Five years ago, television writer Matthew Scott Kane sold a scripted drama titled “Hysteria!” set in the late 1980s. This series drew inspiration from the chaotic spread of misinformation he observed online and in media during the late 2010s. Given the lengthy production time required for such shows, Kane feared the concept might become outdated.

“I kept wondering if it would still feel pertinent,” he reflected in a recent interview.

“Hysteria!,” which debuted on Peacock on October 18, unfolds in a small Michigan town amidst the so-called satanic panic of the 1980s and early 1990s. This period was marked by widespread hysteria, where a fictional network of satanic cults was accused of ritual abuse, animal sacrifices, and infanticide. The pilot episode features the death of a high school football star, with suspicion falling on his classmates, who are part of a heavy metal band that uses satanic imagery.

The show’s visuals—the wallpaper, clothing, and music—are unmistakably ‘80s. Yet the tendency to project societal anxieties onto marginalized groups is a deeply ingrained aspect of American culture. (Are those apples really safe? Do they conceal dangers?) In today’s environment of heightened political rhetoric and rampant misinformation—similar to that of five years ago—the parallels between the satanic panic and current conspiracy theories, such as QAnon or the alleged grooming of children by queer individuals, are strikingly close, akin to the length of a suburban lawn.

Recent fictional works—including “Hysteria!”, the novel “Rainbow Black,” the fourth season of “Stranger Things,” and the film “Late Night With the Devil”—examine the satanic panic as a significant historical event. However, they also highlight how the underlying fears resonate today. It appears that Americans continue to experience panic. Perhaps we always will.

“Even if the visible manifestations fade, the underlying beliefs persist,” noted Joseph Uscinski, a political science professor at the University of Miami and an expert on conspiracy theories.

From a contemporary perspective, elements of the satanic panic may seem absurd. Did Americans genuinely worry about Dungeons & Dragons? Did they really play heavy metal records backward in search of hidden messages? “Looking back, it’s amusing,” remarked Matt Duffer, co-creator of “Stranger Things.” “It can come off as funny or entertaining.”

Yet, as Duffer pointed out, it was no laughing matter at the time, just as the current conspiracy theories surrounding transgender individuals or Haitian immigrants are serious issues. Revisiting this flamboyant, extravagant past provides artists and audiences an opportunity to reflect on an unstable present and uncertain future.

Backlash and Fear

Like any moral panic, the satanic panic lacks clear beginnings and endings—hysteria resists strict timelines, and the American habit of attributing social turmoil to demonic forces stretches back at least to the Salem witch trials.

The satanic panic of the 1980s was particularly fueled by the emergence of the Christian right as a potent political force in the 1970s, a backlash against the progressive movements of the previous decades that expanded rights and freedoms for women, minorities, and the LGBTQ+ community.

“I view the satanic panic as intricately linked to the broader conservative backlash of the Reagan era,” stated W. Scott Poole, a history professor at the College of Charleston and author of “Satan in America: The Devil We Know.”

Culturally, this backlash first expressed itself through outrage over horror films with religious themes from the 1970s (“The Exorcist,” “The Omen”), concerns about heavy metal music, and the publication of now-debunked memoirs like “The Satan Seller,” by someone claiming to have renounced occultism.

The 1980 release of “Michelle Remembers” marked a pivotal moment. Written by Canadian Michelle Smith and her psychiatrist and future husband, Lawrence Pazder, the memoir recounts Smith’s childhood abuse at the hands of a cult, supposedly uncovered during therapy sessions where Pazder claimed to retrieve repressed memories. (The credibility of Pazder’s methods and Smith’s experiences is scrutinized in the recent documentary “Satan Wants You.”)

This widely publicized memoir prompted many mental health professionals to adopt similar practices, stoking fears of Satanism and leading to numerous allegations of ritual abuse, particularly against daycare providers, as evidenced by the Los Angeles District Attorney’s prosecution of teachers at McMartin Preschool in the mid-1980s.

In total, thousands of accusations emerged, resulting in hundreds of prosecutions. Many individuals were incarcerated based on flimsy evidence, spending years—even decades—behind bars. The panic captured media attention, with programs like “60 Minutes” and “20/20” dedicating episodes to the supposed satanic threat.

Even then, there were skeptics within the legal system, yet many mental health professionals, law enforcement officials, and prosecutors believed in the existence of satanic ritual abuse despite the absence of concrete evidence. (Although groups like the Church of Satan do exist, no member has ever been convicted of ritual abuse.)

Viewed charitably, these accusations could be seen as an attempt to address the serious issue of child sexual abuse. However, while most abused children are harmed by family members or close acquaintances, the prominent cases focused on individuals outside the home—particularly as women began entering the workforce in greater numbers during the 1980s. Ironically, belief in ritual abuse may have served to reinforce the notion of the nuclear family’s sanctity.

“It’s not your neighbors or family who could pose a threat to your child; it’s people so outside the norm of American life that they literally worship Satan,” explained Sarah Marshall, host of the podcast “You’re Wrong About,” which has several episodes dedicated to the satanic panic and a forthcoming book on the topic.

‘We Want This to Be About a Demon’

Concerns over traditional family structures have shifted largely to focus on immigration and a broader understanding of gender identity and expression. Yet many modern conspiracy theories—like Pizzagate and Frazzledrip—share common elements (cannibalism, secret tunnels, threats to children) with their 1980s predecessors.

“I’m not sure if we’re witnessing a resurgence of satanic panic themes in our political and moral discussions or if it never truly disappeared,” Poole mused.

Earlier allegations of ritual abuse were typically directed at relatively powerless individuals, in stark contrast to contemporary conspiracies like QAnon, which often target government officials or members of a perceived “elite.” However, these modern theories also have historical roots—think of the Illuminati—and have resurfaced in an era marked by declining trust in institutions.

Recent works approach the 1980s panic with varying degrees of sympathy. “Rainbow Black,” a novel by Maggie Thrash released earlier this year, frames it as a social and legal injustice. The story follows a young girl whose parents are falsely accused of ritual abuse, depicting her journey into adulthood. Thrash’s narrative doesn’t entertain the notion of actual demonic influence.

Conversely, in “Stranger Things,” primarily set in a monster-infested Indiana in the 1980s, the demons are very real. The show’s creators, Matt and Ross Duffer, incorporated a satanic panic subplot into the fourth season. Cleverly, the series defends the games and music that fueled the real-life panic, using knowledge of Dungeons & Dragons and Metallica to empower the young protagonists against tangible monsters.

“Late Night With the Devil” employs a found-footage format to creatively reimagine the Faust myth. Set during the lead-up to the panic, it begins with skepticism. However, disbelief offers no refuge when a live taping of a late-night show spirals into chaos due to demonic forces. In this film and others from the era, demons serve as both a source of horror and a convenient explanation for the very real harm inflicted by ordinary individuals, which is the true terror.

“Hysteria!” toys with the possibility of demonic existence, hinting at a desire to simultaneously embrace and reject the idea. The mother of a guitarist in the teenage heavy metal band experiences phenomena consistent with possession, yet perhaps she simply succumbs to the surrounding panic.

Though the satanic panic is now decades in the past, it offers a seemingly harmless avenue to explore the perils of conspiratorial thinking. Kane, who is too young to remember much from that time, described it as “this odd corner of the 1980s that we were excited to explore.” His first encounter with moral panic occurred a decade later after the Columbine school shooting, when his mother restricted him from the music and films associated with the shooters. However, Kane never intended to set a show during that tumultuous time.

“That felt significantly more serious, with stakes grounded in reality,” he remarked.

In contrast, the satanic panic, characterized by its outrage over bands like Black Sabbath and children’s shows like “The Smurfs,” seemed more playful to Kane, albeit with careful editing.

“There’s nothing enjoyable about the West Memphis Three,” he said, referring to the case of three teenagers, targeted partly for their interest in the occult and heavy metal music, who were convicted in the 1993 murders of three young boys. (They have since been released but are still seeking full exoneration.) “There’s nothing fun about McMartin either. These are tragic events.”

Yet even the more benign aspects of the satanic panic now appear tragic: the betrayal among Americans, the pervasive fear that infiltrated daily life, and the way youthful cultural interests were viewed as threats. The failure to learn from the lessons of the satanic panic, as suggested by works like “Hysteria!” and “Rainbow Black,” is also a tragedy.

Though not explicitly instructional, these recent works provide genre-infused examinations of mass hysteria: “My hope with the book was to take readers on an exhilarating journey,” Thrash shared about her novel. “But I also wanted them to recognize hysteria as it unfolds.”

Perhaps that’s