V/H/S/Halloween

The tenth installment in the V/H/S franchise is the first feature-length addition to the online collective fiction project, the SCP (Secure Contain Protect) Foundation. Framed as 'recovered field documentation,' or video evidence gathered, redacted, and archived by the secretive organization. Standalone segments in the anthology will focus on different objects, entities, or events under the containment-breach narrative.

When a group of misfits is hired by an unknown third party to burglarize a desolate house and acquire one rare VHS tape, they discover more found footage than they had bargained for.

Inside a darkened house looms a column of TVs littered with VHS tapes, a pagan shrine to forgotten analog gods. The screens crackle and pop endlessly with monochrome vistas of static white noise permeating the brain and fogging concentration. But you must fight the urge to relax: this is no mere movie night. Those obsolete spools contain more than just magnetic tape. They are imprinted with the very soul of evil.

As the streets of Los Angeles overflow with camera-wielding gawkers seeking to capture images of a bizarre police pursuit, the same people who sought to exploit the suffering of others for amusement on the Internet become the stars of a gruesome viral video from which no one gets out alive.

After the discovery of a mysterious VHS tape, a brutish police SWAT team launches a high-intensity raid on a remote warehouse, only to discover a sinister cult compound whose collection of pre-recorded material uncovers a nightmarish conspiracy.

A thirsty teenager's home video leads to a series of horrifying revelations, harkening back to the final punk rock analog days of VHS, while taking one giant leap forward into the hellish new millennium.

Unveiled through a made-for-TV documentary, five chilling tales of found footage horror emerge to take viewers on a gore-filled journey through the grim underbelly of the forgotten 1980s.

The infinite playground of forbidden worlds and dangerous lifeforms offered by the sci-fi horror genre will lead to the biggest, maddest, bloodiest V/H/S ever.

The ninth installment of the horror anthology franchise. Plot TBA.

Olga struggles to find her footing with her bizarre interest in umbilical cords until she discovers and joins a punk gang of navel enthusiasts.

Made entirely during lockdown as a response to the current pandemic.My wife and I prepped, shot and cut this over 72 manic hours, using only what we had lying around our apartment: an old DSLR, plastic, black paint, lighter fluid, prehistoric fog machine, strip lights and a gimp mask. I wanted to channel what I was feeling and inject the anxious, paranoiac claustrophobia of how we live in the current climate. Writer/Editor/Producer/Cinematographer/Director: Bryan M. Ferguson Starring/Animation: Vari Ferguson Music: Alex Mackay

A mysterious chemical reacts with the chlorine of a swimming pool which leads to the creation of an irregular cult.

An anarchic 17 year old girl destroys her parents plans for her future - by wanting to donate her bones to gelatin.

One man's trip to paradise takes a bizarre turn when he can no longer escape his fixation with the motel ice machine.

An aspiring dancer develops an odd relationship with an obscene phone caller. Together they discover an impassioned interest in self-amputation.

A bored Latina girl in Florida decides to add some excitement to her life by becoming a comic-book supervillain.

It’s 1987 and two metalheads open a gateway to hell when they follow the instructions of a satanic aerobics tape.

It happens to someone every Halloween. Follow the rules. Don't get pinched.

Adult Swim presents a rip roaring film about two knuckleheads facing off against a gnarly tape cassette dwelling worm that really wants inside their ear holes.

Getting a free haircut has never been so twisted.

A hauntingly atmospheric and contemplative look at a relationship between three friends which becomes fractured after a reality-destroying moment of possession. Based upon the novel Bitterhall by Helen McClory.