Editorials
Casting the Runes: Remembering ‘Night of the Demon’
In the late 1950s, two very different streams of British horror were simmering just below the surface. The more famous of these was a return to Gothic classics but with more blood and overt sexuality as championed by Hammer Studios and their seminal feature The Curse of Frankenstein (1957). That same year, however, a more subtle, usually modern-set, and atmospheric brand of horror also began in England with Night of the Demon, followed by films like The Innocents (1960), City of the Dead (1960), Night of the Eagle (aka Burn Witch, Burn—1962), and The Haunting (1963).
These films revel in mood, psychology, and ambiguity and are in many ways the heirs of the films produced by Val Lewton at RKO in the 1940s. Of these, Night of the Demon has had the longest journey from nearly forgotten and critically dismissed to a certified classic.
The backbone of Night of the Demon is similar to the M.R. James story, “Casting of the Runes,” upon which the film was based, with a few deviations. The film begins with a desperate Professor Henry Harrington (Maurice Denham) confronting cult leader Dr. Julian Karswell (Niall MacGinnis), whom he has been investigating. While leaving Karswell’s estate, Harrington dies in what his American protégé, Dr. John Holden (Dana Andrews), believes is a horrible accident. Also returned to England from America is Harrington’s niece, Joanna (Peggy Cummins), who soon discovers information that leads her to believe that her uncle’s death was supernatural. Eventually, Holden and Harrington join forces to discover the truth, he from a place of staunch skepticism and she from a place of belief. Holden runs afoul of Karswell himself and slowly comes to believe, with the help of Joanna and Karswell’s mother (Athene Seyler), that he is on a path to the same fate as Professor Harrington.

The story offers a great deal of space for explorations of belief and unbelief, along with plenty of opportunities for suspense and visual flair, which is where the major behind-the-scenes figures come into play. Tasked with adapting the M.R. James story was Charles Bennett, a frequent collaborator with the Master of Suspense Alfred Hitchcock during his British period in the 1930s, writing some of his best early films, including The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934), The 39 Steps (1935), Young and Innocent (1937), and Foreign Correspondent (1940). Some of the hallmarks of Hitchcock appear in Night of the Demon, including trains, a sense of voyeurism, and a wicked sense of humor.
Added to this are aspects found in many of Val Lewton’s best films, appropriate considering that style was created in collaboration with director Jacques Tourneur, who made Cat People (1942), I Walked with a Zombie (1943), and The Leopard Man (1943) with the producer. Night of the Demon is sometimes called “the best Val Lewton movie not made by Val Lewton,” and this is an understandable statement considering the many parallels to the films he produced. Like those films, Night of the Demon is set in the present day, has a distinct film noir quality, and, though she is not the protagonist, Joanna Harrington is an educated and professional woman. Some of the more specific Lewtonian qualities of the film include jump scares, a “night walk,” a cat, and a cult.
The jump scare in horror was, for all practical purposes, invented by Lewton and Tourneur for Cat People, when a bus suddenly screeches into frame, and for years the tactic was called the “Lewton Bus.” In Night of the Demon, the jump scare takes the form of two children in masks jumping out from behind a tree, and a limb suddenly falling into frame during the night walk. The night walk was a mainstay of Lewton films, with the most famous appearing in Cat People, The Leopard Man, and The Seventh Victim (1943), with characters being followed by a heard but unseen menace.
Here, John Holden walks through the woods surrounding Karswell’s mansion and is pursued by a fireball in the sky. As in the earlier films, this is the central set piece of Night of the Demon. Cats often played key roles in Lewton films, as should be clear from many of the titles alone. When Holden goes snooping around Karswell’s home, an ordinary housecat, Karswell’s familiar, turns into a leopard and attacks him. Finally, the film features a cult that is very much like that found in The Seventh Victim, though here it is a group of poor farmers held under the sway of Karswell rather than a coven made up of the wealthy and powerful.

Night of the Demon features so many memorable sequences that demand attention that it is difficult to avoid spoiling the whole film. But because it is, after all these decades, still an underseen cult film, I will highlight only a few. In one, Karswell conjures up a lightning storm complete with a vicious gale that stretches Holden’s skepticism nearly to the breaking point. After bringing him inside, Karswell warns Holden that he only has three days to live and does so while removing the clown makeup he had been wearing to entertain the village children. It is a chilling juxtaposition of benevolence and menace.
Another very memorable scene is a séance, organized by Mrs. Karswell, meant to warn John and Joanna about the dangers posed by her son. It features a truly great, showstopping, single-scene performance by Reginald Beckwith as Mr. Meek, who channels several different characters in the scene. Another is Holden’s presentation to a group of academics about devil worship with former cult member Rand Hobart (Brian Wilde), the only man who has apparently escaped the demon that killed Harrington. Under hypnosis, Hobart discusses the fearful inner workings of Karswell’s cult and recounts his experience on his own night of the demon.
Beyond the incisive writing, memorable performances, and remarkable direction, the film is filled with atmosphere. Though it takes place in late October, it feels like a “deep autumn” movie. That time of year when the days have grown achingly short, the once crisp fallen leaves have become damp and soggy, the half-bare trees reach out their fingers like clawed skeletons, and the air itself is filled with monsters. It is the perfect season for horror as the reminders of our most primeval fears are all around us: darkness, decay, and death. There are deep shadows and mist-filled woods, barren branches and fog-enshrouded cityscapes and fields.
The design by the great Ken Adam, with one of his first credits as Production Designer, is striking and moody, enhancing this atmosphere. This is particularly true of his interiors, specifically Karswell’s home, featuring a grand entryway, an attic, and a study, and the interior of the farmhouse where Karswell’s cult meets. Adam would go on to become one of the greatest production designers of all time, creating the look of James Bond movies, from MI:6 to those unforgettable villains’ lairs, and of course, the iconic war room from Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove (1964).

To this day, one persistent controversy surrounds Night of the Demon: to show the monster or not to show the monster. By most accounts, the fire demon was shown in the original script, and Ken Adam drew a sketch that appears in the film, in a book about witchcraft and demonology that Karswell’s mother shows Joanna. This more or less proves that there was always an intention to show the demon at some point in the film. The question becomes how much? On one side of the argument are those who believe it is vital to show the reality of the demon as would be consistent with the work of M.R. James, which rejected writing off the supernatural as mere psychology in favor of a more literal medieval approach.
On the other extreme are those who believe the demon should not be shown at all, in favor of the Val Lewton approach of keeping the monster in the shadows of the mind. After the release of the film and the criticisms surrounding showing the demon, Tourneur gave several interviews with varying versions of the story, suggesting that showing the demon was forced upon him by producer Hal E. Chester. The veracity of this claim has been questioned over the years, but the reality will likely never be known. I personally fall somewhere in the middle on the issue. I would prefer the demon not be shown in the sequence at the beginning of the film in which Harrington dies. I feel this would better preserve the film’s central mystery. I also believe that seeing the demon is vital to the climax. Saving the reveal for the ending would make for an even greater moment of terror at the end of the film.
The other controversy is the execution of the monster. Film scholar Sir Christopher Frayling noted that he feels the closeups of the creature look like “a bunch of bananas,” but also feels the more distant shots of it are effective. The puppet created for the film is a bit janky, even by 1957 standards, but it is an interesting and, as time goes on, even iconic design. As noted by critic Kim Newmann, it looks something like a medieval woodcut. “If you are playing the rational explanation game, if it’s supposed to be a suggestive image,” he noted in an interview about the film, “it is entirely credible that this would be what people would imagine a demon looks like.” This is an astute observation, as the worlds of M.R. James’s short stories are often steeped in the lore of that period.

For decades, Night of the Demon was known only by the most devoted of horror fans and seen by even fewer. Those who had seen it, more often than not, had only seen the truncated, 82-minute version of the film released to theaters on a double bill with 20 Million Miles to Earth, an American kaiju from the same year. It is believed by film scholars that, in order to recoup its expenses after receiving an “X” certificate (no children under 16) in Britain, it needed to be placed on a double bill, as was the popular trend of the day with genre movies. Over the years, the film has gained its audience and is at last widely available in its full 96-minute version thanks to its restoration and release by Britain’s Indicator Blu-ray label.
It remains an unusual film for its era and feels simultaneously like a throwback to the previous decade and a presage of what was to come in the next decade. Looking even further ahead, it seems to have influenced the kinds of visually striking, character-based horror films of A24 but also has an apparent connection, particularly in their respective climactic scenes, with Sam Raimi’s Drag Me to Hell (2009). All that said, Night of the Demon is a singular work that has surprising power to this very day.
This brings me back to where I began, that Night of the Demon is a film of tensions. An “A” film in the guise of a “B” picture. A subtle and atmospheric film of the 1940s style made during the “show me the monster” era of the 1950s. Above all, it is a film that explores one of the great tensions of human existence—to believe or not to believe. Not to contradict Hamlet, but perhaps that is the real question.
Night of the Demon is currently available to stream on Midnight Pulp, Roku Channel, and Tubi.

Editorials
What Mike Flanagan’s ‘Carrie’ Teaser Reveals About His Bold New Adaptation
Five decades ago, Stephen King published the story of a bullied girl with telekinetic powers and forever changed the world of horror.
Carrie follows a high school misfit who seeks revenge for a hideous prank by psychically destroying her senior prom. The name Carrie White has become synonymous with the concept of a formal dance thanks to a flawless adaptation from Brian De Palma. Now fifty years after the film’s release, Mike Flanagan is putting his own stamp on the troubling story.
Rather than a feature film, the writer/director will expand King’s relatively slim debut novel into an eight-episode miniseries for Amazon Prime set to premiere on October 7.
Flanagan is no stranger to the world of Stephen King. A long-time Constant Reader, he first made waves with his daring adaptation of Gerald’s Game (2017), a novel many fans considered un-filmable. His underrated Doctor Sleep merges the disparate plot of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining with King’s original source material, and his 2024 genre-bending tearjerker The Life of Chuck faithfully executes one of the author’s most metaphysical novellas.
He’s currently mired in pre-production for an expansive adaptation of The Dark Tower series, keystone to King’s connected universe, and Warner Bros. recently announced that Flanagan will helm a new version of The Mist, King’s 1980 novella which sees a small Maine town overrun by otherworldly monsters.
Considering the vast array of the author’s previously unadapted material, an obvious question arises. Why reimagine Carrie in 2026? Noting the timeless nature of the content, Flanagan expressed his desire to bring the story of a bullied girl into modern times, mirroring his approach to Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House and Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher. He explained, “The only way to approach it was to build something new out of the ingredients of Carrie. Otherwise, there’s really no purpose in trying to retread ground that’s been so beautifully walked before.”
His miniseries will maintain the novel’s bloody bookends while delivering “big surprises” along the way.
A New Prom Night Nightmare
The roughly 60-second teaser introduces Summer H. Howell as Carrie White just before the moment of catastrophe. Standing in a prom dress, she smiles at her applauding classmates with an ominous crown perched upon her head. Moments later, Carrie unleashes a rage-filled scream into the night air while promgoers rush for the exit doors. But careful examination of this scene shows Carrie wearing a different, albeit dirty dress as she seems to telekinetically punish her peers.
In an exclusive first look with Entertainment Weekly, Flanagan explains that in his version of the story, “the events of that prom are going to be completely different.” An open trunk emitting a crimson glow does hint at the pig’s blood dumped on Carrie’s head, but it’s likely Flanagan’s formal dance will be a different kind of horror altogether. Despite these changes, the series may end with the widespread destruction outlined in the source material. Unlike any previous adaptations, King’s novel ends with the near-total destruction of Chamberlain, Maine. A flaming street in Flanagan’s trailer promises similar carnage no matter what prank sparks Carrie’s deadly revenge.
The Monstrous Addition of Social Media

On the opposite end of this fiery conclusion is an extreme act of bullying that brings together the story’s main cast. King’s novel begins as Carrie gets her first period while showering in the girls’ locker room. Completely unaware of the concept of menstruation, the sheltered girl thinks she’s bleeding to death. Her classmates respond with vitriolic rage. Led by ultra-mean girl Chris Hargensen (Alison Thornton), they mock the terrified teen while pelting her with tampons. Glimpses of this disturbing event reveal that Flanagan has excised the scene’s nudity while adding a seismic update. As Carrie sobs in the shower stall, Chris and her friends film the breakdown with their phones.
Other scenes note the presence of social media, bringing King’s fifty-year-old story into the digital age.
Flanagan’s adaptation promises to explore the destructive power of social media, an often invisible entity with a potential for harm rivaling Carrie’s own powers. While King’s tormented heroine suffers in front of a small group of girls, Flanagan’s version of the incident will likely become a viral video, potentially circling the globe on social media. Similar to Katt Shea’s criminally underrated The Rage: Carrie 2, which includes elements of revenge porn exploitation, Flanagan’s modern retelling will distinguish itself by exploring the nebulous cruelty of online bullying, a force ten times more powerful than the irl pranks King first envisioned.
A Completely Reimagined White Family

In addition to modernizing these canon events, Flanagan hints at updates to Carrie’s oppressive upbringing at the hands of her mother, Margaret White (Samantha Sloyan). Dead before the novel begins, we never meet Carrie’s domineering father Ralph, known to carry a bible alongside his gun. Flanagan’s White household will be an altogether different beast. In his version of the story, Carrie and her mother have been hidden away in the unassuming home, forced out of hiding by Ralph’s unexpected death. Perhaps we will finally meet this elusive man whose shadow hangs over his wife and child. Considering the White family’s fundamentalist lifestyle, this reimagining hints at tradwife culture and a home ruled by staunch patriarchal control.
Whereas King’s Carrie has been tormented by her classmates since Kindergarten, Flanagan’s Carrie will be a wide-eyed newcomer to public school, eager to make friends and engage with her peers. We glimpse Carrie cozying up to Chris and the equally popular Sue Snell (Siena Agudong) as she navigates a new social scene. Of course, we know this kindness is part of an elaborate plot designed to lull Carrie into a false sense of camaraderie, setting up an atrocious act of public humiliation. These brief moments of feigned compassion put Sue’s own complicity into question. Will Flanagan’s version of the character find the courage to defend Carrie from vicious bullies or will she succumb to peer pressure and join in the mob mentality?
Perhaps the biggest deviation from King’s original text is the relationship between Carrie and her mother. King’s Margaret White is a horrifically abusive religious zealot whose worldview has been hardened by internalized misogyny. She shames Carrie for menstruating, locks her in a closet to “pray,” and regrets not killing her child in infancy. She’s also responsible for Carrie’s social ostracization. Known to berate her neighbors for their “sins,” Margaret forces her daughter to live by an extreme code of conduct and disallows any potential friends lest they corrupt the girl with their worldly ways.
Flanagan’s version of the character is perhaps just as much a victim as Carrie herself. Also trapped inside her home, his Margaret is overly vigilant, her own trauma manifesting as strict control. Describing a more sympathetic depiction of the iconic villain, Flanagan explains, “Our Margaret White is a woman who fiercely loves her daughter and wants to protect her from this world … [She] doesn’t know how to do that and thinks the way to protect her is to close her off; not punitively, but to create this private utopia.”
Despite this potential softening, Sloyan’s Margaret may still have a sharp edge. Though she has appeared in many Flanagan projects, from Hush (2016) to The Fall of the House of Usher (2023), she is best known for her role as the abhorrent Bev Keane in the poignant saga Midnight Mass (2021). Perhaps inspired by King’s Margaret White, Bev is pious and sadistic, willing to punish anyone who does not adhere to her warped approximation of Catholicism.
Flanagan specifically wrote Margaret with Sloyan in mind, likely remembering the actress’s eerie ability to create deceptive empathy and shift our allegiances on a dime.
Expanding Stephen King’s Telekinetic Universe

While most of King’s story deals with an unthinkable prom night in Chamberlain, Maine, large sections of the semi-epistolary novel see experts debating the nature of telekinesis. Do Carrie’s frightening abilities represent a new phase in human evolution or is the prom night carnage merely a fluke? King settles the debate with a shocking denouement in which a young mother recounts her infant daughter’s ability to dangle her crib toys in midair. We’re left to wonder if she will become another tormented girl who surprises the world with metaphysical strength.
Flanagan plans to build out this brief scene while amplifying themes of female empowerment. After introducing our main cast of characters, episode two will open with an unrelated story in which we meet another girl with the TK gene. Each subsequent chapter will expand this world, building out a roster of telekinetic young women. Considering King’s fondness for stories about powerful kids, often described as possessing “the shining,” Constant Readers will no doubt have their eyes peeled for various Easter Eggs nodding to the author’s vast catalogue.
Giving Carrie Her Own Voice

Perhaps the most striking distinction in Flanagan’s new trailer is the extent to which we hear Carrie’s voice. The sneak peek is fully narrated by the titular prom queen as she demands accountability. “I want to know why,” she explains while detailing Chris’ elaborate plan. Aside from the aforementioned coda, King’s book essentially ends with the aftermath of the prom night tragedy, leaving little time for Carrie to reflect. His shifting narrative does bring the reader into her fragile mind, though not before she’s been cowed by relentless cruelty. We watch Carrie sink into bloodthirsty revenge, but never hear a considered desire for justice or repair.
Flanagan’s original monologue allows Carrie to voice her pain and mourn the life she could have had. We’re also treated to a mug shot-style photo of Chris with a bruised and bandaged face, implying that the mean girl will have to answer for her senseless sadism.
Flanagan is known for filling his series adaptations with heartwrenching speeches that cut to the heart of his thematic intentions, and this teaser seems to follow suit. After years of fans, critics, and scholars analyzing Carrie’s pain, perhaps his modern retelling will offer the titular anti-hero a chance to finally speak for herself.


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