The usual portal for wickedness and darkness in modern American horror fiction is youthful sexuality. Surging hormones summon demons. That’s why big-breasted baby sitters, once they’ve tucked the kids in and phoned their boyfriends to tell them to sneak over, had best keep an eye out for slashers on the stairs. That’s why campgrounds full of teenagers in shorts so often lure scar-faced intruders from the woods. Who are these monsters? The thwarted and the spurned, their psyches warped by repression and rejection. They feed for a while on others’ erotic vitality but are ultimately defeated by these same energies in the form of some brave lass or lad who drives a stake or fires a lucky shot, restoring health and order to the world.
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