Series of Frights is a recurring column that mainly focuses on horror in television. Specifically, it takes a closer look at five episodes or stories — each one adhering to an overall theme — from different anthology series or the occasional movie made for TV. With anthologies becoming popular again, especially on television, now is the perfect time to see what this timeless mode of storytelling has to offer.

Television has, needless to say, not always been so widely mindful or inclusive when it comes to queer characters and narratives. Even in a progressive genre like horror where the theme of otherness is common, small-screen storytellers had to be crafty and cautious in the past. Queerness was ciphered, alluded to, or avoided altogether until attitudes and practices changed.

In the history of televised horror, some of the most unequivocally queer stories are found in anthologies. These particular tales are transparent with their representation and help articulate the characters’ frightening life experiences.

Play for Today (1970-1984)
Penda’s Fen

The BBC’s Play for Today produced over 300 diverse teleplays during its impressive and lengthy run, and its masterpiece is Alan Clarke and David Rudkin’s feature-length collaboration, Penda’s Fen. The singular drama from 1974 expounds the intense and fantastical maturation of a teenager, as well as speaks deeply of a bygone era of England.

This multifarious story takes place in Pinvin, and it follows the confused Stephen Franklin (Spencer Banks). His grammar-school classmates chide him for his sanctimonious opinions, and his parents have no idea how to tell him the truth about his ancestry as his eighteenth birthday approaches. That urgent desire for selfhood soon forces Stephen to accept realities for not only himself but also the state of his country.

Stephen’s burgeoning sexuality is handled with depth and vision. From an incubus manifesting after an erotic dream, to the valorous rejection of masculinity and conservatism, Stephen’s coming out is far from typical. His devout parents are well aware of their son’s latent orientation — they notice Stephen’s crush on the milkman before he does — and to some degree, they are understanding rather than disapproving. In addition, a pagan, Anglo Saxon king rescues the “impure” Stephen from England’s damning intolerance. This is all a welcome break from the vilification of queer characters so common at the time.

Penda’s Fen cannot be defined by one genre; it is more than a folk-horror movie. In addition to its bold heresy, the telefilm beautifully injects romanticism, imaginatively depicts sexual awakening and repression, and acknowledges England’s pagan past in respect to modern nationalism.

Tales from the Crypt (1989-1996)
The Assassin

This curious and uneven Tales from the Crypt episode has absolutely nothing to do with its source material; “The Assassin” is an in-name-only adaptation of Carl Wessler’s story from Shock SuspenStories #17. Instead of a gun-for-hire trailing his mark throughout the city and ending up at a play, Crypt writer Scott Nimerfro and director Martin von Haselberg come up with something more exciting and twisty, if not retrograde.

Shelley Hack’s character Janet McKay is surprised by three visitors one day after her husband Frank (Marshall Teague) goes to work. The trio of CIA agents (Chelsea Field, Jonathan Banks, and Corey Feldman) has tracked an AWOL assassin named Ronald to Janet’s house. The agents think Frank is Ronald now living under a new identity, but they are way off base.

In its last two seasons, the series experimented with other genres besides horror. “The Assassin” is a domestic take on Die Hard best remembered for its twist ending. In an inevitable turn of events, the seemingly helpless housewife is none other than the assassin in question. The ‘90s was not a sensitive or well-represented decade for transgender folks, whose existences became punchlines for movies and television. Yet as dated as this campy episode feels and acts — for one thing, Janet can switch between distinct voices, one of which is played by Cam Clarke of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fame — it is erratically ahead of the times, as well. 

One by one Janet takes down attackers who repeat her deadname and force her to remember a past she has moved on from; refusing to acknowledge her previous life is how Janet partly copes with cruel statements like: “See, you can change the way you look, but you can’t change what you’re made of.” Something else of note is how transitioning quite literally saved Janet’s life; the agents might have otherwise killed her sooner. So, after Janet eliminates the undesirables and hosts a dinner party that same evening, husband Frank commends her: “You are quite a woman.” Turning to face the audience, Janet practically winks as she replies: “Of course I am, silly.” As far as endings go, this is as good as it gets for such a peculiar episode.

Masters of Horror (2005-2007)
Sick Girl

Lucky McKee and Sean Hood’s contribution to Masters of Horror is in some ways a spiritual sequel to the director’s cult film, May. Not only do both stories share Angela Bettis as an awkward protagonist, they study the effects of loneliness and pent-up sexuality.

Bettis plays Ida Teeter, a single entomologist desperate for companionship beyond her many bugs at both work and home. When she meets the fascinating Misty Falls (Erin Brown), Ida fears her job and creepy crawlies will scare her date away, but the opposite happens. Around the same time, Ida receives an anonymous package containing a mysterious insect later named “Mick.” The dangerous specimen eventually gets loose and takes hold of Misty’s mind and body.

“Sick Girl” shows the harms of changing for other people. Throughout the episode, Ida deals with an ornery landlord who harps about her unconventional pets; the woman’s vocal aversion to bugs is thinly-coded homophobia. Then there is Ida’s friend and coworker who tells her to keep her job and bugs a secret from potential partners.

Misty, on the other hand, is accepting of Ida, seeing as she grew up around insects. The real problem is when Misty acts differently in order to seem less “weird.” That dysphoria is worsened by both Misty’s father and Mick; they each vie for control over her life through direct or indirect means. It is only after Ida and Misty jointly dismiss the outside world’s expectations and prejudices do they find sapphic happiness.

Into the Dark (2018-)
Midnight Kiss

Carter Smith and Erlingur Thoroddsen’s “Midnight Kiss” is an unashamedly gay slasher where the writing and characterization cut deeper than the actual killer. The openly queer director and writer are perceptive when picking apart the friend group at the core of this tense, New Year’s Eve-themed whodunit.

The story begins in the past when Cameron (Augustus Prew) and his friends first came up with the movie’s namesake; the goal of the game is to kiss someone new at midnight on New Year’s. No-strings-attached hooking up with that same person until morning is also permissible. Fast-forward to a few years later, Cameron’s ex Joel (Scott Evans) has invited him and other mutuals to an isolated getaway in the desert to celebrate both New Year’s Eve and Joel’s surprise engagement. An already tense gathering then becomes a battleground for survival as a vicious, masked murderer crashes the party.

“Midnight Kiss” deserves more praise for its unapologetic execution. The characters are unambiguously queer with the exception of straight gal pal Hannah (Ayden Mayeri), and their conversations about sex and relationships never feel sanitized. Smith and Thoroddsen’s movie comes off as authentic without sacrificing entertainment. What it lacks in body count it makes up for in insight.

What helps the story the most is the more exhaustive writing in regards to the characters and their dynamics; they are credibly complicated. The detractors may have wanted something campier and more irreverent because of the queer factor, but “Midnight Kiss” goes in a whole other yet capable direction.

Monsterland (2020)
Plainfield, IL

In spite of its title, this television adaptation of Nathan Ballingrud’s book North American Lake Monsters is more about human nature than tangible monsters. Logan Kibens and Emily Kaczmarek’s episode “Plainfield, IL” is based on the short story “The Good Husband,” but the heterosexual couple, Katie and Sean, is now Kate (Taylor Schilling) and Shawn (Roberta Colindrez).

The main characters’ long relationship began in law school. However, Kate wanted to end things from the start following her bipolar I diagnosis. Shawn instead stayed with her, and the two built a life and family together. After sixteen years, Kate’s condition has taken a toll on Shawn; her spouse has attempted suicide multiple times, with their daughter Heather finding her on one occasion. When what Shawn feared the most finally happens, she learns not even death can keep her and Kate apart.

While it may be Pet Sematary-esque in plot, “Plainfield, IL” stands on its own as a story about loss augmented by the supernatural. What binds an undead Kate to this world is Shawn’s anguish and fear of letting her go and being at peace, even if it means her beloved loses more of herself each and every day. The episode interprets mental illness and grief as monsters, both of which are already hard to live with without the influence of unearthly forces.

By featuring complex, queer characters who deal with relatable problems, an episode like “Plainfield, IL” only helps normalize same-sex couples without pandering or trivializing. It is also a stark reminder of how mental health issues affect everyone.