This shouldn’t take long. That is what I told myself when I stumbled upon old episodes of La Hora Marcada (1988-1990) on ViX (not a sponsor). I thought I could put a pause on my day and rewatch an episode or two of the Mexican horror tv show I remembered watching with my family as a child. There were several episodes available for streaming and quickly realized I was wrong and it would indeed take long; my day was then not only shot, but my brain was rendered useless as well, the avalanche of nostalgic memories flooding my mind being the one to blame.

Hello, dear horror friend, hope you are doing well, thank you for being here. Today I would like to share with you a piece of my childhood, of my first taste of horror. But before we begin, let’s acknowledge that decades-long memory could be a tricky thing and may sometimes be confused with fabrications by a vivid imagination and strong emotional reactions. The latter being where I stand in this moment. Even though I feel that La Hora Marcada was where I got my first tv scare as a child, I cannot accept such an absolute proclamation with a straight face as there were many movies and tv shows watched at our childhood home; however, what I can say with total clarity is that I remember how much I both dreaded and looked forward to watching—every week and without exception—the scary show with the scary music and the scary stories.

Oh man, the creepy music from the opening credits was such a trigger for me: the confusing feeling came from my belly when listening to those first notes (I remember that, I hate that I remember that, I shouldn’t remember that), also, the black and white title images with the women and the blood were grotesque and beautiful to me (the ambivalence was strange, but good, always good). Being scared, or rather, wanting to be scared at such a young age must have been a challenge, a rebellion, not against my family but against myself. I have always been a stickler for rules (right or wrong, good or bad, black or white), but I now find it interesting that my young self chose to go for that which confused her, which made no sense in her logical mind, but that felt good in her body.

Fabricated fear feels good because you are absorbed by its darkness without consequences. I am watching you being in danger, but you are not in danger, we know you are not in danger, but for a moment we are both agreeing that you are, it’s all pretend, it’s all safe. This fake reality makes me care for you, hurt for you (and fear for me), but it’s all pretend, you are safe (and I am safe).

Now that I have put this into writing, I can much easily articulate the reason behind my ongoing love and attraction to horror: because I enjoy the risk-free and ambivalent nature of it. Things do not need to make sense to be safe, characters do not have to be perfect to be happy, the worst in life can coexist just fine. Horror is repulsive and exciting, not repulsive or exciting, it is both, it is everything.

Okay, so ViX is streaming right now for free twenty-five of the original eighty-plus horror anthology episodes from the 80’s and, unfortunately for me, they did not include the single one episode that I remember liking, scratch that, obsessing over so much as a kid, alas, a low-resolution version of it was found on YouTube (below).

This is the moment when I tell you that it was sobering to rewatch “En Espera de la Noche” with a set of mature eyes and an educated (and evolved) horror perspective. Young Marath was terrified and captivated by the female Vampire, but current Marath is beyond mortified and quite literally laughing at it all. Oh, to be young and naïve… the memories are still precious though, and will cherish them forever. Cheers!

In Love and Fear,

—Marath