Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark: Real Monsters, Political Horror, Fear, and the Fight for Truth

By Mary Mba, Ph.D.

Scary Stories, Real Monsters: Political

When Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark hit theaters in 2019, I remember walking out of the theatre with chills—not just from the film’s haunted monsters, but from the eerie resonance it had with real life. I quickly bought the entire three volumes of the book – because, I am that much of a book lover! Set in 1968 America—a time of war, protest, and political fear—the movie felt like a mirror reflecting our present, especially under Donald Trump’s administration. Watching it again now, in 2025, the mirror feels even sharper.

Directed by André Øvredal and produced by Guillermo del Toro, the film is based on the cult-classic book series by Alvin Schwartz, notorious for its eerie tales and unforgettable illustrations. Set in 1968, the movie follows a group of teenagers who stumble upon a haunted book that begins writing new horror stories—stories that come true and target them one by one. But what begins as supernatural terror quickly reveals deeper truths: the danger of silence, the violence of misinformation, and the haunting power of stories told to protect the powerful and punish the marginalized.

This is more than a horror movie. It’s a metaphor. A warning. A map of how fear, when turned into story, becomes power.

Now, in 2025, with the resurgence of policies and rhetoric built on exclusion and fear, the film feels frighteningly prophetic.

Haunted Books and Presidential Narratives

In the film, a haunted book writes people into their deaths. The monster isn’t just Sarah Bellows, the ghost writing these tales—it’s the story itself. That’s where I saw the clearest parallel. During Trump’s first presidency, and now again, we’ve witnessed a flood of false, fear-driven narratives: immigrants as invaders, cities as war zones, the “other” as threat. These aren’t just political strategies—they are scary stories.

And like in the film, the stories became real. Families were separated. ICE raids terrorized neighborhoods. DEI programs are now being banned. Schools are being forced to erase truth to protect power. At Haskell Indian Nations University, students lost teachers, coaches, and access to classes because of federally imposed cuts. Even some of Trump’s supporters are now losing their jobs. The stories don’t spare anyone in the end.

Spiders Under the Skin: COVID, Contagion, and the Fear of Infestation

One of the most disturbing scenes in the film is when a girl’s red spot explodes with spiders—an infestation no one saw coming. It’s a perfect metaphor for COVID-19. During the pandemic, fear of infection turned into racial hatred, especially against Asian Americans. Trump’s use of the term “China Virus” fueled hate crimes and conspiracy theories. The fear wasn’t just of the virus—it was of people. That’s how horror works: it dehumanizes first, then attacks.

Monsters and Moral Panic

The Jangly Man. Harold the Scarecrow. The Pale Lady. These monsters represent institutional violence, bureaucratic horror, and systemic fear. But the real monster? The book. The story. Because once a lie is told often enough, it writes itself into law.

The monsters today wear new faces: “voter fraud,” “CRT,” “wokeness,” “illegals,” “replacement theory.” All scary stories written to justify real harm. And just like in the film, these monsters keep reappearing until we rewrite the story.

The Gospel of Fear: Evangelical Narratives and Political Mythmaking

Here’s where things get even deeper—and scarier.

In The Plague by Albert Camus, Father Paneloux, a devout priest, tells his congregation that the deadly epidemic is a punishment from God for their sins. He preaches certainty. Judgment. But after witnessing the slow, agonizing death of a child, his theology begins to fracture. He offers a second sermon, filled not with answers, but with anguish. “We must love what we cannot understand,” he says, no longer able to justify suffering with spiritual logic.

Now, think of Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. The town of Mill Valley casts Sarah Bellows as a witch, a monster, a vessel of evil. Her story becomes gospel—passed down, accepted, unchallenged. But the truth? Sarah was a scapegoat, silenced by her powerful family to protect their reputation. The town believed the lie because it was easier than facing the truth.

This is the same pattern we see in American evangelical narratives around Trump. For years, prominent religious leaders declared him a divine instrument—a flawed but chosen vessel sent by God to save the nation. His policies, no matter how harmful, were spiritualized. Wrapped in prophecy. Justified with scripture.

But now, as cuts to global health programs, aid organizations, and basic humanitarian services take effect—even those who once defended him are starting to feel the fallout. The suffering can no longer be hidden. Just like Father Paneloux. Just like the people of Mill Valley. The story is cracking.

And here’s the hard truth: when fear becomes theology, monsters are born. When the gospel is used to silence, scapegoat, and justify cruelty—it stops being gospel at all. It becomes horror.

So we must ask:

• What kind of savior harms those he claims to protect?
• What kind of story makes monsters of the innocent?

It’s time to stop reading the same haunted script. It’s time to write something better.

Rewriting the Story

In the end, Stella doesn’t kill Sarah Bellows. She listens. She writes a new story—one based on truth. That’s what we’re being asked to do now.

Camus called it “common decency.” I call it courageous storytelling. We have to tell the truth, especially when it’s uncomfortable. We have to protect our most vulnerable, especially when they’re being erased. And we have to remember: narratives are not neutral. They can kill. But they can also heal.

The monsters aren’t just on screen. They’re in headlines, laws, policies, pulpits. But so is the pen.

And we’re still holding it.

💬 Share Your Thoughts

Have you seen Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark? Did you see the parallels too? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Leave a comment or share this with someone who needs to read it.

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