In The Empusium the gothic mixes with folk horror in a slow burning - no, scratch that, slow decaying - narrative of illness, paranoia, and the fogginess of fall at a 1910s sanitarium. Nature and trees are not what they seem in the idyllic countryside, gone slightly off, surrounding the sanitarium guesthouse, full of men dying of tuberculosis, and ready to spend their last days claiming the inferiority of women with their last shredded breath. Narrated by a mysterious entity that invites you into their voyeurism for unknown purposes, this left me chilled to the bones like a chilly October night.