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That's how Carolyn Pickles succinctly and economically explains 'pareidolia', the trick of the mind which forms familiar images out of the abstract as your ever-industrious braincells attempt to make sense of the world around you. Another character refers to human protective instincts and how we are conditioned to spot evil even when it may not be there - for example, if a caveman thought he'd seen a menacing feral feline beast about to pounce from a tree limb, he'd turn and run, not looking back to even consider whether the creature was illusory.

Director Aaron Truss and his scriptwriter dad Aiden have brought these primal fears screaming into a modern setting in a truly unsettling short movie, based around the titular concept, which will disturb you via its stunning sound design (please do experience this under the most souped-up hi-tech sonic conditions you can) and its remarkable ability to have you simultaneously focusing on the scary unfolding drama while searching all around the frame, wondering whether that blurry beer pump in the background or a combination of shapes on a wall or a bit of machinery might just resemble a taunting or dangerous face.

Producer Stuart Morriss has specialised, in the recent past, in reviving the careers of old telly and cinema favourites from decades long gone - and in less skilled hands this approach can sometimes feel like mere stunt casting or a sad reflection of former glories, but you can always tell that Stuart works his players hard, and that they respond in turn, clearly appreciating being presented with meaty and significant roles, 'something to get your teeth into' as opposed to a simple gimmicky walk-on and a couple of seconds of fleeting audience recognition. The likes of Pickles, Graham Cole, and Diane Franklin grasp the chance to impress one more time, and throw themselves into giving their all and properly enhancing the production. Younger viewers for whom the sight of these old stagers may be meaningless might instead just wish to ask how frightening 'Pareidolia' is, yet even they will satisfyingly discover that it holds its own alongside the best and more expensive/expansive shockers that Hollywood or Netflix are currently offering.

A touching little fragment, this low-key fantasy from director Darren Perry showcases his trademark focus on English greenery once more, this time as a backdrop for a concise tale of the lightly supernatural. Eschewing shocks for something more subtle, the film is simple but well-paced, nicely directed, and particularly impressive in its imagery and framing - shots of the male lead positioned within an arc of leafy branches, close-ups of the talismanic stone animal which may or may not act as a portal between our world and that of the dead. The storyline may be a familiar one but bears repeated telling, and while there is insufficient room within a ten-minute span to truly detail any relationship between the characters, a connection and a sweetness is conveyed nevertheless. A change of pace for Darren, and a welcome one.

Just about everything has been done in screen horror, and most new productions offer variants on past ideas rather than anything truly original. So filmmakers have to rethink, have to take another tack. Darren Perry's experience as a director of horror shorts extends back decades, and his love of the genre as a fan stems even further - it all shows, and his expertise as both a moviemaker and a keen viewer enables Darren to find that distinctive angle.

The sketchy and over-familiar plot of his new offering Cold Caller comes as little surprise, though Darren's own horror knowledge and eye for a creepy image or situation lends a little freshness. Where this one excels, however, is in the establishment of mood. The film, though only eleven minutes long, dares to take its time, dares to brood and linger and creep around its location, at once recognisable as a suburban garden but also as a place of unease. Like Matthew Holness' acclaimed Possum, Cold Caller appears to be staged in a little pocket of madness, a bubble of shadows and things eerie, which happens to be positioned somewhere just around the corner from 'normality'. The title character doesn't even feature until more than halfway through, and neither does dialogue - instead, we become lost in a netherworld tenuously connected to our own. Perry's camera leads us, roaming and zooming with a tantalising agony, focusing on nature and darkness and ambience and the chop-chop-chop of an incessant pair of shears; nothing 'happens', but the creation of a foreboding and a dread is staged so effectively. So few would-be horrormeisters have the nous to carefully take their time in this manner, even in features - to witness this approach in something as brief and basic as Cold Caller comes as a revelation.