Beware the Creepy Doll of Cracked Porcelain. . .

A quirky paean to horror films of decades past, Little Erin Merryweather has a panache all its own, with an eerie yet elegant storyline punctuated by scares and shocks reminiscent of the classic thriller Halloween — and a back story that re-boots, of all things, Little Red Riding Hood.

But this modern-day fairy tale turns very grim and may not have a happy ending. Somewhere, lurking amidst the snowy woods of a small college town, a killer in red dispatches victims with three startling similarities: They're male, they're blond, and they have (take note) dirty hands. It's not a spoiler to say the killer is female and her motivation stems from a horrific childhood. Now she wants revenge. So beware her creepy doll of cracked porcelain, complete with a ghoulish pair of hollowed-out eyes. And just know: If there's a flash of red — trouble's ahead.

After the first murder, college student Peter Bloom (David Morwick) suspects a serial killer on the loose. His buddies on the school paper razz him. After all, they point out, Peter also believes in Bigfoot and claimed one of his professors was a werewolf. Still, like any good reporter, Peter snoops, until uncovering the scoop that may win him a byline but cost him his life.

Morwick — who also directed the film and wrote its screenplay — is charming and determined, brave enough to take on the killer in a spooky school library, yet vulnerable enough to shyly squirm and stammer during a coffee date. Vigdis Anholt somehow brings a sweet, sympathetic frailty to her role as a serial killer. True, she's a loon, but not a mindless one, and when she flirts with Morwick and looks into his handsome face, you just know there's a part of her that wants to date this guy, not decapitate him. Then she looks at his fingers — too bad, the poor boy apparently has newsprint or something on them -— and her rage kicks in.

Unlike nearly all of today's horror films — including virtually every minute of the Saw franchise — Merryweather's scares don't soak you in blood. For sure, the shocks are there; be prepared to jump half-a-dozen times during the climax. But as Hitchcock proved in Psycho, and Carpenter mastered in Halloween, Morwick's use of sound, like the slash of a knife slicing a body, are actually far more terrifying than displaying bloody leftovers.

Grossing out moviegoers is easy. Jolting them is hard. Giving them a reason to care about characters in trouble — even harder. Little Erin Merryweather takes that hardest of roads and succeeds. Much more than gore, its haunted resonance offers a lingering chill. Put it this way: If Jaws kept swimmers out of the water, then Little Erin Merryweather surely will keep your fingernails clean.