Yvette Tan, Queen of Philippine Horror Stories, Hears You

The Queen of Philippine Horror Stories waits in the shadows

Yvette Tan weaves Filipino folklore and history into horror

There seems to be a ghost that has followed Yvette Tan for a while now: the title “Queen of Philippine Horror Stories.” Legions of readers perceive it, point it out, and bear witness to it, whether in reading circles or on social media. They acknowledge a presence that’s impossible to ignore in contemporary Filipino literature.

That ghost has since manifested in Yvette’s writing. For years, she has helped shape a genre too often reduced to screams and monsters by probing the fears we carry, the histories we overlook, and the society we inhabit. Each October, as the season turns to horror, that ghost feels especially present for Yvette, whose work takes center stage more than ever.

“I feel very honored to be called the Queen of Philippine Horror Stories. It’s empowering,” she told radar.

But such a christening from fans isn’t only a recognition. It’s also an expectation, which, for Yvette, is a “big responsibility” that includes “carrying the weight of a whole genre.”

“I take it very seriously,” she emphasized.

To be sure, it wasn’t an overnight achievement. When she published her first horror story in 2000, Yvette recalled that horror writing was still “frowned upon.” Even her graduate thesis on Filipino horror short stories, she said, got approved only because of a supportive adviser.

“Obviously, I’m not the first horror writer, but when I started, nobody took it seriously,” she said.

But that didn’t deter her writing goals, as she has steadily carved out her place in the country’s literary landscape. In 2003, she won two third prizes at the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature, widely regarded as the Philippines’ most prestigious literary accolade. One was for “Sidhi,” in the now-defunct futuristic fiction category, and another for “Kulog,” in the short story for children category.

The winning pieces later appeared in her debut fiction collection, Waking the Dead and Other Stories (2009; 2021). She has since published two more collections, Seek Ye Whore and Other Stories (2022) and Insect Hag and Other Stories (2025).

In the intervening years, her work appeared in various anthologies and publications, including Philippines Graphic, which, in 2024, gave her story “Horror Vacui” third prize at its Nick Joaquin Literary Awards, another major honor in the local field of letters.

She has also extended her storytelling skills beyond the page. She wrote the screenplay for the indie supernatural horror “Ilawod” (2017), which starred Iza Calzado and Ian Veneracion.

Perhaps the ghost that has followed Yvette all these years has finally revealed its form.

“I feel that the title given to me,” she said, “is an acknowledgement of the years I put in as a horror writer.”

Unmistakable brand of horror

Yvette’s brand of horror is unmistakably Filipino. Her worlds teem with aswang, manananggal, tikbalang, bakunawa, mambabarang, and mangkukulam. Common expressions like “pwera usog” and “tao po” become plot points, while sari-sari stores, provincial houses, and Metro Manila establishments serve as sites for the uncanny.

But the horror found in Yvette’s stories often lies not in those creatures but in national memory. She explores Philippine historical periods, including the Spanish occupation’s Sangley Massacre (“Fold Up Boy”), the Marcos era martial law (“The Bridge”), the mail-order bride phenomenon (“Seek Ye Whore”), and the Duterte regime’s war on drugs (“Antingera”). In doing so, she makes past and present collide and the real and imagined converge, unleashing horror that feels raw and timeless.

“Horror is not just gulatan, which is what a lot of people believe in,” she said. “It is not just roar, roar, monster, monster.”

As she noted in her essay for Vogue Philippines last year, horror “can also be a way to examine societal ills.” She, however, clarified that this approach isn’t didactic or propagandistic: “I’m not fond of tales that set out to cram a moral down the reader’s throat.”

Even when not overtly political, Yvette explained that horror inherently serves as a reflection of society. She pointed to foreign examples: zombie films comment on issues like the Civil Rights movement and consumerism; the slasher genre of the late ’70s to early ’80s reacts to the period’s excesses in sex, drugs, and alcohol.

“I get a lot of people who comment, ‘Oh, I didn’t know horror could be political,’ to which I say, ‘Most of horror is very, very political,’” she pointed out. “Horror, when done well, reflects not only what scares us but also what a society fears, suppresses, or judges.”

In “Antingera,” Yvette’s standout debut novella accompanying the five short stories in Insect Hag, a woman discovers her esoteric heritage and seeks revenge for her partner, a victim of Oplan Tokhang. This, she pointed out, is something that everybody lived through.

“You have no choice but to acknowledge it,” she said. “This one is the most recent, so people clocked it right away… It’s still fresh in people’s minds.”

Giving the power back

Yvette’s horror also reclaims what colonization has twisted. “When I started writing horror, the atmosphere was like anything na lower mythological creature equals bad agad,” she said. “But when I started writing, I didn’t believe that. I thought, ‘Nauna sila sa atin. Baka naman ang mga tao ang masama.’”

In her stories, the manananggal or the mambabarang aren’t villains lurking in the dark. They’re complicated, sympathetic, and even human.

“Somebody tagged me in their review of Insect Hag.”

Na-confuse daw siya kung bakit di masama ‘yong mambabarang, that’s exactly my point. We keep thinking like that because we’re looking through the lens of the colonizers.

For centuries, that lens has warped how Filipinos see the supernatural. The Spaniards cast babaylans, once revered spiritual leaders, as witches and heretics. The Americans turned aswang stories into propaganda against insurgents. Even at home, stories about aswangs and other ghastly entities would become a means for elders to discipline children.

And Yvette continues to restore beings that were once integral to Filipino society, giving them back their power. Horror, then, serves as her tool for liberation.

“I’m taking out the black and white aspects,” she said. “There’s a lot of decolonization within myself, and it leaks out in my stories.”

Filipino horror’s growth

Over two decades since publishing her first horror story, Yvette noted that horror is now taught in universities and embraced by mainstream publishers. What was once “frowned upon” or deemed “not serious” has, one way or another, transmogrified.

“It’s great,” she said. “[Horror isn’t still up] to the level of literature with a big L, but we’ve come a long way from 20, 30 years ago. That wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for the readers.”

The night of Filipino horror writing, however, is still so young. Yvette is set to conjure more stories that can stir hearts and disturb minds—beyond October, even in broad daylight, not just when the lights are off.

As Insect Hag continues vanishing from bookshelves and e-commerce platforms, Yvette confirmed to radar what longtime fans have been anxiously waiting for: her debut novel.

Though keeping most details under wraps, she said her upcoming novel is “not as political as ‘Antingera'” but maintains her signature brand of horror in “a bit more intimate, family-like” manner.

“It’s been due for a few years now,” she said, chuckling. “I just haven’t had time to finish it, or I haven’t been in the right brain space to finish it. But yes, it’s what’s coming next. Surprise, surprise.”

But what seems to be the deepest, darkest desire of Yvette is writing about what she describes as “super simple” yet so perplexing: the fear of silence.

She has long noticed how we celebrate noise: neighbors’ chatter, stereos blasting at noon, karaoke past bedtime, and motorcycles revving down empty streets. Even breakups and funerals can’t afford to be quiet. And when sound disappears even just for a second, it can be so unsettling.

“I don’t know how to attack it yet,” she said. “And I don’t know why.”

The Queen of Philippine Horror Stories waits in the shadows. She listens closely as the noises fade into whispers… and the whispers into nothing.

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