As an anxious, introverted kid growing up in Costa Rica during the 80s and 90s, I always felt like something of an outsider. My refuge was escaping into and devouring sci-fi, fantasy, drama, crime thrillers, and above all things, HORROR. For years, these books, movies, comics, and even video games became my life. I dove into the horror-next-door of Stephen King, the ineffable cosmic abominations of H.P. Lovecraft, the disturbing atmosphere of Silent Hill, the dreamlike imagery of David Lynch, the sheer unnerving strangeness of Junji Ito, and many more; they got mixed in with my country’s folk stories and my own experiences, resulting in what I think is a peculiar blend that you, the reader, might feel is familiar but unknown. And isn’t that the foundation of horror? Doesn’t horror begin with something mundane that, seen from the right angle, seems a bit wrong?
