What is the Cold Room?
Growing up, there was room in the basement of our suburban Cleveland house I called the Cold Room. Its temperature would have made it an ideal wine cellar, but that's not why I named it that. The Cold Room was named because at some point while living in that house, I had a vision or a dream about that room, images I remember vividly to this day:
A woman, in an olive-colored miniskirt with a matching jacket over a white blouse. Her clothes seemed to be the type of suit that a secretary or stewardess would have worn in the 60s. Pillbox hat. Brunette. She was sprawled on her back over a pile of cinderblocks and moldy drywall. Dead. Not just dead. Murdered. No visible wounds, though. The body had been located in the corner ahead, to the left as you entered the room. I was convinced this had happened, in this house and in that spot, sometime in the mid-60s. Which would have been around the time I was born. I felt bad for this woman because I had a notion that her murder had never been discovered.
How and when I came to believe this, I don't remember. But besides the images that remain, there are the feelings: dread, sadness, danger, isolation, helplessness, secrets. And if you don't quite believe me, check out the video below, made when I was 25. I wrote the above BEFORE I knew this video still existed!
That's the core vision of horror for Cold Room: feelings of dread, danger lurking around the corner or at the edges of your vision, the mournfulness of lost souls. The strange and the unexplained.
Oh, there will be blood and violence. But we will be less focused on splatterfests or the momentary thrills of jump scares than creating haunting atmospheres and ramping tension that builds to true terror. Story and empathic characters will take priority over visceral thrills. But you know... we like those, too.
So welcome to The Cold Room, where you have Everything to Fear.
--- David Bergantino