There's a snake wrapped around the camera—because of course there is
It's not subtle. The new poster for House on Eden throws symbolism at you like a brick: a black snake coils around a camera lens, the reflection of a haunted house staring back at you in blood-red hues. We get it. Biblical overtones. Voyeurism. Doom. But here's the kicker—it works. There's something genuinely unnerving about that stare, and the implication that the viewer is being watched just as much as the characters themselves.
And now comes the real shock: the people behind this are TikTok-famous goofballs.
From ring lights to red lights
Kris Collins (aka KallMeKris) and Celina Myers (CelinaSpookyBoo) aren't just dabbling—they've made their feature debut as writers, directors, and stars of House on Eden, opening in U.S. theaters July 25, 2025 via RLJE Films and Shudder. That's right. A legit theatrical release, followed by a streaming rollout on Shudder later this year.
The plot? Classic found-footage setup with an occult twist. Paranormal investigators Kris, Celina, and Jay are detoured into an abandoned woodland house—standard fare—only to discover that something far older, far more malicious, is stalking them. People vanish. Cameras glitch. History bites back.
If you've seen The Blair Witch Project, Grave Encounters, or Hell House LLC, you've been here before. But House on Eden leans hard into the mythic, and that might be its secret weapon.
Is it derivative? Sure. But also kinda bold.
The trailer (watch it here) doesn't reinvent the genre—it mirrors it. But what makes House on Eden noteworthy is not its jump scares. It's that two creators with massive Gen Z followings are using their first film to channel actual dread. Not influencer drama. Not horror comedy. Dread.
Kris Collins explains:
“With found-footage horror, there's always an opportunity to explore fear through authenticity and immediacy… delivering a cinematic nightmare that lingers long after the credits roll.”
This isn't just a foray into horror—it's a test of credibility. Can viral stardom translate into legitimate filmmaking? And more importantly, do they understand the language of fear? The trailer hints they might. It's quiet. Sparse. Lingering. No ironic detachment. No smug wink.
That's rare.
The folklore angle matters
What makes the House on Eden poster so eerie isn't just the snake—it's the way the house itself seems almost too symmetrical. Too perfect. Like something you'd find in a dream, or a story passed down across generations. RLJE's Mark Ward calls it:
“An immersive descent into folklore that feels both modern and mythic.”
That blend of internet-age anxiety and ancient evil gives the film a kind of tension you can't script in a lab. It feels like a dream you forgot until the moment you saw that red-tinted lens.
Let's be honest: it might flop. Or it might be genius.
There's a version of this movie that's completely forgettable—a stitched-together homage to better films, riding on TikTok fame. But there's another version that taps into the raw weirdness of the found-footage genre at its best: lo-fi, intimate, and mercilessly uncanny.
The real question is: how much control do Collins and Myers have over tone? Can they stop themselves from undercutting the scares with a joke? Can they hold a scene in silence? Can they commit?
Because horror is unforgiving. You can't fake fear. You either understand how to weaponize stillness and shadow… or you don't.
What now?
Well, I'll be in the theater on July 25—possibly against my better judgment. And if the poster is any clue, House on Eden knows exactly what it's doing: watching you while you watch it.
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What do you think—does this have potential, or are we looking at another TikTok-to-Hollywood misfire? Sound off below.
