The Short Horror Magic of Happenstance Horror Fest

RED, WHITE, AND EW (MADE IN THE USA) – 1 hr 10 min

I may have a soft spot for the international shorts, but the American filmmakers at Happenstance proved they can bleed red, white, and terrifyingly blue. The Made in the USA block delivered a knockout collection of homegrown horror: strange, stylish, and packed with personality. From gothic fables to VHS nightmares, it showcased just how eclectic and fearless indie horror can be when it isn’t bound by the studio system.

This block reminded me why American horror, at its best, reflects our contradictions — puritanical yet hedonistic, violent yet vulnerable, chaotic yet heartbreakingly sincere. Picking favorites was nearly impossible, but a few lodged themselves under my skin in all the right ways.

Festival Favorites

Motherface (Dir. Mark Grillo, 11 min)

Creepy. Clever. Completely skin-crawling. Motherface feels like a ghost story whispered around a campfire that follows you home. The setup is deceptively simple: a babysitter tells her young charge about a child-snatching entity who mimics the voice of a mother to lure kids away. But when the real mother returns home and hears a knock on the door from a frail old woman asking for an egg, the nightmare becomes horrifyingly real.

What unfolds feels ripped from a corrupted fairy tale. Something between Coraline and The Babadook. Grillo’s film is tightly crafted, beautifully shot, and genuinely frightening. The sound design is immaculate, and the makeup effects on the titular “Motherface” are grotesque perfection. This is one of the most effective pure horror shorts of the fest.

The Return of the Näcken (Dir. Cassandra Sechler, 21 min)

One of the longest films in the lineup was also one of the most extraordinary. I’m talking about a stunning, psychedelic dark fairytale that could only have come from the fiercely creative mind of Cassandra Sechler. The Return of the Näcken is a gothic fever dream about a lonely water demon cursed with immortality, doomed to wander through grief, loss, and longing.

It’s part Creature from the Black Lagoon, part experimental art film, featuring dazzling color palettes, tactile and practical effects, and a haunting performance by Emilie Struthers. The costuming, makeup, and sound design are otherworldly.

Sechler crafts an elegy about yearning for connection when you’re trapped outside of humanity—an existential monster story that’s as sad as it is spellbinding. The film feels hand-carved and deeply personal, a love letter to B-movies that transforms into something poetic and painfully human.

Further Frights

I Hate Waking Up (Dir. Stephen Meshotto, 2 min)

Anchored by the steady tick of a clock, I Hate Waking Up captures the existential horror of repetition and inertia. It’s part animation, part live action, and entirely unnerving. Each cut between mundane routine and surreal distortion feels like slipping in and out of a waking nightmare. With no dialogue and powerful visual symbolism, it turns the simple act of existing into something quietly horrifying.

Bokeh (Dir. Ivan Salcedo, 8 min)

Tense, stylish, and beautifully shot, Bokeh centers on a burnt-out photographer whose missing roll of film becomes something far more sinister. What begins as a quiet story of professional burnout morphs into an eerie psychological horror. Salcedo’s eye for composition is exceptional. By the time the final image burns into your mind, you’ll never look at a camera flash the same way again.

Fisher of Men (Dir. Zach DeSutter, 9 min)

A tentacled creature feature that’s absurd, gory, and gloriously funny. The story of an environmentalist fisherman who accidentally destroys a lake monster’s home — and pays for it dearly — plays like a midnight-movie fever dream. What makes it soar is its comic timing and heart. DeSutter’s performance as the tortured fisherman is pitch-perfect, and Nathaniel Hendricks’ monstrous counterpart manages to be both terrifying and strangely endearing. It’s kooky and charmingly campy, with a fantastic ending.

Revenge may be a dish best served cold, but this short’s “spaghetti dinner” scene serves up tasty revenge on a hot plate, and it’s wickedly satisfying.

Grin (Dir. J.P. Hoffman, 5 min)

This VHS-soaked slasher throwback is pure nostalgic delight. A young woman home alone on Halloween receives a call warning her that an actor at a nearby local Haunt has snapped and gone on a killing spree. The setup is simple, but Hoffman’s commitment to 80s aesthetics gives it instant personality. The tension builds beautifully, capped by a satisfyingly grim payoff.

It’s an effective ode to old-school slashers, enhanced by the perfect setting. Some stylish camerawork and excellent sound design contribute to the film’s immersive nature. The 360-degree pan around a windowed house is the chef’s kiss. This one is brief but memorable.

Still Water (Dir. Spenser Fritz, 7 min)

Shot on Kodak film, Still Water is a haunting baptismal horror about faith, repression, and vengeance. A bloodied young woman is dragged to a river for an exorcism by drowning, but the woman’s darkness proves far greater than that of her would-be oppressors. What follows is a Southern Gothic nightmare of rising water, moral rot, and feminist fury.

The atmosphere is thick with humidity and menace. Fritz uses film texture like a weapon, giving every shot a tactile weight. The rockabilly song “River Town Woman” frames the film like a Southern hymn, tying the whole experience together with eerie beauty.

My Wife (Dir. Aaron Garcia, 6 min)

Short, sharp, and shocking. A woman recites her role as the “perfect wife,” her words dripping with indoctrinated devotion until the façade cracks and she reclaims her agency through violence. In just six minutes, Garcia turns societal expectation into a scream of liberation. It’s feminist horror at its most distilled: brief, brutal, and brilliant.