You know that feeling when you stumble upon a piece of art that feels like it was whispered directly into your soul by a ghost? That’s basically the vibe of Frankelda’s Book of Spooks (or Los Sustos Ocultos de Frankelda). Honestly, if you grew up obsessed with Coraline, The Nightmare Before Christmas, or even those old Goosebumps books, you’ve probably felt a bit of a void lately. Most modern "kid-friendly" horror feels too sanitized. It’s too bright. It lacks the actual grit that makes spooky stories worth telling.
Then comes this Mexican stop-motion anthology produced by Cinema Fantasma, and suddenly, the bar is raised.
I’m not being dramatic when I say this might be the most important stop-motion work of the decade. It isn't just a collection of scary stories; it's a love letter to the misunderstood writers and the kids who feel a little too "weird" for the real world. The show follows Frankelda, a ghostly writer from 19th-century Mexico, and her grumpy, talking book, Herneval. Together, they’ve been trapped in a sentient, spider-like haunted house for 150 years. To gain enough strength to escape, Frankelda tells tales of "Spooks"—monsters that feed on human fear—to kids in their dreams.
But here is the catch: these aren't your typical "and then everyone learned a lesson and went home" stories. They’re darker. They’re more honest.
The Reality Behind the Spooks
Most people assume that "horror for kids" means the monsters are just misunderstood or that a flashlight makes them go away. Frankelda’s Book of Spooks doesn’t play that game. In this world, the Spooks—like the name-stealing Gnomes or the soul-sucking sirens—are manifestations of real, messy human insecurities.
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Take the first episode, "Give Me Your Name." A boy named Nemo is so overwhelmed by his chores and schoolwork that he trades his name to a gnome in exchange for free time. It sounds like a fair trade until you realize that without a name, you literally cease to exist to everyone else. The show doesn't shy away from the existential dread of being forgotten by your own mother.
Why Stop-Motion Was the Only Choice
The Ambriz brothers, Arturo and Roy, who created the series, have been very vocal about why they stuck to physical puppets. In a world dominated by slick, perfect CGI, there’s something unsettlingly human about stop-motion. You can see the thumbprints on the clay. You can feel the texture of the fabric.
"In Mexico, there has always been a great visual culture... our art was always very physical, very volumetric," Roy Ambriz once noted.
This tactile nature makes the horror feel "present." When a monster reaches out from the shadows in Frankelda’s world, it feels like it could actually touch you because, well, the puppet actually exists in three-dimensional space. The studio, Cinema Fantasma, literally built every set and character by hand in a 2,000-square-meter warehouse in Mexico City. No shortcuts. No green screens. Just raw, physical craft.
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Frankelda Herself: More Than Just a Narrator
A lot of viewers compare Frankelda to Mary Shelley, and the inspiration is pretty clear. She’s a 19th-century woman whose stories were rejected by sexist publishers while she was alive. Her passion for the macabre was seen as a defect.
It makes her a fascinating protagonist because she isn't just "spooky" for the sake of an aesthetic. Her ghostliness is a literal result of her being "ghosted" by society. She only finds her audience in the realm of nightmares, where she becomes the "Royal Nightmare Writer."
The Evolution: From Series to "I Am Frankelda"
If you’ve already binged the five episodes of Season 1 on Max, you know it ends on a massive cliffhanger. For a while, fans were worried we’d never see the resolution of Frankelda and Herneval’s escape from Procustes (the giant spider-manse).
However, 2025 changed everything. The franchise expanded into Mexico's first-ever full-length stop-motion feature film, titled I Am Frankelda (Soy Frankelda). This wasn't just a "long episode." It was a massive undertaking with over 200 puppets and 50 detailed sets. It even caught the eye of Guillermo del Toro—who basically became a mentor to the Ambriz brothers, even writing letters to Warner Bros. executives to ensure the project kept moving forward.
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The film, which premiered at the Guadalajara International Film Festival and saw a theatrical release in late 2025, serves as both a prequel and a sequel. It dives deep into how Frankelda met Herneval and the tragic circumstances that led to them being trapped.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Show
There’s a common misconception that this is "Mexican Coraline." While the comparison is a compliment, it’s a bit reductive.
- The Musical Element: Unlike most stop-motion horror, Frankelda is heavily musical. But these aren't Disney songs. They’re more akin to Phantom of the Opera or dark folk ballads.
- The Stakes: In many Western kids' shows, the status quo is restored by the end of the 11-minute mark. In Frankelda, some kids don't get their names back. Some kids stay transformed. The "spooks" leave permanent marks.
- Cultural Nuance: The designs aren't just "spooky"; they are deeply rooted in Mexican syncretism. The sirens look like axolotls (endemic to Mexico City), and the "Coco" is handled with a level of cultural specificity you won't find in a Hollywood production.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Creators
If you're looking to dive into this world or you're an aspiring animator inspired by the Ambriz brothers, here is the "Frankelda" roadmap.
- Watch the English Dub... No, Seriously: Usually, I’d say stick to the original Spanish, but for the US release on Max, the original Mexican voice cast (Mireya Mendoza and Arturo Mercado Jr.) actually reprised their roles in English. It preserves the exact emotional beats intended by the creators.
- Study the "Imperfection": If you’re a creator, look at the lighting in the "Invisible Ink" episode. Notice how they use physical shadows rather than digital overlays. The "celebration of imperfection" is what gives this show its soul.
- Track Down the Movie: As of early 2026, I Am Frankelda is making its way through international festivals and streaming platforms. If you see a screening at a local film festival, go. Stop-motion of this scale is a dying breed, and seeing the detail on a cinema screen is a different experience entirely.
The legacy of Frankelda’s Book of Spooks is really about the power of the "ignored" voice. It’s a show about a writer who refused to be silenced, made by a studio that refused to use the "easy" digital path. It reminds us that our fears aren't things to be hidden—they're stories waiting to be written.
To experience the full weight of the mythology, start with the first season on Max before hunting down the feature film, as the movie assumes you already know the heartbreak of Frankelda's "ghostwriter" status.