Rich stories link Dominican history and folklore and serve as the backdrop for tales that send shivers down your spine. Intrigued? Let’s dive into how the vibrant yet complex Dominican culture influences my storytelling, particularly when crafting narratives that lurk in the realm of psychological horror.

The Spirits of the Island

The Dominican Republic is a land of breathtaking beauty, but it’s also steeped in history and folklore that whisper tales of spirits and mysteries. Growing up, I was captivated by stories of los ciguapas, mythical creatures with backward feet, and el bacá, a shape-shifting being borne of a pact with the devil, y la bruja who could only be scared away from babies by a red string tied to their wrist. These tales passed down through generations, taught me that horror can be deeply rooted in cultural identity, providing a rich vein of inspiration for my writing. Imagine setting a horror scene in a lush Caribbean forest, where the line between the real and the supernatural blurs, and ciguapas might be watching from the shadows.

Laughter in the Face of Fear

Dominicans have a unique way of dealing with the macabre: we laugh in its face. Our humor is our shield, and this ethos permeates my writing. There’s something inherently funny about trying to scare your friends with ghost stories, only for it to end in a fit of giggles because someone added a wildly inappropriate punchline. My characters often embody this spirit, facing the unknown cynically, even when their hearts are racing. This blend of terror and humor creates a uniquely Dominican flavor of horror, where the fear is real, but so are the delusions we tell ourselves to unbelief what we see.

Historical Shadows

Dominican history is rich with moments that, while not supernatural, carry their own kind of horror. From the tyranny of Trujillo to the complexities of colonialism, these historical shadows cast long, eerie silhouettes across my narratives. They remind us that sometimes, the true horror lies not in the monsters under our beds but in the monsters who once walked among us. My stories often explore the psychological terror that emerges from these historical truths, weaving them into the fabric of my horror narratives.

In The Devil That Haunts Me, I tap into an ingrained behavior that many Dominicans have passed on from generation to generation: de eso no see habla. I don’t know if the Spaniards brought that with them when they colonized the island, but it is a toxic behavior that saves face and mitigates embarrassment. Still, unfortunately, it also hides predators within our family tree.

I also put the spotlight on top charting merengue songs of the ’90s that indirectly (or directly) normalized grown men falling in love with school-age girls. I didn’t realize how bad this was until I actually listened to the songs I used to love and traced back memories of having to push against older boys who wanted to see what I had under my skirt as I walked back from school, men whose hugs lingered way too long and the family members who forced me to give hugs to those who my intuition told me to stay away from. These dark underpinnings amidst the vibrant music and colors of a Caribbean island are woven into the plot of The Devil That Haunts Me.

Advocacy Through Horror

Using horror as a medium, I aim to amplify marginalized voices and shed light on the darker aspects of our history and present. The Dominican Republic, like many places, is a mosaic of cultures and identities, and my storytelling seeks to honor that complexity by shedding light on both the good and bad. By incorporating elements of Dominican culture into my horror tales, I pay homage to my roots and introduce readers to perspectives and tales they might not have encountered otherwise. I know how reluctant Dominicans can be to hear or read anything less than positive about our culture, country, and society. I also know that I may get some push back or hate for this story but still this is something I must write. Because not everything was unicorns and rainbows and for light to shine we must first go through the dark.

A Call to the Brave and the Bold

Now, it’s your turn. I want to hear from you—whether you’re a fellow Dominican, a lover of psychological horror, or someone who’s just fascinated by the intersection of culture and storytelling. Share your own stories, be they personal anecdotes, horror tales passed down in your family, or your favorite works by marginalized authors. Let’s create a space where our diverse voices can be heard, and our tales can send shivers down the world’s spine.

Dive into the comments below to share your experiences, tales, or thoughts on how culture shapes horror. Do you have a ghostly story from your heritage? A favorite author from a marginalized community whose work deserves more spotlight? Let’s keep the conversation—and the eerie storytelling—alive and well.

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Read you later,

Joa