Welcome Home (Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here)
If Hope Lost was the cinematic equivalent of being beaten with a wet newspaper, The House on Pine Street is a ghost story told by someone who’s actually been haunted—by their own mother, their regrets, and maybe the property taxes in Kansas. Written by Aaron Keeling, Austin Keeling, and Natalie Jones—and directed by the Keeling twins themselves—this indie gem from 2015 is a slow-burn psychological horror film that proves you don’t need CGI demons or exploding heads to make your skin crawl.
Funded partly by Kickstarter (which is usually the film-world equivalent of a bake sale for ambition), The House on Pine Street turned its modest budget into something quietly terrifying. It’s not flashy, but it’s effective—like a ghost whispering “boo” in a library instead of screaming in a nightclub.
Plot: The Haunting of Her Own Mind
Jennifer Branagan (Emily Goss) returns to her Kansas hometown after suffering a mental breakdown. Seven months pregnant, she’s trapped in that special kind of purgatory between hormonal imbalance and psychological collapse. Her husband Luke (Taylor Bottles) tries to be supportive, though “supportive” here means “quietly panicking while wearing too much beige.”
Jennifer’s mother Meredith (Cathy Barnett) is the real monster—or is she? She’s domineering, controlling, and radiates passive-aggression like it’s a skincare regimen. If you’ve ever had a mother say “I’m not mad, just disappointed,” you’ll know exactly how this film feels.
Then the house starts acting up. Doors close on their own. Objects move. Lights flicker. There’s a presence lurking—maybe supernatural, maybe not. Jennifer suspects the place is haunted, but everyone else suspects she’s just cracking up again. The brilliance of The House on Pine Street is how it refuses to tell you who’s right. Is the ghost real? Or is Jennifer’s mind the real haunted house?
Emily Goss: Scream Queen with a Master’s Degree
Emily Goss gives one of the best performances you’ll ever see in a horror film that didn’t have a studio budget or a screaming marketing campaign. She plays Jennifer with the exhaustion of a woman fighting both her own mind and everyone’s expectations.
There’s a moment—no spoilers—where she stares at a hallway for what feels like an eternity, and you realize you’re holding your breath. Goss’s performance doesn’t rely on shrieks or melodrama. It’s quiet panic, the kind that seeps into your bones. If Toni Collette in Hereditary is the Ferrari of maternal meltdown performances, Emily Goss is the reliable, terrifying Volvo—steady, understated, but capable of murder when provoked.
Domestic Terrorism (Emotional, Not Federal)
The real horror in The House on Pine Street isn’t ghosts—it’s family. Meredith, played with unnerving precision by Cathy Barnett, is the kind of mother who would make Norman Bates pack his bags and say, “You know what? I’m out.”
The tension between Jennifer and Meredith is excruciatingly real. Every line of dialogue feels like it’s been ripped from a Thanksgiving dinner that ended in therapy. The supernatural haunting becomes a mirror for emotional abuse, depression, and postpartum anxiety. It’s like The Babadook’s American cousin—less monster, more Midwestern repression.
Direction: The Art of Nothing Happening (Until It Does)
The Keeling brothers have the patience of saints and the nerve of Hitchcock. The film takes its time, lingering on long, static shots that let dread creep in slowly. There are no jump scares for cheap thrills—just subtle sounds, flickering shadows, and the uncomfortable realization that you might be seeing what Jennifer sees… or maybe not.
It’s a confident kind of horror filmmaking, the kind that trusts the audience to be smart enough to feel unsettled without being spoon-fed blood and ghosts. In a world of horror films that feel like roller coasters, The House on Pine Street is a haunted elevator—slow, quiet, and you never know which floor is going to open into Hell.
Cinematography: Kansas Never Looked So Creepy
Cinematographer Juan Sebastian Baron shoots Kansas like it’s on the verge of collapse. The lighting is dim, the colors muted, and the house itself looks like it’s decaying from the inside out—much like Jennifer’s mind. Every frame hums with unease, and yet it’s beautiful.
This isn’t the slick horror of Blumhouse—it’s the kind of homemade terror that feels real because it could be. You’ve been in houses like this. You’ve heard those sounds in the walls. You’ve ignored them too. The camera doesn’t flinch, and neither can you.
Music and Sound: Anxiety in Stereo
Composers Nathan Matthew David and Jeremy Lamb deserve hazard pay. Their score is less “music” and more “slow-building panic.” It hums, it pulses, it waits. Sometimes it vanishes completely, leaving only the creak of the house, the tick of a clock, or the sound of Jennifer’s breathing.
It’s the perfect complement to a film that thrives on unease. If this movie had a scent, it would be mildew and dread.
The Kickstarter Miracle
Most crowdfunded horror films look like the director’s friends got together with a GoPro and too much Red Bull. The House on Pine Street, however, feels professional, precise, and—dare I say—elegant. It’s a testament to what can happen when a few talented people decide to make something terrifying with heart instead of cash.
In just 19 days of filming, the Keelings managed to pull off something most studio horror can’t: atmosphere. You can feel the tension in every wall crack and shadow. It’s as though the film was shot on the edge of an emotional breakdown—and that’s meant as a compliment.
Horror with a Brain (and a Pulse)
What makes The House on Pine Street stand out is that it respects its audience. It’s horror for people who like their fear existential and their ghosts metaphorical. It doesn’t give easy answers, and it doesn’t tie its horrors in a neat bow.
By the end, you might not know whether the haunting was real or just a projection of Jennifer’s unraveling psyche—but you’ll know exactly how it feels to doubt your own mind. That’s a rarer kind of terror, and far more lasting than any jump scare.
The Darkly Funny Part
Of course, the film isn’t funny—at least not on purpose. But there’s something deliciously bleak about watching a pregnant woman navigate both supernatural chaos and Midwestern passive-aggression. You can almost hear the ghost mutter, “Look, I’d haunt someone else if your mom weren’t scarier than me.”
There’s even a perverse humor in how the film leans into its domestic dread. The pipes bang, the doors creak, the mother nags—it’s like Paranormal Activity directed by your therapist. If laughter is how we cope with fear, The House on Pine Street deserves an uncomfortable chuckle or two.
Final Verdict: Stay for the Haunting, Fear the Mother
The House on Pine Street is proof that true horror doesn’t need gore, CGI, or an exorcism scene involving Latin chants. It just needs a believable woman, a suffocating home, and the creeping sense that maybe—just maybe—the worst hauntings are the ones we bring with us.
Emily Goss carries the film with the strength of someone holding a ghost and a grudge. The Keelings direct with restraint and confidence, crafting an atmosphere so tense you’ll check your own house for cold spots.
If you like your horror intelligent, psychological, and tinged with domestic doom, this one’s for you. And if you don’t—well, you can always call your mother. She’s been dying to hear from you.
Rating: ★★★★☆ (4.5/5)
Come for the ghost. Stay for the generational trauma.
