"There were also horror shows on the radio. Very terrifying and thrilling to me as a kid. They had all these creepy sound effects. They would come on at ten o'clock at night, and I just would scare myself to death"

Jessica Hagedorn recalls the electrifying effect that nighttime radio horror shows had on her childhood imagination. These programs, broadcast late at night, became a portal into worlds both macabre and thrilling. For a child, staying up to listen past usual bedtime hours was already an adventure infused with a sense of rebellion and anticipation. The late hour, ten o’clock, introduced an additional layer of suspense; the darkness and hush of night could amplify the emotional impact of every sound that emerged from the radio.

Central to these experiences were the “creepy sound effects” used by the radio shows’ creators. In an era before high-definition visuals and instantaneous media, radio drama relied on the rich tapestry of sound, echoing footsteps, ghostly howls, creaking doors, to conjure vivid images in the mind of the listener. The suspense and terror were not imposed externally, but originated in the listener's own imagination, making the experience uniquely personal and intense. For a young listener, the line between fiction and reality could blur, and every shadow in the room might gain a sinister aspect.

The thrill Hagedorn experienced arose not only from fear, but also from the delicious kind of vulnerability that comes from willingly surrendering oneself to the unknown. The phrase “scare myself to death” captures both the exaggerated, childlike terror and the thrill that such stories evoked. The fear was real, pulsating through the quiet hours, but it was chosen, an adventure sought out for its ability to jolt the senses, quicken the heart, and kindle imaginative play. The memory reflects the timeless fascination we have with stories that challenge our courage, and the power of sound, suggestion, and shared storytelling rituals to create emotional intensity that lingers long after the program ends.