Jordan Kopy Remembers the Literary and Cinematic Techniques of a Cultural Phenomenon

For as long as I can remember, I have always sought out spooky stories. When I was growing up, I devoured the entire Goosebumps series by R. L. Stine (it’s been twenty-five years and Night of the Living Dummy continues to live rent-free in my mind) and Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. I’d watch and then rewatch The Halloween Tree and The Witches.

But out of all these, the one I favored the most is Nickelodeon’s infamous Are You Afraid of the Dark? 

Nickelodeon, an American children’s television network, became a cultural phenomenon in the 1990s thanks to a line-up of highly rated shows. Are You Afraid of the Dark? was, perhaps, the network’s crowned jewel. Originally created by D.J. MacHale and Ned Kandel for YTV in Canada, the series aired on Nickelodeon from 1992-1996, later enjoying two subsequent revivals.

Are You Afraid of the Dark? is often credited with being one of the first horror television anthologies aimed at children. I’d wager there’s not a 90’s kid out there who doesn’t recall the show’s ominous, opening notes: the abandoned canoe lapping against dark, misty waters; the eery groan of the playground swings swaying in the night…

The show always began in the same way: the teenaged members of The Midnight Society would gather around a campfire. Each episode was narrated by a different member who would begin by saying, “Submitted for the approval of The Midnight Society, I call this story ‘(story name).'” He or she would then pull a handful of “midnight dust” (which, incidentally, was just Coffee-Mate) out of a small leather pouch and toss it into the fire, where they would share scary stories, classic horror tales, and creepy urban legends.

Are You Afraid of the Dark? is often credited with being one of the first horror television anthologies aimed at children.

As a sinister white smoke unfurled from the flames, the narrator would begin to spin a yarn that was, in a word, terrifying; in retrospect, I can’t believe the network aired some of these—I’m looking at you, “The Tale of the Ghastly Grinner,” and you, “The Tale of the Crimson Clown”—let alone that our parents allowed us to watch them!

And just what, exactly, made them so chilling?

For starters, there’s the fact that the stories were filled with spooky, supernatural elements: there were werewolves and demons and phantoms aplenty. But what really made the show so effective was that these fantastical components were combined with the sort of everyday fears which most primary-school-aged children experience at some point:

Worried that a monster hiding in your closet, waiting to gobble you up? You should be….

Scared that your toys come to life at night when you’re asleep? I’ve got some bad news for you….

Petrified that something is lurking in the bottom of the pool, waiting to pull you under? Ditto.

That last example is the premise of “The Tale of the Deadman’s Float,” which just so happens to be my favorite episode and one of the series’ most spine-chilling: a boy is playing in the school pool when he’s suddenly dragged under, drowning as his older sister and her lifeguard boyfriend, Bobby, watch helplessly. When four more people meet a similar fate, the pool is closed.

When it reopens some forty years later, we learn that it was originally built over a graveyard. Prior to beginning construction, the bodies were moved to a new resting place—all except one, the spirit of which has haunted the pool ever since. Classmates Zeke and Cloris team up with Bobby, now the school janitor, setting out to destroy The Corpse before it can kill anyone else.

I will spare you a detailed description of the monster but suffice it to say that when that blood-red, skull-faced corpse finally appeared on the screen, I screamed out loud.

So, why did I continue to watch something that clearly terrified me?

The answer is as obvious as it is simple: it’s fun to be scared…when there’s no actual risk involved. From the relative safety of your couch, you can experience all the thrills of riding a roller coaster or jumping out of a plane—the rush of dopamine, the racing heart, the trembling fingers—without the risk to life or limb.

But there’s more to Are You Afraid of the Dark? than jump scares: the series was incredibly well-written. Each episode had a clear narrative arc, a well-defined theme, and interesting—not to mention diverse—characters. The pacing was spot-on, the scary bits seamlessly interwoven with the larger plot. The show was a masterclass in creating conflict, increasing tension, and upping the stakes.

While leveraging these techniques are critical to any successful story, they’re particularly important in the horror genre; the protagonists must face a clear and compelling danger with consequences which ideally impact not only themselves, but others as well. And I should know: I don’t just watch and read scary stories; I write them.

My debut middle grade novel, Theodora Hendrix and the Monstrous League of Monsters, follows the adventures of a ten-year-old girl being raised by a family of monster superheroes. While my story is a mix of comedy and horror—more The Addams Family than Are You Afraid of the Dark?—there’s plenty of spine-chilling moments inspired in part by my love of the latter.

The spooky bits—the ones that would have kept me up all night so many years ago—are some of my favorites to write. But Are You Afraid of the Dark? influenced more than just horror aspects of my story; it also informed the way I structured it:

My story unfolds through the eyes of someone other than the main character, a mysterious narrator whose identity is only revealed on the very last page. And similarly, my novel follows a traditional three-act structure, a comforting format to deliver uncomfortable, spine-chilling moments.

I’ve also got a diverse, kid-led, ensemble cast of characters who repeatedly find themselves in perilous situations: if Theodora can’t figure out who is threatening to reveal the fact that she is a human living amongst monsters—breaking Headquarters’ Number One Rule, Keep Monsters Hidden From Humans—then she’ll be sent to live with vegetable-eating, news-watching humans and her monstrous family will be thrown in the Deepest, Darkest prisons of Transylvania. Forever.

Joined by Sherman, a talking, top-hat-wearing tarantula, and Dexter, her human best friend, Theodora follows a series of clues which ultimately lead her to the abandoned, hobgoblin-infested cemetery in which she was discovered as a baby—and the villain imperiling her family.

And like many of Are You Afraid of the Dark’s? heroes, Theodora doesn’t go running to the grownups for help; instead, she bravely confronts this wickedly powerful, supernatural adversary with only a flashlight and a penknife…I won’t spoil the ending, but I will say that it is not, ahem, for the faint of heart.

Over two decades have passed since I last met with The Midnight Society, and I’m pleased to say that I’m no longer afraid of the dark, nor the monsters which used to haunt my dreams.

“Except for The Corpse,” my sister reminds me, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face as my own whitens.

Yes, except for him…

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