War Is Coming in the Trailer for the Final Season of Outlander
Jan. 29th, 2026 06:35 pmWar Is Coming in the Trailer for the Final Season of Outlander
Published on January 29, 2026
Photo: Starz
Published on January 29, 2026
Photo: Starz
Published on January 29, 2026
Image credit: Liam Daniel/Netflix
Published on January 29, 2026
Credit: Paramount+
Published on January 29, 2026
Credit: Ashi Productions
Credit: Ashi Productions
The day before I sat down to write this, an earthquake struck Tottori, in the region I called home for three years. At a magnitude of 6.2, it was large, but by no means devastating by Japanese standards. I messaged my friends in Yonago, and they sent reassurances alongside photos of broken dishes. “We are okay. It was very scary.”
Somewhere down the line, I chose a life that chases earthquakes. I lived in Taiwan, then California, and now Japan. However, I remain ill-prepared. I grew up in Michigan where tornado, fire, severe storm, and even shooting drills were commonplace, but I was in my mid-twenties putting on cosplay makeup for an anime convention in a Los Angeles apartment when a San Diegan friend told me that what I should be doing during an earthquake was not saying, “Oh my gosh, it’s still going?” but rather finding a sturdy doorframe to brace myself against. “Doorframes are the sturdiest places in most houses,” she told me, while the tremors rattled mascara tubes and wigs on a glass coffee table. “They taught us that in school.”
Of course, students today are taught differently, as the doorframe theory has since been widely debunked. But at least she had some inkling of what to do. It occurred to me then that while I was well-versed in the myriad ways to get a car unstuck from snow or how to manage when an inevitable snow-effect blizzard knocked out our power and toilets and faucets stopped working, I would flail helplessly during a Big One.
But truly, how much of disaster preparation is a delusion? I admire the cult classic film The Iron Giant for many reasons, including the film’s depiction of students watching a disaster prevention film about nuclear warfare. It’s a cutting satire of actual Duck and Cover videos released in the 1950s. A student is shown hiding under his desk when the bombs fall, and though the classroom is burned to a radioactive sizzle, his desk is unharmed! While this is useless advice when it comes to surviving a nuclear holocaust, friend, geophysicist, and fellow Reactor columnist Kali Wallace assures me that ducking and covering during earthquakes is sound advice, as most people are harmed due to falling objects.
While a nuclear holocaust is arguably much more challenging catastrophe to contend with than an earthquake, even in the face of death, decisive action is preferable to panic. The only thing more reassuring than taking action is, perhaps, blaming something for the disasters.
Scientific explanations aside, credit for disasters has long been given to gods or devils or the sins of many or karma. For my part, I believe the science, but enjoy the folklore, especially when it gets weird.
On this front, unsurprisingly, Japan does not disappoint. A persistent folktale originating in the 17th century claims that earthquakes are not entirely natural disasters, but rather preternatural ones caused by the wriggling of Namazu, an enormous catfish who dwells beneath the earth. According to legend, Namazu has been held captive beneath a foundation stone at Kashima shrine in Ibaraki prefecture for centuries. Namazu becomes ornery sometimes and, if not properly guarded by the enshrined god Takemikazuchi, the big fish flings himself about and the earth trembles. (No tea, no shade, but Takemikazuchi must really be sleeping on the job, given that Japan’s Meteorological Society clocks in around 1,500 earthquakes annually.)
Japan, which has one of the world’s most advanced earthquake detection systems, known globally as the EEW (Earthquake Early Warning), has toughened its responses after centuries of earthquakes wreaking havoc—but there are no preventative measures to be taken against the human imagination.
Today, I am writing about a little anime girl who, since the ‘80s, has sometimes been blamed for earthquakes.

Magical Princess Minky Momo, in many ways, was a pioneer in the mahou shoujo (magical girl) subgenre. Beginning in March of 1982, the series aired on TV Tokyo on Thursdays at 5:55 pm, an ideal timeslot to snag the attention of kids after school. Magical Princess Minky Momo is credited with being the first magical girl anime to incorporate animal mascots, which have since become a genre staple. Her transformation sequence, which paired music to her movements, was also groundbreaking, and the series is said to have directly inspired Creamy Mami (I know, I know, these names are… something), which maintains a devoted fanbase even today.
Minky Momo is undeniably cute, if generic in appearance—pink hair, yellow ribbon, blue dress. She is not of Earth, but hails from a sky-kingdom known as Fenarinarsa; writer Takeshi Shuto adapted the mouthful of a place name from a musical he wrote in high school called The Man from Finalinasa, after realizing “Finalinasa” would be difficult for Japanese speakers to pronounce. Fenarinarsa is home to countless copyright-free fairy tale characters, and Momo and her three animal companions are directly inspired by Momotaro. Fenarinarsa is in danger because it can only remain in Earths’ orbit if people on Earth have hopes and dreams, which, erm, was surprisingly tough during the ‘80s bubble economy. So Minky Momo goes to Earth and, like Superman, moves in with a childless couple. From then on, she uses her magic powers to transform into a teenage version of herself that, à la Barbie, takes on different roles in order to solve life’s problems and bring happiness to human beings. She’ll be your vet, your hairdresser, your police officer, whatever you like!
Schmaltzy? Yes. Typical of the subgenre? Yes, at that point in time. Harmless? Probably, and I am not one to disdain programming intended to motivate children to do good deeds. It is all too easy for the world to dismiss the things girls like as empty and worthless, and I do not doubt that its target audience found much to love about the anime, which had high-quality animation and a heroine worth admiring. Kids are not cynical, jaded old weebs like yours truly.
Of course, inspiring little kids was not the real intention of the people paying for the show, and when Minky Momo merchandise failed to meet market goals, toy company Popy pulled sponsorship. When that happened, the show was destined for cancellation.
The creative team behind Minky Momo accepted this defeat with a decided lack of grace. No, Minky Momo did not go quietly into that soft night. Instead, in a clear act of vengeance as petty as it is iconic, the show’s creators decided to murder Minky Momo. Her cause of death? An early, unforgettable example of Truck-kun. Minky Momo saves a child in the road, only for a truck full of toys to barrel right through her. Cut to a shot of her gravestone, complete with a funeral portrait.

In short? A lighthearted children’s TV program ran over its young protagonist and cut straight to the graveyard way back in 1983. Eat your heart out, Game of Thrones.
Now, Shuto claims this gruesome ending was always on the table just in case funding was pulled, but come on. The murderous truck was full of toys. A statement was being made.
…And then immediately retconned, because Popy reinstated funding to Minky Momo in order to sell a dragon-themed pair of scissors that they already had in production. Ashi Productions agreed to shoehorn a dragon character into the show. And so, within minutes of her death scene, Minky Momo was reincarnated as a human baby.
Ashi must have been a real rollercoaster of an office environment in this era. The dragon character, called Kajira, was beloved by no one involved in production. His role was to bite and eat everything and repeatedly say only his own name, but mostly to sell those damn scissors.
All of this makes for an amusing romp through weird ‘80s anime lore, and it isn’t hard to see the animators as punchy rebels in this scenario—at least until they doubled back. Animators are often overworked and unappreciated and have every right to protest. However, writing this piece has made me consider another perspective (I am a sentimental creature, and I will not apologize)…
The scenario becomes much less funny when you consider the little girls at home who probably loved Minky Momo and her adventures and watched her death unfold onscreen in abject horror. The resentment animators rightfully felt (and still feel) toward their officious overlords aside, growing up is tough, man. I wonder if Minky Momo was to some Japanese kids what Artax from The NeverEnding Story was to so many Americans. Her death may have been a formative experience.
I have written before about anime’s treatment of girls, both the good and the bad, but truck-kun doesn’t get the final word this time. Nor does the toy company, or the production company, or the show’s disturbing and unintended popularity among the burgeoning lolicon subculture at the time. Minky Momo’s legacy would continue on, albeit in odd and unexpected ways.
Perhaps it was the weird dichotomy between innocence and adulthood that motivated audiences to see further darkness in the series. A show that ended so violently is probably more sinister than it appears, they reckoned… whatever the reasoning, someone, somewhere, observed a bizarre connection between episode 46, “The Day the Magic Died,” and the trembling of the earth, and a legend was born.

Centuries after stories of catfish causing earthquakes became commonplace in Japan, the would-be final episode of Minky Momo aired, accompanied by a superimposed onscreen alert that an earthquake had struck the Kanto region. Viewers at the time joked that Minky Momo had used her magic to take revenge for her unjust demise.
Once is a joke, but when the same coincidence happens twice, things start getting weird. Later that year, on May 26th, the 1983 Sea of Japan Earthquake devastated the Tohoku region when the resulting tsunami caused 104 deaths. This earthquake occurred within hours of the broadcast of “Don’t Say Goodbye,” the final episode of Minky Momo. It is probably here that the urban legend really began taking root.
And the coincidences continued. During a rebroadcast of the series in 1989, an earthquake struck Aomori the day episode 46 aired. And then, in 1995, the Kobe earthquake, a truly catastrophic disaster, coincided with another rebroadcast of Minky Momo’s death. At least 5,000 people died, and the city of Kobe still bears the marks of its impact. I have met people who remember the quake and still shudder when recalling it.
I wonder if it was at this juncture that the discourse changed from, “Minky Momo is cursing us!” to “Minky Momo is trying to warn us!” Because all these curse allegations haven’t led to depictions of Minky Momo as a villain—if anything, she is seen as a girl fighting to defend the earth, even as her murder is seen as the cause of so much destruction.
Japan is a nation that experiences multiple earthquakes a day, and I am not a superstitious person. But I am fascinated by the stories that shape our world, like so many horror and fantasy fans. The supernatural is compelling regardless of your belief in it—while I think the obvious answer to the Minky Momo/earthquake question is that correlation is not causation, at the same time, I love this legend for all kinds of reasons, not least of which is this: the senseless death of a little girl at the hands of her creator should not go unnoticed.
This is true even for fictional little girls.

What does it mean to mythologize a fictional character?
The curse of Minky Momo reminds me of other modern characters that have been linked with tragedy. In 2014, two fourteen-year-old girls attempted to murder a friend as a sacrifice to the creepypasta character Slender Man. The man who murdered John Lennon cited The Catcher in the Rye’s Holden Caulfield as an inspiration, the first of several instances in which the book was reportedly carried by disturbed individuals who committed acts of violence.
I am never one to blame entertainment media for violence, to be clear—it’s much too slippery a slope, and far too big of a discussion to begin unpacking here. But the sway a fictional character can have on the human psyche is fascinating. I would argue that far more characters have provided positive inspiration throughout history. This is never as newsworthy as specific instances of violence or tragedy, of course, and feels like a more amorphous catch-all: Yes, kids are inspired by Peter Parker and Sailor Moon and Luffy, and we do not question that. We rarely seek reasons for goodness, but we always seek reasons for evil.
But earthquakes and human beings are not the same. An earthquake’s tremors, even if caused by a grumpy catfish, are not selfish actions, but mindless seismic activity. It is fascinating that we continue to anthropomorphize forces of nature to this day, but pairing up the violent, uncontrollable shaking of the earth with an anime girl somehow feels especially human of us. I don’t believe in the curse, but I do admire its tenacity, and what it says about the power that stories have over our world.
On this front, I want to end this with one more fact about Namazu. Despite the chaos he inflicts on Japan, the giant catfish is not actually seen as a villainous monster. In fact, he is viewed a little bit fondly by the public, and not only because he has cute whiskers.
In the years before billionaires could flee on their private jets, earthquakes were a unique equalizer. Earthquakes were as devastating to the wealthy as they were for the poor; the wealthy, of course, had far more land and assets to lose. In the wake of a disaster, their wealth might be redistributed among the poor. This giant catfish has something in common with Robin Hood: Just as the tides of public opinion turned Minky Momo into a harbinger of a coming disaster rather than the cause, in the Edo period Namazu gradually came to be credited with decimating the ill-gotten gains of overbearing feudal lords.
For all that the world is unfair to creatures both real and fictional, I find this tendency—to shift our perspective from fearing a curse to embracing a gift—a hopeful aspect of being human. Life is very unfair right now, and likely to remain that way. So I’ll cling to whatever peculiar justice stories have to offer for as long as the world allows art to exist.
Thanks for looking out for us, Momo.[end-mark]
The post Earthquakes, Magical Girls, and Modern Mythology: The Death of Minky Momo appeared first on Reactor.
Published on January 29, 2026
Time of the Great Freeze cover art by Brinton Turkle
Time of the Great Freeze cover art by Brinton Turkle
Speculative fiction writers have imagined countless different ways that the world could end—from fairly realistic options (such as nuclear war or a super flu) to rather more implausible scenarios (like zombies). But we’re in the depths of winter right now, here in the north, so I’ve been feeling drawn to stories set during a frozen apocalypse.
Below are a couple of books, a short story, a movie, and a TV series which explore the possibility of a frozen Earth. The cause of the planet’s deep freeze is different in each of the stories—and one is an apocalyptic tale that is simply set during the winter months—but they all result in a stark, dangerously chilly landscape.

The 10-year-old narrator of “A Pail of Air” lives a very sheltered life—literally. Along with his Pa, Ma, and younger Sis, he lives in a small shelter (essentially a glorified blanket fort) that they call the Nest. A few years earlier, the Earth was ripped out of its orbit and as it careened away from the heat of sun, the gasses in the atmosphere froze and fell to the ground in snowy layers.
Every so often, one of the family members has to venture outside in protective gear to gather a bucket of oxygen to replenish the Nest’s air supply. It’s during one of these excursions that the boy sees a woman in a nearby building—something that surely isn’t possible, given that everyone on Earth is dead aside from his family.
Despite the story’s short length, Fritz Leiber manages to craft a detailed picture of how such a catastrophic event could impact life on Earth—not only that, but he also manages to make a compelling philosophical case for why survival on such a cold and dead planet is worth fighting for.

Time of the Great Freeze is set in 2650, which is a few hundred years after the Earth entered an ice age due to cosmic dust blocking out the sun. Millions of people sought refuge in purpose-built underground tunnels across the world, with the plan being to (hopefully) wait out the cold.
But the passing centuries have led to these subterranean cities becoming increasingly insular, so when a group of New Yorkers detect that the temperature has risen slightly and suggest exploring the surface, they’re cast out as traitors. With far less preparation than expected, the group strikes out across the ice in the hope of making it to a similar city near London with which they’ve made radio contact.
This is a pulpy and plot-driven adventure story at heart. The characters admittedly aren’t all that well differentiated or developed, but the real draw is the exploration of the frozen landscape itself and the encounters with people and animals that have managed to eke out an existence there.

The cause of the apocalypse isn’t known in Moon of the Crusted Snow, but whatever it was results in a power blackout. Although this apocalypse doesn’t lead to the planet freezing over, the story is set during the winter months in an Anishinaabe community in northern Canada, so there’s plenty of snow and ice.
The First Nations community already lives at a distance from mainstream society so they’re shielded from some of the chaos that erupts down south—a glimpse of which the reader sees when two college students manage to return home. Although the community is in for a rough winter, they’re used to being intermittently cut off due to bad weather so they have some food and fuel stores. But that preparedness—paired with their remote location—makes them a target for outsiders.
Moon of the Crusted Snow is a slow and contemplative read. But although the end of the world might not seem as imminent here as in other stories, there’s still plenty of tension to be found.
Snowpiercer currently exists in three formats: There’s the 1982 graphic novel written by Jacques Lob and illustrated by Jean-Marc Rochette, a 2013 film directed by Bong Joon Ho, and a TV series that ran from 2020 to 2024. My favorite version of this story is the movie, so that’s the one I’m going to focus on.
The world is plunged into an ice age after an attempt to reverse climate change backfires. The only people left alive are on the Snowpiercer—a self-sustaining train that has been looping the globe for almost two decades. Although the train provides safety from the bitter cold outside, conditions onboard are far from perfect. While the wealthy passengers in the front carriages live a life of luxury, those in the back are forced to endure terrible conditions. This unfair system leads to a group of tail section passengers instigating a rebellion.
Bong Joon Ho manages to pull off a genre juggling act with all of his films, and Snowpiercer is no exception. It’s full of thrilling post-apocalyptic action scenes, but it’s also a thoughtful examination of class politics. It features a deeply moving and horrifying monologue from revolt leader Curtis (Chris Evans), but there’s also weird humor thanks to Minister Mason (Tilda Swinton).
Spanish-language TV series The Eternaut starts with a group of old friends playing cards and being interrupted by the sound of cars crashing outside. Not only has every car in sight come to a stop with their drivers dead at the wheel, but snow is falling—which isn’t at all common in Buenos Aires, in summer. Something is clearly going on, but anyone who steps outside to investigate keels over dead.
After sheltering in place for a short time, main character Juan (Ricardo Darín) decides to risk the weird weather in a homemade protective suit in an attempt to rescue his daughter, Clara (Mora Fisz). But while venturing through the eerie city, Juan discovers that the snow is only half of the apocalyptic problem.
The Eternaut is based on a comic book series from the ’50s that was written by Héctor Germán Oesterheld and illustrated by Francisco Solano López. I haven’t read the comics so I can’t speak to how the show fares as an adaptation, but I found both the setting and story compelling and plan to check out season 2 when it airs.
I’m always on the lookout for frozen apocalypse stories, so if I’ve missed any of your favorites, please feel free to mention them in the comments. I’d love to add further recommendations to my to-be-read and to-be-watched lists![end-mark]
The post Five Stories Set During a Frozen Apocalypse appeared first on Reactor.
Published on January 29, 2026
Published on January 28, 2026
Photo: Brandon Sanderson/artist Sam Weber
Published on January 28, 2026
Published on January 28, 2026
Credit: Disney/Anne Marie Fox
Published on January 28, 2026
Welcome back to Reading the Weird, in which we get girl cooties all over weird fiction, cosmic horror, and Lovecraftiana—from its historical roots through its most recent branches. This week, we cover K.M. Tonso’s “Last Rites,” first published in 2014 in S.T. Joshi’s The Madness of Cthulhu anthology. Spoilers ahead!
Paul Dyer, chairman of the Geology Department at Miskatonic University, is “something of an outsider” among the faculty. Most professors have transitioned into the digital age; a stoop-shouldered “pipe-smoking dinosaur of tweed suits and bow ties,” Dyer’s more likely to be found among books, papers and pens than screens. Alf Marsh meets Dyer as a (pre-digital) undergraduate, and comes to appreciate the professor’s kindness when Dyer accepts a hand-written paper after Marsh’s typewriter breaks. What’s more, Dyer gives the paper an A.
Dyer shares Marsh’s interest in abyssal-zone hydrothermal vents that mysteriously occur away from subduction zones or magma plumes. He becomes Marsh’s mentor, but when Marsh decides to pursue geology, Dyer warns him that it’s “perilous work.” Consider Dyer’s father.
Paul Dyer’s father was William Dyer, who led Miskatonic’s ill-fated 1930 Antarctic expedition. Marsh finds little information until, with Paul’s permission, he gains access to the MU Library’s Special Collection. The first expedition report describes the plan to obtain geological specimens buried under deep ice, via engineer Frank Pabodie’s then-revolutionary drilling rig. Peculiar Comanchean Era fossils sent biologist Lake into unexplored territory, dominated by mountains higher than Everest. Terrific windstorms wiped out Lake’s party, along with Pabodie’s rig, and the expedition was terminated. So far sad but ordinary – why is this information restricted?
A second report, though, contains William’s account of the party he led to Lake’s camp. There rescuers found not only the mutilated bodies of men and dogs, but incredibly well-preserved specimens of giant radiates: barrel-shaped, starfish-headed creatures with many eyes and mouths, and limbs arranged in fives. William called the creatures “Old Ones” and claimed they “filtered down” from space to a lifeless primordial earth. Indeed, the Old Ones’ biological experiments started the evolution of all Terran organisms. William and a colleague explored Old One ruins beyond the new-discovered mountain range and gleaned their history from carven wall murals. But what inspired William to warn against future Antarctic exploration was a survival of the Old Ones’ servants, “half-sentient conglomerations of hypnotically controlled cells.” These “shoggoths” had destroyed their masters, and could destroy humanity if roused.
Ironically, the Starkweather-Moore expedition that William tried to stop would refute his claims. At the charted location of the super-Himalayan peaks, they found no mountains, no ruined city or Old Ones, just wind-swept ice and snow. William’s tenure was revoked. His reports were placed among “the equally hysterical delusions of d’Erlette and Prinn” in Special Collections.
Marsh is torn between William Dyer’s compelling narrative and the evidence against him. After a rough break-up with his fiancée, he takes refuge in Paul’s house, an inherited edifice that he rattles around in alone. The two live together as “congenial colleagues” for years, comfortable and celibate (as Marsh stresses). Aware that Paul’s “ensnared” in the same “moebius” of credulity and doubt as himself regarding William, he digs deeper into the enigma. He learns that a Kalpaxia Mining Company ventured to Lake’s mountains in 1933; no luckier than Lake, it lost all its equipment and thousands of workers. Only a dozen men escaped, half-mad. The last survivor is fully mad and institutionalized outside of Arkham; Marsh interviews the man. He reveals that the reason the later Starkweather-Moore expedition found no mountains was that Kalpaxia accidentally leveled the vulnerable Archean slate peaks, trying to uncover their mineral wealth. The mountains slid into the valley behind, burying the ruined city but releasing amorphous monsters, which in turn destroyed Kalpaxia’s venture.
Soon after, Dyer learns that core samples from an abyssal “smoker” contain cryptically marked soapstones like those his father found—perhaps it’s an enclave of surviving Old Ones, and vindication for William! He and Marsh plan an expedition to the ten-thousand-meters deep smoker, made possible by the engineer grandson of Frank Pabodie, who’s developed a submersible super-resistant to pressure, and bathysuits designed around breathing liquid oxygenated perfluorocarbons. Dyer and Marsh make the first dive. Halfway down, they spot a dim glow emanating from a sea-mount cave. They exit the submersible in bathysuits and enter a vast grotto of stalagmite pillars lit by bioluminescent algae-animal growths. More disturbing is a “subliminal current… of pure thought” both pick up, repeating “You shall not come.”
Deeper in, they find barrel-shaped bodies—Old Ones!—four dead, one dying. The thought-current comes from this survivor, beside which the compassionate Dyer kneels to clasp one of its “manual” stalks. Marsh explores ahead. He’s stopped by a massive rock-and-debris wall, behind which a “hot-wave of stubborn hate” glows like a “half-sentient furnace.” He fears that the Old One’s telepathic “You shall not come” is all that keeps shoggoths from breaking through this last barrier between their Antarctic prison and the world. He retreats to find Dyer whispering “a final parting grace” to the Old One. It dies. The barrier groans under the shoggoths’ assault.
Dyer and Marsh rush back to their submersible, but Dyer doesn’t enter. He releases two explosive devices he’d attached to the hull, in case what Marsh learned about Kalpaxia’s destruction was true. He’ll set them off manually while Dyer heads home. Having vindicated William to himself, Paul’s work is done.
Marsh survives. He doctors the dive records to suggest that Dyer’s bathysuit failed. Miskatonic, loath to deal with another uncanny failure, accepts the story. Back in Arkham, the grieving Marsh learns that he’s Paul’s sole heir. He goes on living in their house. Often he worries that Paul’s sacrifice might not be enough. What about new deep drilling studies? What about other Kalpaxias? When cynical, he figures humanity will “manage to hold on to our comparatively wretched lives.” When less despairing, he remembers Paul’s “final valediction,” mouthed to the Old One in hope it would telepathically understand.
It was a “message of profound peace and reconciliation. Simply: “I forgive you.”
The Degenerate Dutch: Amid his tale of lost expeditions and ancient aliens, Alf takes time to “no homo” his decades-long bachelor residence with his mentor. He certainly wouldn’t want the local Gay and Lesbian Coalition to profit from their “celibate Castalia.”
Libronomicon: Dyer Senior was shortsighted in naming his discoveries using terms from the Necronomicon. Miskatonic keeps that tome, and others, in “the Vault” where access requires either professorial permission… or a bribe.
Weirdbuilding: We’re in full-on mythos mode, with a Dyer and a Marsh (plus a Pabodie) working at Miskatonic and tracking down sequalae to the Dyer Antarctica Expedition, with Old Ones and Shoggothim waiting in the wings.
Madness Takes Its Toll: The last survivor of the Kalpaxia mining expedition just happens to be in a badly-run asylum outside Arkham. He dies in response to Alf’s questioning; Alf seems weirdly un-bothered.
It’s been a long time since Ruthanna and I went back to our Lovecraft Reread roots and considered a story that not only riffs on the Cthulhu Mythos but that also employs HPL’s structural modus operandi, milieu, and even style without the writer’s tongue obviously planted in cheek. K. M. Tonso is a nom-de-plume of Gael Baudino, who has written novels and short stories across multiple genres. With “Last Rites,” she nails the sub-sub-subgenre of Mythos (core Lovecraft) — “At the Mountains of Madness” inspired — Canon-friendly sequel.
That sub-sub-subgenre’s an official thing, right? In my office, anyhow, where it disappears as quickly as doughnuts.
It seems like Miskatonic University had a strong legacy admissions program, not that I mean to imply that William Dyer’s son and Frank Pabodie’s grandson were not amply qualified to succeed their relations all the way to tenure level. Alf Marsh doesn’t mention any particular predecessor at MU, but surely the Marshes of Innsmouth were always welcome there. From Paul Dyer’s jest that Alf would do fine with breathing liquids given his hometown, I take it that at least some of the university community has gotten over stigmatizing those blessed with amphibious genes. The university community with access to the SPECIAL COLLECTIONS, you know.
I wonder if having breathed liquid perfluorocarbons might trigger Alf’s dormant genes to produce water-breathing modifications. Then he wouldn’t need any bathysuit to explore the ocean depths. That’s assuming he could get over the traumatic stress of nearly meeting some very, very angry shoggoths. On the other hand, Deep Ones do get along with shoggoths, even at times employing them as servants—servants, one hopes, with better pay and benefits than those the Old Ones provided.
Which brings us to the aeons-old ethical problem of Old One/Shoggoth relations. Does the creator of a life form have the right to control (exploit, enslave) that creature? What if the creature is sentient, and does the degree to which it is sentient or sapient matter? In At the Mountains of Madness, Dyer and Danforth finally accept that the barrel-shaped beings from the ruined city’s murals aren’t some sort of totemic metaphor for a lost race of humans, but a truly alien race. At this point, Lovecraft’s sympathies encompass the Old Ones. Star-headed radiates though they are, they are men, damn it. It was chancy for them to make a subordinate species as physically malleable and powerful as shoggoths. It was a fatal miscalculation to control them telepathically, so that the hyperimitative beasts developed rudimentary intelligence, self-awareness and will. So, yeah, the Old Ones made a mistake, but they didn’t commit a crime or sin. They were not “evil things of their kind.” At worst, they were tragic victims of hubris.
But, come on, it’s easy to be over-confident when you’re interstellar travelers and founders of a great civilization! Whereas shoggoths are just jumped-up blobs who graffiti poor imitations over the art of their betters and otherwise just suck the heads off penguins, gross. They are always going to be the bad guys.
“Last Rites” basically reiterates this dichotomy between the Old Ones and the shoggoths, with the former being flawed but capable of heroism, and worthy of human compassion like that of both Dyers. Whereas the latter are treacherous servants and merciless killers, “hot [waves] of stubborn hate” and “huge, half-sentient [furnaces].”
Not that shoggoths are that much worse than the humans Alf Marsh deprecates as wagers of “useless wars” and indulgers in “petty hate and bigotry.” Humanity might deserve to one day unleash the shoggoths upon itself. Except—
Except that humanity includes a human like Paul Dyer, who clasps appendages with the dying Old One defender of whatever remains worth fighting for. It’s a genuinely moving scene, as are Dyer’s final words to this fellow creature: “I forgive you.”
Exactly what he forgives is up to each reader. The very act of forgiveness, I think, is where the deep benediction lies.
My wife likes to describe Rodrigo Borgia as “the guy who literally gave nepotism a bad name.” That was in 1492, but word clearly hasn’t reached Miskatonic University, where the best way to get a professorship is to be descended from a previous professor, and the second-best way is to be a student-turned-grad-student-turned-teacher with an old-money name. This is a striking contrast to most Ivy Leagues—what I always heard was that you get tenure at Harvard not by going there, nor by taking a tenure-track job there, but by becoming a rock star somewhere else at which point they will lure you away with scads of money (on the academic scale).
But poor Miskatonic doesn’t get its pick of rock stars, perhaps because of the ding to its scientific reputation from the old Dyer Expedition, now firmly considered a hoax. So they’re stuck offering jobs to Dyer Junior and Pabodie Junior and a wayward, non-water-breathing Marsh. And both Dyer and Marsh have very specific research interests: they are absolutely obsessed with uncovering the truth about Dyer Senior.
Here’s where things get dicey. I am totally willing to believe in an ancient star-headed civilization, and their collapse in the Great Shoggoth Revolt. I’m happy to imagine that remnant Old Ones have held out for aeons, with shoggothim still going strong in the 21st Century, and that the last Old One conveniently draws their last breath just as the last Dyer happens by. But one wayward blast of TNT taking down two Everest-high mountain ranges? In a way that leaves absolutely no trace discernible by PhD geologists a couple years later? A mining disaster in the exact location of a controversial Miskatonic expedition that somehow never comes to the attention of Miskatonic? Hell, the mining company not bothering to consult with Miskatonic – perhaps to poach a consultant about their promising geological findings—prior to haring off? This makes no bloody sense.
I also strongly advise not getting into a submersible that your local oceanographers won’t touch. But that, at least, is realistic. If you want effective amateur deep-ocean expeditions, consult with your local James Cameron.
Alf isn’t persuaded of the Old Ones’ reality by photos, but recognizes something ineluctably inhuman in their art. “Regardless of deformity, futurism, style, or evidence of mental instability, a work of art made by a human being demonstrates by its very nature the axiomatic groundwork of our consciousness and psychology.” This is a fascinating claim, and absolutely the sort of thing a geologist would believe with great confidence. It makes me want to run a psychological experiment presenting people with a full range of human and Old One art, and asking them to judge which is which. What does it take for art to be non-human, and yet recognizable to humans as art? There’s a whole untapped field of inquiry here.
The scene with Dyer holding the dying Old One’s tentacle is sweet, even moving. They were men, after all, and recognize us as such when they aren’t dissecting us. I would like to know what Dyer thinks he’s forgiving the Old One for, though. Failing to leave a resilient enough record to preserve the Dyer reputation? (Not the Old Ones’ fault.) Dying, and thus unleashing angry shoggothim on an unsuspecting world? (Also not the Old Ones’ fault.) Creating shoggothim in the first place, enslaving them, and refusing to recognize their personhood? (Actually the Old Ones’ fault, and really not Dyer’s place to forgive.)
Finding evidence of still-surviving-until-yesterday Old Ones, and then blowing it up without giving your surviving student a sample corpse to carry away for further research? Not forgivable at all.
Next week, we wrap up Sister, Maiden, Monster—and perhaps the lifespan of the human species—with Chapters 29-30.[end-mark]
The post The Magnificent Vanishing Act of the Mountains of Madness: K.M. Tonso’s “Last Rites” appeared first on Reactor.
Published on January 28, 2026
Photo: The Saturn Awards
Photo: The Saturn Awards
The Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror Films has announced the nominees for the 53rd Saturn Awards, which recognize the year’s outstanding science fiction, fantasy, horror, thriller, and action/adventure entertainment in movies and on TV. That is a lot of categories, and a lot of nominations, some of which are slightly baffling (how is Dust Bunny star Mads Mikkelsen in the supporting actor category?)! But there’s certainly something for every fan of these genres in the nominees below.
This year’s awards will be presented on March 8th; Joel McHale hosts the ceremony.
Here’s the complete list of nominees:
[end-mark]
The post Here Are the Nominees for the 53rd Annual Saturn Awards appeared first on Reactor.
Published on January 28, 2026
Credit: Orion Pictures / MGM Studios
Published on January 28, 2026
There is a lot of entertainment out there these days, and a lot of fantasy, sci-fi, and horror titles to parse through. So we’re rounding up the genre shows coming out each month.
Nothing says Valentine’s Day like… a lot of new horror releases, apparently! From beloved franchise sequels and reimaginings of classic Gothic tales to adaptations of indie video games and Creepypasta stories, February is full of scary stories to watch in the dark. But if you’re looking for something less spooky, there are a few quirky sci-fi flicks, including a new anime movie from the director of Mirai.
Fiona, an ambitious archaeologist, treks to a remote Irish Island, where she unearths a burial casket containing a mummified figure. Unfortunately, digging up the casket unleashes an ancient evil in the form of the Morrigan, a vengeful Irish war goddess. The Morrigan possesses Fiona’s daughter Lily, and begins a bloody rampage. Fiona must stop the powerful goddess and save her daughter.
The third film in the most recent installment of The Strangers film franchise, Chapter Three sees sole survivor Maya (Madeline Petsch) going against the mysterious killers one last time. She even dons one of their masks as she gives into her primal instincts and seeks revenge. She’s also seen cozying up to Gregory (Gabriel Basso), one of the local townspeople who is mystified by her survival.
The newest adaptation of Bram Stoker’s classic horror novel comes from French director Luc Besson, known for sci-fi epics The Fifth Element and Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets. Caleb Landry Jones stars as Count Dracula, with Zoë Bleu as Mina Murray and Ewens Abid as Jonathan Harker. Like in many adaptations, this version of Mina is a reincarnation of Dracula’s lost wife Elisabeta.
An arborist named Ellie and her teenage son Wyatt arrive on the vast property of a wealthy and mysterious recluse, who has hired them to cut down some trees. But strange things begin to happen and Wyatt starts to behave erratically and see eerie hallucinations. Ellie soon stumbles upon the estate’s tragic past and must work to save her son before a strange haunting consumes them all.
In the distant future, everyone wants “the sphere”—a quantum-energy producing orb that can open portals to the afterlife within the mind. A traumatized mercenary is hired to steal it. Megacorporate rivals go head-to-head in order to claim it. An investment analyst gets caught up in technological espionage and must flee from a military contractor.
Two young con artists run scams by renting out New York apartments that they don’t actually own. But one of the apartment owners they run into (Djimon Hounsou) kidnaps them to run twisted medical experiments on. Twisted comes from Darren Lynn Bousman, who directed four films in the Saw franchise.
A misfit teenage girl (played by His Dark Materials’ Dafne Keen) finds an ancient Aztec whistle. At a party, one of her new classmates blows into it. Soon, everyone involved begins to be hunted by their future death, which takes the form of eerie dopplegangers.
From legendary anime director Mamoru Hosoda (The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Mirai), Scarlet follows the titular medieval-era, sword-fighting princess on her quest to avenge the death of her father. She sets off on a quest through time and space—eventually finding herself in a surreal world, where she meets a young man from the modern day. Scarlet must decide if her revenge is worth it, or if she can break the cycle of hatred.
An alien is sent to occupy the body of a young woman (played by Peace Ikediuba)—and to this extraterrestrial being, that feels like a prison. The alien’s mission is to spy on one of her own kind, who had been exiled to Earth. She’s supposed to find out the secret behind his dangerous research and if she fails, she can never return to her home planet.
In this family-friendly edutainment movie, four gifted children travel through time and find themselves on an adventure along the Silk Road. They must save great historical Muslim pioneers, like Al-Khwarizimi and Mansa Musa, from the machinations of an evil alchemist.
This indie horror film asks: what if The Wizard of Oz was actually a dark, psychological horror movie? (Editor’s note: But it’s not Return to Oz, somehow.) Decades after the events of The Wizard of Oz, an elderly Dorothy Gale continues to be tormented by nightmares of Oz. She warns her granddaughter Emily about the curse that ties their family name to this dark land. Emily finds herself pulled into Oz and runs into familiar characters, now twisted beyond recognition.
Think Zootopia, but for professional sports. A small goat named Will gets a chance to play roarball—a basketball-like sport that’s usually played by fast, fierce animals. Will’s new teammates doubt that he can keep up with them, but he wants to prove that everyone deserves a chance at greatness.
Sam Rockwell plays a time traveler from the future who travels back to present-day Los Angeles. He ends up in a diner, trying to convince the patrons to help him combat a rogue artificial intelligence. He recruits a plucky bunch of misfits and they team up to save the world from a terrible future.
A young woman named Rebecca begins a job at a mortuary and begins to experience eerie occurrences. She soon learns that the owner of the mortuary is hiding a dark secret—a demon in the building has targeted Rebecca and she must return every night to work at the mortuary in order to fend it off. The Mortuary Assistant is based on an indie horror game of the same name.
Stranger Things’ Joe Keery and Barbarian’s Georgina Campbell star in this horror comedy about two unsuspecting employees at a self-storage facility built on a former military base. Things take a dark turn one night shift, when a parasitic fungus escapes from the deep underground levels. The fungus is able to control minds and burst bodies, so the two employees must team up with a bioterror operative (Liam Neeson) in order to contain the threat.
A struggling Reno impressionist makes a pact with a Fergus, a mysterious ventriloquist dummy with a rough-and-gruff voice. Fergus promises to ignite Sam’s career—but there might be some strings attached to this wicked deal.
Sybil is a lonely woman who works as an undertaker, who finds more solace with the dead than with the living. She enjoys taxidermy, poetry, and extravagant daydreams. After starting a job at a new funeral parlor, she develops a dark obsession with a local man, which takes a sinister turn.
A woman journeys to an experimental trauma rehabilitation center in the middle of nowhere with her husband… yet she can’t remember exactly why. The longer she stays, though, the more her fragmented memories begin to return and she slowly realizes that there might be a dark secret to her marriage.
A police officer embarks on a quest to track down the person who killed her late husband. But she soon realizes that this murderer isn’t just a murderer: he’s a sadistic serial killer with a twisted, Satanic agenda. Psycho Killer was penned by screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker, who also wrote Se7en and Sleepy Hollow.
Out of desperation, Elise, a young woman experiencing strange and unsettling blackouts, returns to her old Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints community to undergo a healing ritual. But they accidentally awaken the spirit of a vengeful witch, who has decided to make Elise her new target. Elise must escape the witch’s curse, while confronting disturbing memories from her past.
Set in the 15th century, during the War of the Roses, Anne (Sophie Turner) lives an isolated existence with her domineering mother-in-law Morwen (Marcia Gay Harden), while her husband is off at war. But when Jago (Kit Harrington), one of Anne’s husband’s friends, returns with tragic news, a curse in the form of a mysterious knight begins to pursue the three of them.
Based on the 2012 YA novel of the same name, This Is Not a Test follows a group of six high school students trapped inside their school as a zombie apocalypse rages on. The main character, Sloane, is initially jaded about survival, but eventually she bands with her fellow students to strike out against the zombies.
A new Ghostface killer emerges in the quiet town where Sidney Prescott has attempted to rebuild her life—and this time, it’s targeting her daughter Tatum. Neve Campbell and Courtney Cox reprise their roles as Sidney and reporter Gale Weathers. Additionally Matthew Lillard and Scott Foley, who previously played two of the Ghostface killers, have also been cast, though it’s unclear what their roles will be.
Pedro is asked by his ex-girlfriend to briefly check on her aging mother, Alicia. He thinks it’ll be a simple wellness check, but he realizes that things are amiss when Alicia doesn’t recognize him. Instead, she mistakes him for a mysterious man named Cesar—a former lover with whom she shared a terrible secret. Alicia traps him in the house, determined to make “Cesar” pay for what he’s done to her.

Charlie, a video game designer, receives a magical time-stopping device from an eccentric toy store owner (played by Sean Astin). But even though it seems like the chance of a lifetime, Charlie runs into challenges as he tries to use this new device to pursue his dreams.[end-mark]
The post Here Are All the Genre Movies Premiering in February! appeared first on Reactor.
Published on January 28, 2026
Photo credit: Chandra Wicke
Published on January 27, 2026
Published on January 27, 2026
Courtesy of Netflix
Courtesy of Netflix
It’s been about a year and a half since we got news that Netflix was moving forward with Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen, a horror series showrun by Haley Z. Boston (Guillermo del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities) and produced by the Duffer brothers.
Today, Netflix’s Tudum website released some first-look images of the series, along with its release date and some quotes from Boston.
Before we get into it, here’s what the series is about: It centers on two people, Rachel and Nicky, and follows them through the week leading up to their wedding. Netflix is keeping tight-lipped about further details, though Boston describes the show as horror in the vein of “unsettling, getting-under-your-skin dread” rather than jump scares.
The series, Boston explained, is also character-driven. “I love to explore characters. I think sometimes that’s lacking in the horror genre,” she said. “My natural approach is from a place of character and dialogue and humor and then infusing that with unsettling horror… I’m like, ‘I want to be unsettled. I want to be freaked out.’”
Boston also described the show as having the tone and visuals of something between Carrie and Rosemary’s Baby, so you can probably pick up what the show’s going for. The first-look images above and below also give us a taste.
The series stars Camila Morrone (Daisy Jones & The Six, The Night Manager) as Rachel, Adam DiMarco (The White Lotus, Overcompensating) as Nicky, Jennifer Jason Leigh (Fargo, Annihilation) as Victoria, Ted Levine (Monk, Big Sky) as Boris, Gus Birney (Shining Vale, The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window) as Portia, Jeff Wilbusch (Unorthodox, Oslo) as Jules, Karla Crome (The Last Disturbance of Madeline Hynde, Lazarus) as Nell, and Zlatko Burić (Triangle of Sadness).
All eight episodes of Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen premiere on Netflix on March 26, 2026.
Check out some of the first-look images below. [end-mark]




The post Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen This March on Netflix appeared first on Reactor.
Published on January 27, 2026
Published on January 27, 2026
Published on January 27, 2026
Image credit: Sabrina Lantos/Crave
Published on January 27, 2026
Photo: Marvel Television