transforming into other creatures, such as beasts and zombies. Ito crafts bodies that are recognizably human, but grotesquely warped. Being recognizable as human is a key factor in this level of cosmic body horror because it keeps the story seemingly possible in our mind’s eye. If the reader can picture themself as the mutilated human subject, then the thought “this could really happen to me” is planted. When the body horror is also paired with a cosmic narrative, it very effectively pokes at that back-of-the-brain understanding that humans are powerless and small, and that we exist beneath extremely delicate armor.  In Color Out of Space, two family members become physically fused together into a horrifying mass of flesh after a thunderous clap of that unknown, purple-colored force. Their fused bodies are still visibly human, but they can no longer communicate intelligibly, other than by using pained noises or crying. In Junji Ito’s Uzumaki (which was adapted to film in 2002 by Akihiro Higuchi), the human bodies of the townspeople are “twisted, stretched, and violated to unbelievable extents by an unexplainable, unseen force that contorts human bodies into spirals,” (Cruz, 2012) as put by Ateneo de Manila University’s biology Ph.D. and professor Ronald Allan Lopez Cruz. Another unexpected but very applicable example of this type of body horror can be found in Les Yeux sans visage, a black and white film from 1960 directed by Georges Franju. In this film, the only thing grotesque is the main character herself, who’s face becomes so maimed in a car accident that several attempts to steal the faces of other innocent women is deemed warranted in order to fix it. Although the only cosmic force in this film may be the inexplicable madness that her surgeon-father is thrust into, the film’s scare tactics are based totally on the mutilation of human bodies. When the main character wears a mannequin-esque mask to cover her shame, her face becomes distinctly lifeless in comparison to the rest of her human body, her natural movements. Scenes in which a woman’s face is being surgically lifted are creepy and unsettling yet involve no ghouls or ghosts. The monsters really only exist within the humans and their very human intentions.

Uzumaki, Color Out of Space, and Les Yeux sans visage are three examples of fantastic executions of human body horror that make the viewer consider their own bodies along with the gruesome possibilities being visually presented. It is far less reasonable to imagine ourselves morphing into another creature, such as Brundlefly in David Cronenberg’s The Fly (1986), than it is to think about our human bodies being deformed into unthinkable shapes or melting into puddles of flesh. Because these things seem plausible, just like unexplainable events, such as receiving phone calls from presumedly passed loved ones, are also things proven to be plausible.

So far, I’ve catalogued inevitable and unseen forces that are indifferent to human life as well as a real potential to experience cosmic events and human body horror as two elements that might make up an answer to the question: What is it about unexplainable events that so thoroughly scares the human species? The three films I mentioned previously do not have conclusive or happy endings. Another example of this is, indeed, actually a zombie film—Train to Busan, a 2016 film directed by Yeon Sang-ho, exhibits the effectiveness of preserving humanity in horror. If there ever was to be a zombie apocalypse, Train to Busan is what I imagine it would realistically look like. The citizens are not equipped with big machine guns to defend themselves, nor do they have access to their own vehicles or other escape methods; They are trapped travelling on a high-speed train and if they jump, they will die but if they stay, they will also surely die. In this film, there also is no solution, no victory. It’s an inevitable freak situation, just like the fearful stories Junji Ito crafts or the particular storyline of Color Out of Space. So, it is possible to include monsters and ghouls effectively in horror stories that are actually quite focused on humans and our mortal experience. Zombie stories can be used in a way that is deeply relatable to the living, as long as that potent sense of inevitability is central to the plot.

As in real life, we grasp at any slivers of a happy ending to bring unnerving stories to a positive conclusion. It is painful to go to bed, as a human, with unresolved worries. And when there is a positive ending to a horror film, the viewer is left with some control over any anxieties and fears sparked by the content, essentially making it much easier to sleep at night afterwards. In an article for SyFy Wire, Wake Forest University professor Dr. Allison Forti says, “Physiologically, our brains are not that skilled at distinguishing the difference between fantasy and reality”. In the same article, horror podcast host S.A. Bradley says, “We love to feel a sense of control about fear and that’s why we love horror.” It makes sense that scary films with solid conclusions allow our brains to understand that the scary event is finished, and that we can move on from it.

Uzumaki, Color Out of Space, and Train to Busan do not have end resolutions or heroes that come to the rescue. There are some characters, especially in Train to Busan, that act as heroes by sacrificing their own lives in favor of others, but this is a more realistic look at heroism as opposed to some superhero flying down from the sky and ending a zombie apocalypse. The heroism in this film involves mortality and, again, inevitability. In cosmic horror, realism is always the ending; These stories promote the acceptance of the fact that humans are small and insignificant when faced with the unknown, and that our mortality is completely inevitable. Cosmic horror is the ultimate genre of horror entertainment because it speaks directly to our own life experiences as humans. I may never know what caused the mystery phone calls reported by Jake Samuelson and his family. Perhaps they will eventually find that the phone calls were physically being made by Samuelson’s grandparents. But I believe that the story gripped me because it contains all of the inescapable elements mentioned in this essay: The inevitability of the building collapse, the inexplicable nature of electrical malfunctions, and the complete lack of any answer or closure to settle the pondering. And that story is one that will most certainly leave me pondering for a very long time. When humans are left to ruminate on the un-answerable, this is where the intensely addictive fear lies—because this type of real-life horror will never have any sort of ending at all.

Works cited

Al-Arshani, Sarah. “Family Members of a Couple Missing in the Florida Condo Collapse Continue to Receive Phantom Phone Calls from Their Landline. Experts Don’t Know Why.” Insider, Insider, 30 June 2021, www.insider.com/family-couple-missing-condo-collapse-get-calls-from-number-2021-6/.

Cruz, Ronald Allan. “Mutations and Metamorphoses: Body Horror Is Biological Horror.” Journal of Popular Film and Television, vol. 40, no. 4, 2012, pp. 160–168., doi:10.1080/01956051.2012.654521.

“Family Received Calls from Missing Grandparents Following Surfside Condo Collapse, Report Says.” WFLA, WFLA, 29 June 2021, www.wfla.com/news/florida/family-keeps-getting-calls-from-missing-grandparents-following-surfside-condo-collapse-report-says/.

lati, Marisa. “Their Grandparents’ Landline from the Collapsed Condo Kept Calling. They Still Don’t Have Answers.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 30 June 2021, www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2021/06/29/florida-condo-collapse-phone-calls/.

K., Ben. “An Interview with Master of Horror Manga Junji Ito (Full Length Version).” Grape Japan, Grape Co., Ltd., 10 June 2019, grapee.jp/en/116016.

Lovecraft, H. P., et al. “Letters to Farnsworth Wright.” Lovecraft Annual, no. 8, 2014, pp. 5–59. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/26868482.

Ward, Cassidy. “Into the Dark: What Is the Physical and Mental Impact of Binge-Watching Horror Movies?” SYFY WIRE, SYFY WIRE, 25 Jan. 2021, www.syfy.com/syfywire/binge-watching-horror-movies-mental-impact.

About the Author

Alexandra Scarlatos was a student in Comp Lit 100: International Horror, taught by Nefeli Forni in Spring 2021.