The Native American Horror Story (video essay)

This video essay was guest-edited by Gillian Joseph as part of their Full Stop Editorial Fellowship project, Reclaiming Horror. Additional contributions from this series can be found here and here.

Editor’s Note

Happy Halloween! Today feels like a very appropriate time to be publishing the third and final installment of the Reclaiming Horror series. 

I’m excited to introduce Ali Nahdee’s video essay, “The Native American Horror Story.” Ali’s beautiful blending of storytelling, comedy, and education is the perfect way to round this series out. She dives into what makes Indigenous Horror its own unique genre and tackles topics like authentic representation, reframing what a “monster” is, and the importance of sovereignty in horror stories. 

I’m confident that you’ll leave knowing something new—and ready to learn more—about Indigenous Horror. 

Gillian Joseph

Transcript

Ali (00:01):

Indigenous people are very, very good at telling horror stories, in large part because we are living in one. Indigenous people worldwide are collectively traumatized by colonialism, western imperialism, theft and destruction of land, and attempts made to either assimilate us or exterminate us. Our cultures and languages may differ and our communities may be on opposite ends of the earth, but where there are Indigenous people, there is always a history of horror. But what makes Indigenous horror as a genre so unique? What sets it apart from other horror stories? Where does the inspiration to tell such scary stories come from?

I’m Ali Nahdee, and this is The Native American Horror Story.

Ali (01:17):

I thought about starting this episode with some good old-fashioned misrepresentation and a long bloody history of violence. And believe me, we’ll get to that.

[Distorted voice] We have such sights to show you.

But instead, let’s begin with something more authentic. Horror stories and cautionary tales directly from those communities and their storytellers. Out of respect, I will only be discussing content that has been written by Native authors and has been disclosed publicly. Some creatures are so taboo that you cannot even say their names. Others can only be talked about during certain times of the year or during certain seasons, and there are stories from closed practices that need special permission to share from elders and the knowledge keepers of that tribe. As an added disclaimer, most of these stories are going to be from communities that I personally do not belong to. So, keep an open mind, but make sure you have a couple grains of salt nearby. That being said, I think the stories that are available to us are pretty magnificent.

Ali (02:29):

In the later chapters of his book, The Manitous, Ojibwe storyteller Basil Johnston introduces his readers to the Nibinaabe (alt. Nibiinaabe), or the fishmen and fishwomen who live in the Great Lakes. Johnston tells the story of mermaids and mermen abducting and mating with humans.

Excerpt (03:06):

[Excerpt from The Manitous: The Supernatural World of the Ojibway by Basil Johnston] Don’t cry. [Crying in background] I will make you happy. I’m sorry that I had to take you in the manner in which I did, but it was the only way I knew how to make you mine [Echoing]

Ali (03:28):

Stories have power. They’re used to teach valuable lessons and shape how we understand both the world that we live in and the circumstances that we find ourselves in. In The Manitous, the Nibinaabekwe steals a human from his family and forces him to be with her. He has to physically change every aspect of himself in order to become her mate.

For many Native people, this is a very familiar story about forced assimilation, even when presented in this fantastical way. We understand what it is like to be taken from our homes and to be forced to adapt and change to an entirely different way of life. Stories like this present a very familiar but safer parallel to our own history. There are many cautionary tales unique to each culture and each region of the world. The dangers of the Great Lakes aren’t necessarily the same dangers presented in the tundra. There, in the ice and snow, lives another creature that steals humans away for a much darker purpose.

Excerpt (04:36):

[Excerpt from A Promise is a Promise by Michael Arvaarluk Kusugak & Robert Munsch] Human child. Human child. Ours to have, ours to hold. Forget your mother, forget your father. Ours to hold under the ice.

Ali (04:51):

The Qallupilluit is an Inuit creature that appears in the children’s book A Promise is a Promise. It is a cautionary tale for Inuit children. In such a perilous terrain, parents use stories of these frightening creatures to keep their children from playing near cracks in the sea ice. Any child that disobeys their parents and wanders too close to the cracks may be swept away by the Quallupilluit who lurk within the sea.

Ali (05:22):

Scaring your children into behaving is a common practice among parents of all cultures and all races. Believe me, I was raised Catholic, so I deeply sympathize.

Excerpt (05:33):

[Excerpt from The Exorcist] The power of Christ compels you. No! Eve was weak. No!

[Excerpt from The Handmaiden’s Tale] Her fault, her fault, her fault, her fault.

[Excerpt from Game of Thrones] Shame! Shame! Shame!

[Excerpt from The Exorcist] [inaudible] It’s burning [inaudible]

Ali (05:49):

But it’s important to remember that Indigenous people existed long before Christianity was even a concept. Indigenous parents had their means of scaring their children into behaving. Without the fire and brimstone, of course.

In 2014, an entire team of Inupiaq developers created the video game “Never Alone,” which is based on an old Inupiaq story about a young girl and an Arctic fox spirit. In one level of the game, the Northern Lights are characterized as dangerous spirits that can sweep you away. This is based on the belief that the Northern Lights are the spirits of dead children dancing and playing in the sky. If you want to see the Northern Lights, you need to make sure to wear your hood when you go outside, otherwise the playful spirits will rip off your head and play ball with it.

Excerpt (06:45):

[Excerpt from an interview] And then she explained to me a little bit later that those are children, and children who have passed away when they were children. “You don’t want to draw them in too much, you know,” is what she said, because then they could play football with your head.

Don’t play out without your hood on. If you don’t have your hood on, the Aurora person is going to come down and chop your head off and play ball with your head.

Ali (07:14):

[Laughs] I can just hear my dad right now.

Ali’s father (07:18):

Ali, put your hood on. You’re gonna get your head chopped off and I’m gonna laugh my ass off. [Laughs] Dumbass!

Ali (07:26):

Damn!

Stories have a way of changing and evolving as we move through time. These cautionary tales about spirits and monsters double as a metaphor for sociological issues that Natives face today.

The Rougarou in Cherie Dimaline’s novel Empire of Wild serves as a warning to young Native girls about dangerous men, but also to the men who abuse those girls. The Rougarou begins with a man betraying a woman and it destroys itself along with her.

Excerpt (08:01):

[Excerpt from Empire of Wild by Cherie Dimaline] On these lands, in both the occupied places and those left to grow wild along the community and the dwindling wildlife, there lived another creature. His name was spoken in the low tone, safe for swear words and prayer. He was a threat from a hundred stories told by those old enough to remember the tales Broke lent? The Rougarou will come for you. Slept with a married woman? Rougarou will find you. Hit a woman under any circumstance? Rougarou will call your family soon. For girls, he was the creature who kept you off the road or made you walk in packs. For boys, he was the worst thing you could ever be. You remember to ask first and follow her lead. You don’t want to turn into Rougarou. You’ll wake up with blood in your teeth not knowing and no way to know what you’ve done.

Ali (08:59):

In Erika T. Wurth’s novel White Horse, the ghost of the main character’s mother appears and warns her about a monster called the Lofa. The novel is intentionally vague about the origin and deeper meaning behind this creature, and instead uses the Lofa as a metaphor for the true monster. The Lofa is what became of a boy who was abused by an evil man, who then becomes an evil man who abuses his family. Generational trauma transforms him into a beast in both a real and spiritual sense.

Excerpt (09:39):

[Excerpt from White Horse by Erika T. Wurth] Michael rose from the couch, the scent of rotting meat growing and festering. My mother shrinking back. Her father above her screaming. His face changing, becoming long, otherworldly, his form elongating. His shadow now unnaturally tall bent over here. He was the Lofa, the beast, with his hair long, his teeth nightmarishly longer. His smell like nothing from this earth. The glass spilling onto the carpet, as his fingernails became claws. When he turned around, his arm hit me so hard, I practically flew. The pain, the regret built in his animal face the minute his arm drew back. His features moving briefly back to human.

Ali (10:20):

Sometimes these creatures and spirits from Indigenous communities mistakenly fall into the “cryptid” category. This obviously does a disservice to their origin and their cultural significance. For those unfamiliar, a cryptid is an animal or a beast that people claim exists but have no physical or visible proof of it. Loch Ness monsters, the Yeti, the Chupacabra, and Mothman are all examples of cryptids. Hopefully you can see how lumping in Indigenous spirits can be problematic, especially if a non-Native writer decides to use them in their work. But when Native writers incorporate these spirits from their communities into their work, it changes the name of the game tremendously.

Ali (11:11):

The television series Reservation Dogs featured a brief story about Tall Man, who signifies suicide within a community. While the purpose of Tall Man is kept intentionally vague, the presence of this creature is understood, respected, and even feared by the two Native characters in the episode.

Excerpt (11:33):

[Excerpt from Reservation Dogs] It’s just hard to describe, it was a Being, it was covered in hair, you know, and it—I thought it was Tall Man—just had these eyes and they were looking right at me and they were glowing. Just scared me to the bone.

Ali (11:55):

Instead of being a monster that terrorizes them while on their hunting trip, Tall Man is treated as a metaphor for their grief. He doesn’t follow them home, he doesn’t cause them pain or suffering, but like grief and sorrow, his presence is felt and known.

Another example from Reservation Dogs is the show’s interpretation of the Deer Lady played by Mohawk actress and activist Kaniehtiio Horn. The Deer Lady looks like a beautiful Native woman who loves to dance at powwows and can be identified by her hooved feet, should anybody care to look. But she also serves a darker purpose: As a protector of women and children, she kills the bad men and occasionally bad women who would harm them. In season three of Reservation Dogs, we learned that the Deer Lady was a human girl who was kidnapped and sent to a residential school. After the nuns and priests murder her friend, she runs away and begs for help in her forbidden Kiowa language. Suddenly the deer appears and asks if she wants her help. By accepting the deer’s help, the girl becomes the vengeful Deer Lady that we’ve all come to know and love, and she devotes her life to hunting down bad men and offering guidance to other Natives.

Excerpt from Reservation Dogs (13:30):

Deer Lady: You know who I am, right?

Young Officer Big: Yes.

Deer Lady: Who am I?

Young Officer Big: You’re the Deer Lady.

Deer Lady: Yes. Do you know what I do?

Young Officer Big: You kill boys.

Deer Lady: Wrong! I kill bad men, but you’re not bad. You are good, so you ain’t got nothing to worry about. You think about your grandmother. You imagine her with you, every single step of the way. You do that, you’ll be all right. So I guess what I am saying is be good, fight evil. You do that and you’ll never ever have to see me again.

Ali (14:18):

Blending a cultural story and creating something new with it can be good or bad, depending on who’s telling the story and who’s in charge of the narrative. This origin story for the Deer Lady works markedly well as it stays true to the essence of this creature, while offering catharsis and healing to Natives who were abused and killed in residential schools. We understand her desire for vengeance and the need to protect the people from within her community. We are on her side despite how violent she is.

Would a non-Native think to utilize Deer Lady in this way? If they were to use Deer Lady in a scary story, how would they depict her? Would she resemble a horned monster, vicious and merciless and one-dimensional? Who would her victims be? Is she tied to her culture in any meaningful way or is she merely othered, and exotic, and ancient, and therefore dangerous to white characters?

I ask these questions because that’s usually what we get when non-Natives incorporate these types of creatures into their horror stories. And as many of us know, the two creatures that have been subjected to this the most are . . .

[Disclaimer]

These two specific creatures cannot have their names spoken. [In writing: Wendigo and Skinwalker]

Some Natives won’t even spell the name and risk attracting and inviting them into their mind and spirit. For the sake of this video, I will not say the name out loud. I’m comfortable writing the name in English since it is not the language of the original people who first told the stories of these creatures. These symbols and letters do not capture the essence of the creatures that existed before the creation of this language.

Ali (16:15):

Originally, I wanted to give these two creatures a more accurate, detailed account about their history and their cultural significance. And then I asked myself a question that I want you to ask yourself as well. Do people from outside of these cultures and communities really need access to these specific stories? Should they exist for outsiders’ consumption and entertainment, when they’re not treated like that within their own cultures, and among their own people? Do outsiders really need to know anything about these creatures? In researching both of these creatures, I strive for authenticity. I trust Indigenous sources over non-Natives every single time. When you cannot find these sources, does it really mean that they were lost to time or are they just not meant to be shared? There’s disagreement among Natives about how accessible these stories should be. When it comes to these specific creatures, people become even more divided. Let’s examine why that might be.

Ali (17:24):

There are many stories about both of these creatures. Some vary from community to community, and outside of those communities there have been many different interpretations, misunderstandings, and appropriations. Some are significantly worse than others, but any version of the story told by a non-Native will always lose an essential connection to the culture and community It originates from. In her article “Stolen Spirits,” Kallie Hunchman argues that appropriation creates disconnection between Western depictions and Native realities that ultimately harms Native people through the use of unethical research, unauthorized collection and sale of cultural art and depictions, and the use of cultural aspects to appear exotic, spiritual, or authentic. She also writes that writing about this creature in non-Native context is a type of cultural theft that presents itself not as a legal issue, but as a moral one, perpetuating the cannibalization of Native American belief systems. The 2021 film Don’t Say Its Name does exactly what the title suggests. It tells a story about a spirit of a murdered Native woman who comes back as an entity that the community knows about but cannot speak about. 

Excerpt from Don’t Say Its Name (18:56):

Speaker 1: It was—

Speaker 2: Ssh! Don’t say its name.

Ali (19:00):

Not once is the entity’s name uttered by any character. Not once is it used in subtitles or by non-believing characters or even in the credits. You don’t need to know all of the intimate details of this creature to understand how dangerous it is in this film. In her novel Warrior Girl Unearthed, Anishinaabe writer Angeline Boulley uses the creature’s name to describe sexual predators and men who murder Indigenous women. While the book’s plot revolves around the theft and reclamation of Indigenous remains and artifacts, the societal dangers of missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls, and two spirits are ever present in the characters’ community.

Ali (19:48):

One of these predators is a white man who specifically preys on Native women living on the reserve, because as a non-Native, he cannot be charged for it. And because he can get away with it, he continues to do it again and again. The fact that Natives associate him with one of the worst creatures from within their culture, speaks to how horrible he is and how much of a monster he is. Now contrast these two examples with the very problematic game “Until Dawn,” a survivor horror game that acts as an interactive slasher film and then makes a turn for the worst.

Ali (20:28):

“Until Dawn” utilizes familiar tropes from scary movies, which unfortunately include using Indigenous imagery as a spooky aesthetic. We see Indigenous cultures fragmented into decorations in the Washington House, pieces of totem poles spread throughout the area, and the shrine with vaguely Native American artifacts. 

Excerpt from Until Dawn (20:51):

Speaker 1: Whoa, this place is like historical!

Speaker 2: Holy bat cave.

Speaker 1: It’s gotta be Native American, right?

Ali (21:04):

But the game has no Native characters and no real commentary on the theft of land that the Washington estate, the mines, and the abandoned asylum are all built on. The game then veers off completely from being this fun homage to slasher films and horror movies and then just straight up appropriates this creature.

Excerpt from Until Dawn (21:25):

Speaker 1: I don’t take kindly to you kids coming up here to my mountain.

Speaker 2: Your mountain, huh? I’m sure the Washingtons would be very surprised to hear that. 

Speaker 1: [Laugh] Well, the mountain don’t belong to me. It’s true, but it don’t belong to the Washingtons. This mountain belongs to the [Wendigo]

Speaker 2: Who?

Speaker 3: What’s he talking about?

Speaker 4: What the hell’s a [Wendigo]?

Speaker 3: Let’s hear him out?

Speaker 4: Not like we have a choice.

Speaker 1: There is a curse that dwells in these mountains.

Ali (21:57):

The “expert” consulted for this game is none other than a non-Native white man named Larry Fessenden, who wrote and directed the 2001 indie film on the subject of the creature. He also curated a book called Sudden Storm, which is a collection of essays written by “horror experts” about “Native American folklore.” If you’re Native, you already know all of the red flags. If you’re not Native, what that means is of the thirteen experts, one of them was Indigenous and the rest were non-Native white men and women. Twelve white, non-Native men and women are considered experts on a culture that they do not belong to. So if the expert on the creature is someone from outside of the culture that this creature comes from, does this mean that Indigenous people, if they were consulted at all by the game developers, refused access to their legends and their stories? If they weren’t consulted at all, does that suggest that the creators of Until Dawn knew the sensitive nature of this topic? Knew that Natives wouldn’t like it, but went through with the project anyways?

Ali (23:24):

All things considered, the monster in Until Dawn could have been any other kind of monster. The White Walkers in Game of Thrones don’t need to be called Zombies for us to understand what they are and how they function. Why did the game need to appropriate a creature from an existing culture? Obviously, Until Dawn isn’t the first time that this monster has been appropriated and misused by non-Natives in mainstream media. Dating as far back as 1910, the novella by English author Algernon Blackwood appropriates the myth. Margaret Atwood, despite her own rocky history with Indigenous people, also took a shot at this in her 2003 book Oryx and Crake. The imagery and idea of this monster appears in the TV series Hannibal, in the film Antlers, in the Stephen King book Pet Sematary—and trust me, we’ll get to him—as well as a hilariously bad romance novel.

Ali (24:27):

Many of these spirits may be unfamiliar to most non-Natives, but I’m sure they’ve heard of the other spirit [referring to the Skinwalker]. You’ve probably heard the name in passing. It’s been used in movies, television series, and more recently, part of a certain wizard-TERF’s racist re-imagining of an existing culture. It has been described as everything from a shape-shifting witch to a demon, some believe or confuse it with a Rougarou, a Werewolf, or a cursed medicine man. I personally have very limited, if any, information on this particular creature. When I went looking for Navajo sources, the very first response I received was how this creature is extremely taboo to talk about, let alone educate others on.

Excerpt (25:17):

[Excerpt from an interview] One of the reasons we’re, our people—the Diné—when individuals of any background—they don’t have to be Navajos, they can be other tribes or even white people or Black people, when they begin to ask about the ways of the Diné and other witchcraft and the black arts and that—we’ll get suspicious of anyone, because if you begin to learn just a little bit, that interest in learning will grow and eventually you will be recruited by the evil one and you will help the demons, and that, to spread the things that are wrong. And you will be in a position to cast evil spells and to say evil prayers and to say evil things against people, to do ugly things to society and to the people that we love around us. That’s why Diné don’t like to share that type of information with anyone.

Ali (26:04):

That has not stopped people from misusing and redistributing this creature for their own personal gain and amusement, from reality TV to books and films. This is made all the more apparent when you look at the cast of most of these projects, who are predominantly white and non-Native. But where Until Dawn got it wrong, the television series Dark Winds got it right. There was a decision made to not include them in the television series, specifically for reasons of cultural sensitivity. George R. Joe writes in an article for the LA Times: “They may be taboo, yet they are part of everyday Navajo life. Traditional Navajo dare not discuss or talk about them, as we believe you invite them mentally and literally. And there are those who find their depiction on TV offensive believing it reinforces stereotypes. While I pushed for accuracy, as the creatures do exist and are a facet of Navajo culture, the decision was ultimately made to not represent them in Dark Winds, due to the cultural sensitivity of the subject.”

Ali (27:15):

And again, it brings us back to this question. Do we, Natives and non-Natives from outside of these cultures and communities, really need access to these specific stories? Should they exist for our consumption and our entertainment, even when people from within those communities do not use them in such ways? And again, this conversation varies from person to person. I will say that when Natives tackle this subject, it is done so much better.

Ali (27:49):

Native TikTok is my happy place. It is a great source for creativity, authenticity, humor, and occasionally horror. In just under thirty seconds, they demonstrate how sinister and frightening this creature is.

[Intermission of multiple TikToks]

Ali (28:24):

The simplicity of it, the impending danger. Using the audience as an outsider lends itself incredibly well to these projects. They know something that we don’t. They understand something that we cannot. We are in danger, even if we don’t have all of the information readily available to us. Does it really need to be explained to us in order to scare us? Just based on these short TikToks, I can promise that the idea of the monster is way more frightening and unsettling than any of those movies made by non-Natives.

And with that, I bid you goodnight and I’ll see you again in the next episode of the Native American Horror Story. Miigwech.