Horror manga artist Junji Ito has always harbored a deep love for the macabre. In 1997, Ito published the grisly horror short, “In Old Records” as a part of his short story collection, House of the Marionettes. This short story, where an old melody on an unmarked vinyl record becomes an inexplicable source of terror, is now a vinyl-exclusive audio drama named In Old Records.
This record features performances by Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Poppy and iconic voice actor Shoko Nakagawa. The Kickstarter campaign for In Old Records is about to wrap up, having achieved way beyond its goal of raising $20,000. Limited editions of the vinyl also feature Ito’s bloody handprint and signature.
Polygon had the opportunity to ask Ito a few questions via email regarding his involvement with In Old Records, the influence of H.P. Lovecraft on his work, and his approach to short-form horror. Ito previously explored intriguing facets of cosmic horror in works like Uzumaki (1998), Remina (2004), and Black Paradox (2007), which tap into existential angst in the face of a cruel, indifferent universe. Turns out, the acclaimed mangaka isn’t done with cosmic horror anytime soon, as he would like to “push it a little further” in future works. Check out our full conversation below.
In Old Records centers on a cursed vinyl, which adds a compelling meta layer to this vinyl-exclusive audio drama. How does the audio-only format shape the horror experience differently compared to a visual adaptation that can bring your visceral art to life?
In Old Records revolves around the scat sung posthumously by a singer within the story. In an audio drama, where sound alone carries everything, the core melody and voice of that scat take on even greater focus than they would in a visual adaptation, and I find that deeply exciting. “Paula Bell’s Scat,” composed and recorded specifically for this drama, has an eerily beautiful melody that evokes a genuine sense of the afterlife, delivering a kind of horror that simply can’t be felt through manga alone.
And the fact that it’s all pressed onto an analog record — the very medium at the heart of the story — is, I think, a wonderfully inspired concept. To drop the needle on this record, sink into the world of the drama, and experience the otherworldly “Paula Bell’s Scat” accompanied by the warm surface noise unique to vinyl… what an extraordinary luxury that is. I’m also deeply grateful to Poppy for the English narration and Shoko Nakagawa for the Japanese. Both brought a truly wonderful feel to the story.
Both In Old Records and Uzumaki explore the destructive pull of the preternatural, where obsession drives people to the brink of madness. This is reminiscent of Robert Chambers’ The King in Yellow, which influenced Lovecraft’s mythos. Would you consider cosmic horror a key influence in your work?
Lovecraft has been one of the strongest influences on my work, alongside [manga artist and musician] Kazuo Umezu. His stories depict people who, when confronted with a being that surpasses all human understanding, can do nothing but stumble helplessly toward their own ruin — dragged into an alien realm where they have no choice but to surrender to madness. Reading his work, I felt a profound, bottomless terror, and it made me want to create something like it myself. He is a great writer who truly ignited my creative spirit.
In Old Records is part of your 1997 short story collection, House of the Marionettes. Does writing short-form horror change how you build tone and atmosphere compared to longer works like Remina or Tomie?
With a short story, there’s a feeling of compressing a dense, fully realized world into a very small space, like a tiny universe contained within a snow globe. Where a longer work expands outward and becomes harder to control, a short story fits in the palm of your hand, gleaming brilliantly or glowing with an unsettling light, stirring something possessive in the reader. That’s what I find so appealing about the short form, and I suppose I draw with the hope that each piece achieves exactly that.
The story begins in the everyday world; then, slowly, the shadow of the uncanny creeps in. Anxiety and dread build steadily until fear reaches its absolute peak at the climax — and that’s where it ends. The ability to portray supernatural horror with that kind of concentrated intensity is, I think, the true charm of the short story.
You’ve adapted Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human, in which the horrors are more existential than literal. What piqued your interest in a tale of such profound alienation?
Reading No Longer Human, I felt as though Yozo Oba’s anxiety and deep-seated fear of others were describing me personally. I believe every work of art is a reflection of its creator’s inner life, and I felt a strong resonance between Dazai’s interior world and my own. Because of that, I was able to draw the adaptation with the same motivation I bring to my own original stories. I think many of Dazai’s most devoted fans identify closely with him as a person, and I understand that feeling completely.
Horror comes in many flavors. You’ve tapped into a wide spectrum of fears through works like Gyo and Sensor. Are there any themes or sub-genres you would like to explore in the near future?
In Sensor, I tried to explore a kind of cosmic horror in the Lovecraftian vein, but I felt it ended up being somewhat incomplete. If I get the chance, I’d like to revisit the theme of cosmic horror and push it a little further.
