Thirty-Eight Minutes of Dread
Look, I wasn't expecting much. Thirty-eight minutes? That's barely a commute. That's the time it takes me to reorganize one shelf at the library while pretending to work. But I had a gap between podcast editing sessions, Shirley was asleep on my lap (pinning me to the couch, as she does), and I figured—why not? A quick paranormal snack before bed.
Mistake? Maybe. Worth it? Absolutely.
Here's the thing about short horror fiction: it has to work fast. There's no time for elaborate worldbuilding or slow-burn character development. You've got maybe ten minutes to establish dread, and then you better deliver. Dean Rasmussen gets this. The premise is deceptively simple—a nurse visits an elderly dementia patient as a hurricane rolls in, gets trapped, and then things get... complicated. But the execution? This understands that horror isn't about gore—it's about dread. It's about that creeping realization that something is deeply, fundamentally wrong, and you can't leave.
The dementia angle is what hooked me. There's something profoundly unsettling about the blurred line between delusion and reality, especially when you're stuck in a house with someone whose grip on the world is slipping. Is the patient seeing things? Is the nurse? By the halfway point, I genuinely wasn't sure, and that ambiguity is where the best horror lives.
Kasi Hollowell Commits
The narrator commits. That's rare.
Kasi Hollowell does something I really appreciate in short-form horror narration—she doesn't oversell it. With only 38 minutes to work with, a lesser narrator might lean into melodrama, trying to squeeze every drop of tension out of every sentence. Hollowell plays it smarter. Her tone is measured, almost clinical at first (fitting for a nurse protagonist), which makes the gradual unraveling hit harder.
Her character differentiation is solid, though I'll be honest—with a cast this small, it's not like she's juggling a dozen voices. The elderly patient comes through as fragile but unsettling, that particular combination of vulnerability and wrongness that makes you want to help and run away simultaneously. The protagonist's growing panic feels earned, not performed.
That said, I've seen some criticism that Hollowell goes a bit over-the-top in certain scenes, and... yeah, okay, there's maybe one moment near the climax where the intensity spikes a little too hard. It pulled me out briefly. But honestly? In horror, I'd rather a narrator swing big and occasionally miss than play it safe and bore me. She understood the assignment.
The Hurricane as Character
Can we talk about how perfectly the hurricane works as a framing device? You're trapped. The power's flickering. The wind is screaming outside. And somewhere in this house, something is very wrong with this patient—or with reality itself.
The audio production is clean, which matters more than people realize in horror. Nothing kills tension faster than weird audio artifacts or inconsistent levels. I listened with headphones in the dark (because I'm incapable of learning from my mistakes), and the clarity made every creaking floorboard, every shift in Hollowell's delivery, land exactly as intended.
At 38 minutes, there's no fat on this story. It moves. The pacing is tight—almost too tight in places, honestly. I would've loved an extra five minutes of buildup before things go sideways. But that's a minor complaint. Rasmussen knows how to structure a short, and the ending... look, I won't spoil it, but it stuck with me. I was still thinking about it when I finally went to bed (with the lights on, like a coward, because apparently I'm twelve).
Who This Is For
If you're looking for a quick horror fix—something to fill a lunch break or a short drive—this delivers. It's not reinventing the genre. It's not going to change your life. But it's a well-crafted little nightmare that respects your time and doesn't overstay its welcome.
If you scare easily, this might actually be a good entry point. It's creepy without being traumatizing. The dementia element adds emotional weight without becoming exploitative. And at under 40 minutes, even if it's not your thing, you haven't lost much.
My podcast listeners who dig atmospheric, psychological horror over jump scares? They're going to love this. It's giving Shirley Jackson vibes in miniature—that same sense of domestic spaces becoming prisons, of reality slipping sideways when you're not looking.
Shirley (my cat) was unimpressed. I was unsettled in the best way.
Final Thoughts
Finally, horror that respects the genre—and respects brevity. Not every story needs to be a 15-hour epic. Sometimes you just need a tight, creepy 38 minutes that leaves you checking the locks before bed. This is that. Hollowell's narration elevates solid source material, and while it's not flawless, it's exactly what I want from short-form horror audio.
Perfect for a stormy night. Or, you know, any night you want to feel slightly paranoid about elderly relatives. (I'm kidding. Mostly.)
