Welcome to another installment of 31 Days of Halloween! This is our chance to set the mood for the spookiest and scariest month of the year as we focus our attention on horror and Halloween fun. For the month of October we’ll be sharing various pieces of underappreciated scary books, comics, movies, and television to help keep you terrified and entertained all the way up to Halloween.
The thing about nostalgia is that it’s not always so grand. Sure, Taco Bell brought back the Beefy Crunch Burrito earlier this summer, but we’re also in the midst of a return of sorts with Satanic panic. You know, that phenomenon from the ’80s when everyone blamed Satan for perceived societal woes (and not the clear villain of the day). If there’s an upside to its return, however, it’s that the concept should help stir interest for a compelling new graphic novel, Let Me Out.
The work of Emmett Nahil (Leatherwood) and artist George Williams (Croc and Roll), Let Me Out is a queer horror story set in New Jersey circa 1979. Described as a “tribute to queer cinema and vintage revenge-exploitation films,” the story follows several queer and trans outcasts battling back against accusations of “devil worshipping” by their fellow townsfolk — by deciding that the “best way to get revenge might just be to embrace the devil after all.” Inspired by the intensity and humanity of films like Carrie and The Craft, Let Me Out is about what happens when the so-called misfits of the world start fighting back.
Let Me Out officially debuts this week (October 3) from Oni Press. Nahil was kind enough to answer a few of our questions about the book, including the Satanic panic concept, the power of queer-centric horror, and some of his favorite moments/scenes.
Courtesy of Oni Press.
AIPT: There’s been heaps of great queer horror releases, especially in the last few years (Raw, Plain Bad Heroines, Rain, etc.) Why does that “overlap” work so dang well?
Emmett Nahil: Horror has traditionally been a marginal space even within genre fiction. It’s been censored, misunderstood, and stereotyped as degenerate as an art form, and I don’t think that it’s an accident that queer folks are drawn to that. Within the marginal, queer folks will always find inspiration and find space to be able to access their feelings on monstrosity, other-ness, and survival— all things that horror hones in on as a genre. To me, it’s a natural match because queer folks are usually familiar with the transgressive, or willing to understand what it means to transgress.
AIPT: Speaking of other books, were there any specific influences/inspirations for this project?
EM: To be honest, a lot of Let Me Out was created in reaction to a lot of surface-level, ’80s-tinged stuff that gets made nowadays. I was really tired of seeing this period used as nostalgia-bait without any effort made to incorporate the very real social and political conflict that was going on in that time. Obviously not every piece of fiction needs to address politics, but I find it really irritating to kind of paint any time period with completely rosy colors. As I got more into the idea of the story itself, I really dug into The Ranger, My Heart is a Chainsaw, The Green Room, and Harrow County as points of genuinely fruitful inspiration for the comic.
Courtesy of Oni Press.
AIPT: The book takes place in 1979 and focuses, at least in part, on “Satanic panic.” Why is that still an interesting topic — is it because it’s somehow made a “resurgence” of sorts in recent years?
EM: Absolutely. I think it never really went away for queer people, and trans people specifically, to be honest. Trans people’s public lives and civil rights have been an open question for cis people for so long, that it seems like an obvious area to dig into as a trans horror writer. I don’t find it interesting, I find it infuriating. Pointing out the ridiculousness of the Satanic panic is part of the endeavor.
AIPT: The book plays with ideas of power, as queer-trans kids are given the “tools” to fight back against a bigoted society. Why is that revenge-exploitation spin feel like a powerful and compelling direction from a storytelling standpoint?
EM: I really think that queer people tapping into anger about their own oppression is still pretty taboo, in public especially. We’re still expected to aspire to assimilation above all else, and to nicely convince everyone else that we’re not dangerous. I think it’s not unreasonable to be angry about our lack of bodily autonomy and civil rights, and to want to find some catharsis through art.
Plus, the culture seems to have gotten a lot of mileage out of “Good For Her” horror, and so I think it’s part of my nature to be like, “Oh, you think trans people are angry now? I’ll show you angry.”
Courtesy of Oni Press.
AIPT: Mitch plays off like a rather strong lead — can you talk about why he makes for such a great lens for this larger world?
EM: Thank you! I think that most writers can’t help but put elements of themselves into their work, and Mitch definitely has a healthy dose of my own perspective baked in. In my experience, the idea of queer rage isn’t always understood. In Mitch, I was able to lay out exactly how and why that kind of feeling exists for so many of us, and in that way I think he is an emotional access point for the rest of the story.
AIPT: I feel like, the older I get, the more important or celebrated Halloween becomes. Does that inform or inspire your work here? Maybe, “we’ve got to go really poignant/significant with the blood and scares and etc.”?
EM: Halloween, as a movie, really did lay a lot of groundwork for the slasher and for the idea of suburban horror (although I tend to think more of Black Christmas as a foundational text). I tend to think that my core inspirations lie more in the realm of Hellraiser and Texas Chainsaw [Massacre], funnily enough. I don’t think that poignancy is something I shoot too hard for, or at least I try not to. If it happens, it happens.
The Laurie Strode of it all is very real, though. Everyone loves an underdog.
AIPT: Do you have a favorite page or moment here that speaks to the larger themes or ideas abounding within this story?
EM: It’s sort of a spoiler, but I think that the pages in which the Devil is jumping between the bodies of Mitch and his friends was something I felt really strongly about keeping in the script, and speaks to maybe the softer angle of the story. “I get by with a little help from my friends” and all that!
Courtesy of Oni Press.
AIPT: What makes a really good horror story in 2023?
EM: I think if you earnestly and thoughtfully engage with people who are already reading and watching horror, you will be able to make a good horror story. What’s good about the genre now is that it’s constantly reaching into the history of horror to draw inspiration, but we’re also in a really cool time in which new authors and creators are constantly breaking new ground. I’d say the key to doing both is holding onto nostalgia and innovation in each hand, and knowing when to use each.
AIPT: The book’s title touches on the same title from the American adaption of the totally awesome Let the Right One In. Any deeper or even tangential connections?
EM: I love the Let the Right One In, both the original and the U.S. version — to be honest, I wasn’t trying to make any conscious connections there! I wanted the title to be a command, and the reference to being “out” was a very queer in-joke. I suppose both Let Me Out and Let the Right One In deal with the idea that evil isn’t black and white, and that there’s sometimes love or comfort to be found in the monstrous, which is nice to think about.
AIPT: The violence (or horror delights) across the book is done thoughtfully and yet in a way that still feels super deliberate. Why is that important?
EM: I really do credit George Williams, the illustrator and co-creator, with executing all of the violence on-page in a way that strikes a balance between fantastical and “realistic” horror. On an ideological level, I didn’t want to shy away from the fact that queer people have been targets for physical abuse and violence in America, particularly non-white queer folks.
Courtesy of Oni Press.
To ignore that would seem really disingenuous to me, personally. I think that the violence in the later half of the comic falls more solidly into the slightly-surreal genre-typical stuff that I really enjoy in 80’s horror, and it’s my hope that balancing the two creates a more interesting tone. My favorite pieces of horror across media are able to do both social commentary as well as deeply spooky, super wild stuff with their brutality.
AIPT: Why is it important for queer (and even queer-adjacent) creators to create these kinds of stories? Is there still simply not enough of this kind of representation?
EM: I do believe pretty firmly that to ignore the danger experienced by queer people who are just…existing in America is boring at best and dangerous at worst. The idea that representation in fiction is the be-all end-all isn’t really my lane either, but I do think that in horror we have a unique opportunity to explore those emotions and the idea of transgression in ways that other genres might not. Obviously we need different kinds of queer art in the world, and not all of them have to do the same things, but queer horror is definitely medicine for me and folks who want to get a sense of catharsis from their comics.
AIPT: Why should anyone pick up this book?
EM: Because it’s a good-ass book. It’ll look sexy in your tote bag, which will probably help you get a date, if that’s what you’re into. Also, George has two very charming dogs to take care of. Really, you’re saving animals if you buy Let Me Out. You can’t go wrong.
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