In a quiet, remote home, a mother and daughter’s fragile bond is tested as an ancient force of vengeance emerges from the shadows.

Silent Scream is a chilling psychological horror that weaves ancient mythology into a modern, emotionally charged setting. Set in an isolated countryside home, the film follows a mother and daughter whose strained relationship is tested by the emergence of a mythological creature—the Fury, reimagined here as a terrifying force born from guilt and silence. Blind but unrelenting, it tracks its prey by the scent of shame and the tremble of buried secrets.

Director Gregory Scotiniadis crafts a haunting atmosphere that lingers long after the credits roll. More than a creature feature, Silent Scream explores the emotional weight of unresolved trauma and maternal guilt, turning myth into metaphor. Through its suspenseful pacing and intimate performances, the film invites viewers to consider the unseen monsters we carry—and the terrifying power they hold when left unspoken.

What drew you to reimagine the Fury from Greek mythology as the central force in this story?

As a Greek filmmaker, I was always fascinated by the myths that shaped my culture, especially the ones that blur the line between the divine and the monstrous.

The Furies, were particularly compelling — not because they symbolized vengeance, but because they were the primal enforcers of justice tied to guilt and moral decay.

I wanted to take that myth that we were told in the classroom and make it my own through a psychological horror lens, grounded in personal trauma.

In Silent Screams, the Fury is less of a monster and more a manifestation of an ancient force awakened by a guilty conscience.

Guilt plays a major role in the film—how did you approach the theme both narratively and visually?

Guilt is the invisible monster in Silent Screams. I wanted to unfold the horror using silence and shadows because guilt doesn’t scream — it just lingers and watches.

Narratively, I took away exposition and leaned into suggestion — the backstory is implied rather than explained. Visually, I tried to emphasize isolation relating to tension: the confined room, the oppressive darkness, the inability to escape oneself. Every frame had to feel like a confession.

How did you approach the design and behavior of the Fury? What makes your version distinct from other mythological or horror creatures?

That was a really fun experience working with an award winning team to create such a unique creature. The team at Fractured FX were very enthusiastic and were able to pull this off with a very small budget. We wanted to design a Fury that felt ancient, almost fossilized — something not born but unearthed. Our version doesn’t roar or chase. It hunts like an executioner — patient, inevitable, sensory. The Fury doesn’t speak. It listens. It doesn’t have eyes, because justice is blind but it smells guilt. It hears shame. It’s not here to haunt — it’s here to pass sentence. That made it far more terrifying to me than a traditional supernatural villain. Actually on the feature script that I wrote I delve more into the how and why the Fury is after the family.

There’s an eerie, almost suffocating stillness throughout the film. Can you talk about the sound design and how silence was used as a narrative tool?

Silence was the foundation of the film’s tension. What I wanted to do from the very beginning was the absence of sound to feel oppressive — the silence became my fourth character in the film.
We worked with the exceptional team at Trailblazer Studios to craft a soundscape that breathes with the actors and that feels alive even when nothing is happening.
Small, natural sounds — breathing, the creak of the floor, wind against the window — become amplified when dialogue is stripped away.
The silence heightens every movement, every glance. It forces the audience to listen, and that quiet environment creates anxiety that fills the void.

Horror often thrives on atmosphere, and Silent Screams makes strong use of space and shadow. What was your visual approach to building dread?

Great question. I approached the visuals as if we were shooting a memory — something foggy, fragile, and intimate. Working with my cinematographer, we used minimal light sources, like lanterns, moonlight, practicals — to let the darkness dominate the environment. Shadows aren’t just aesthetic, they are part of the narrative. The spaces we don’t show are as important as the ones we do. I never felt that the Fury needed to dominate the film — that’s why it was revealed at the very end . I was inspired by how old ghost stories leave more unseen than seen, and let the audience’s imagination do the rest.

What were some of the challenges of directing scenes where so much is communicated nonverbally—through glances, silence, or fear?

The biggest challenge but also an opportunity, was trusting the actors (Addison Bowman and Jennifer Marshall) to carry emotion without relying on dialogue that much. Just a look was enough to show how a character felt. Addison was able to bring a subtlety to the role that made it easy to lean into long takes which allowed the tension to build in real time. It was about rhythm — when to hold and when to cut and when to let the silence stretch just a little too long. I thought it was important to be able to rehears and understand the physicality of fear. By that I mean not screaming, but breathing, hiding, listening. Every glance had to mean something. When it worked, it felt electric. There is a look that Jennifer gave to Addison that gave us chills when we saw it live and again during editing.

The Fury hunts by scent and sound—a very primal concept. What inspired that sensory take on a supernatural entity?

I remember watching horror movies growing up, I’ve always felt most terrified by the monsters that trigger something ancient. For example, the Fury in Silent Screams doesn’t just stalk but it hunts, with a heightened reliance on scent and sound. That primal, animalistic quality makes it feel like a force of nature. It can’t be stopped and it can’t be killed. Once the Fury is after you then the end is near. The inspiration came from stories of mythological creatures and predators in the wild — beings that don’t speak or reason, but simply track and consume. It adds a layer of vulnerability to the protagonist; you can’t reason with this thing — you can only hide and hope someone else’s turn is next and not yours.

Did you draw inspiration from other films, horror icons, or mythology when crafting the tone or visual style?

Yes, definitely. The tone owes a great deal to films I love like The Witch, Hereditary, Midsommar — movies that build tension through stillness, dread, and emotional intimacy rather than jump scares. Visually, I was drawn to the muted palettes and deliberate camera blocking of early Nolan and the naturalistic horror of Hereditary. Mythologically, I had to revisit some of the original texts on the Furies, their role as relentless avengers of betrayal. That became for me the emotional engine of the story. And for the creature design, I wanted to depart from the typical winged harpy look that we all know about and has been done to death and instead I decided to partner closely with Fractured FX (after talking to other design companies) to create something ancient, earthy, and terrifying. It had to be a design that we started from scratch. For a month a couldn’t sleep at night trying to imagine how my creature would look like. I am happy with the results and when we do the feature I will be expanding on the design and bring it more to life. Even more terrifying.

If given the chance, would you expand Silent Screams into a longer form—either a feature or part of a horror anthology?

Absolutely. That has always been the goal. Silent Screams was written as a proof-of-concept for a feature-length film that goes much deeper into the mythology and psychological torment. Guilt is at the heart of the story.I believe that, with the right partner we can craft a film that evokes the same visceral, unforgettable experience audiences had when The Exorcist first hit theaters. I’m not looking to replicate that film, but I want to achieve that same level of fear, dread, and emotional impact, something that stays with the viewer long after the credits roll.

What are the books, podcasts or even YouTube Channel that you recommend young filmmakers to get their hands on?

I would strongly recommend the Film Shortage YouTube channel. It’s one of the best platforms out there for discovering truly creative, low-budget filmmaking from bold, emerging voices. It’s a must-watch for anyone serious about short-form storytelling. When it comes to filmmakers that I truly admire and have shaped my perspective, Stanley Kubrick and Alfred Hitchcock are at the top of the list. Their mastery of mood, suspense, and visual language is timeless. I also like more contemporary directors like Robert Eggers, Jennifer Kent, and Ari Aster — filmmakers who use atmosphere, silence, and psychological tension as their most powerful tools. As for books, I often revisit “In the Blink of an Eye” by Walter Murch, “Story” by Robert McKee, and “On Directing Film” by David Mamet — all essential reads that have sharpened my understanding of structure, rhythm, and intention.

I also love “Notes on the Cinematographer” by Robert Bresson for its poetic take on visual storytelling, and “Into the Woods” by John Yorke, which breaks down story structure in a fresh and insightful way. Finally, I have to recommend “Directing Actors” by Judith Weston, a must for every serious filmmaker. Filmmaking is a craft that you learn by doing it but some of these resources will help guide you along the journey.

Can you share with us some of your favorite short films you’ve seen lately?

Rather than pointing to specific titles, I tend to focus on how a short film makes me feel. If I finish watching it and think, “I would absolutely buy a ticket to see the feature version of this in a theater,” then I know it’s something truly special.
For me, it’s less about budget or style and more about whether the story, characters, and atmosphere leave a lasting impression. A great short hints at a much larger world — and when that happens, I take notice.