Annie is an entomologist with a PhD in beetles and a minor in making her friends lose their appetites over dung beetle facts. Her fascination with insects is matched only by her complete and vocal disdain for video games, which she refers to as “thumb twiddling for the emotionally stunted.” She can rattle off obscure species like other people name celebrities, and her idea of small talk is explaining the mating rituals of scarab beetles in excruciating detail. Weirdly, it works for her.

Antony is a top-tier gossip—if it’s juicy, he’s chewing on it and passing it along before lunch. He tosses around personal tidbits like parade confetti, and his friends have learned to stay tight-lipped unless they’re in the mood for chaos. Sometimes, just for fun, they’ll feed him a fake story—like Janice eloping with her Pilates instructor—just to watch it zip through the neighborhood like a rogue firework. The scary part? Antony delivers it with such gusto and detail, people start to believe it. Honestly, if he ever went into PR, the world wouldn’t stand a chance.

Astrid is a loser—not in the life-failure sense, but in the “where are my keys, phone, wallet, dignity” kind of way. If she’s held onto something for more than 24 hours, it’s probably duct-taped to her body. She lives in a constant state of low-grade panic, retracing her steps, muttering to herself, and blaming the universe for once again swallowing her stuff whole. Her friends have stopped asking if she has something—they already know the answer is no, but probably with a wild story attached.

Barnaby is on a mission to shake off the “stuffy old economist” label that’s followed him since the Reagan administration. Now retired, he’s traded spreadsheets for spotlights, joining a local improv troupe where he hurls himself into ridiculous characters with alarming enthusiasm. His delivery might still be a little too “lecture hall,” but the commitment is there. He still wears tweed—only now it’s ironic—and he’s got a surprisingly sharp sense of timing for someone who once wrote a 40-page treatise on fiscal policy for fun.

Barry is the kind of guy who remembers your dog’s birthday, sends handwritten thank-you notes, and shows up with soup the second you say you’re under the weather. He’s pure heart wrapped in flannel, always ready with a hug or a corny joke to lift your spirits. But mess with his partner Penny—even a tiny, passive-aggressive comment—and you’ll see the smile tighten and the air chill. He’ll still be polite, of course, but in the way that makes you question every life choice that led you to this moment.

Bentley is having a moment. It’s not quite a midlife crisis—more like a slow-burning existential shrug. He finds himself staring at the lawn he just mowed, wondering how he went from dreaming of summiting Everest or clinking glasses with celebrities in Ibiza to comparing grill brands at Costco. He loves his family, truly, but sometimes the sound of a juice box being punctured sends him spiraling into a montage of what-ifs. Lately, he’s been Googling things like “can you start mountain climbing at 47” and “celebrity hot spots near Des Moines.”

Byron has a bit of an Eeyore vibe—shuffling through life in a fog of mild bewilderment and existential dread. He worries about everything and everyone: the neighbors’ dog, the economy, whether he left the stove on (he didn’t). Though he tries to keep his anxieties to himself, they tend to seep out in sighs, a furrowed brow, and long pauses mid-sentence. Still, he’s never unkind, and his concern comes from a place of deep care. You get the feeling that if he could take on the world’s problems himself, he would—he just might mumble about it the whole time.

Carmine is a walking paradox in a sequined robe. With a personality as loud as his wardrobe, he lives for dancing, singing, and being the life of any party—preferably one with a disco ball. By day (and often night), though, he’s body-slamming opponents in the ring as “The Big Ragu,” a pro wrestling persona that combines raw power with just a hint of marinara-fueled flair. His fans chant his name, his enemies fear his hip swivels, and his entrance music? It’s ABBA, obviously.

Cher has officially run out of shits to give. After a lifetime of people-pleasing, smoothing things over, and making sure everyone else had what they needed, she’s hung up her self-sacrifice hat and slipped into something far more comfortable—like not caring. These days, she’s prioritizing herself with the fervor of a woman unleashed, treating every boundary like a holy relic and every “no” like a spiritual breakthrough. It’s not a midlife crisis—it’s a long-overdue emancipation, and she’s coming in hot.

Dee Dee is consistently extra—like, rhinestones-on-her-toothbrush extra. People love to poke fun at her oversized hair bows, her bedazzled everything, and her near-spiritual connection to glitter, but she shrugs it off with a wink and a sparkle. She’s not trying to make a statement—unless that statement is “more is more and less is boring.” Joy, after all, looks better in sequins.

Doris doesn’t want to hear it. If you’ve got something to say, keep it to yourself. She’s got things to do, people to see, and this house sure as hell won’t clean itself. She runs on coffee, common sense, and exactly zero tolerance for nonsense. Save the drama for someone who has time for it—Doris is booked, busy, and fresh out of patience for your long-winded excuses or that neighbor’s third retelling of her gallbladder surgery.

Dottie is a little old-fashioned—tea at 2 (brewed properly in a pot, thank you), handwritten notes, and real books over podcasts any day. But don’t let the vintage vibes fool you. She’s got a massive TikTok following for her brutally honest gardening advice and a loyal Twitch fanbase who tune in religiously to watch her decimate digital foes under the handle @GranWithAPlan. Turns out you can prune roses and noobs.

Eliza has been relentlessly cheerful her whole life. Her disposition seems immune to bad days or negative thoughts, like she was born under a perpetual rainbow with a glittery lemonade in hand. Some people find this suspicious—possibly even unnatural—until they get to know her and realize it’s not an act, it’s just Eliza. She genuinely believes in the goodness of people, the healing power of fresh cookies, and the idea that everything can be fixed with a little elbow grease. Once you’ve been hugged by her (and you will be hugged), it’s hard not to feel just a little sunnier yourself.

Elizabeth can’t help herself—truly, she’s tried. But every conversation within a five-foot radius is an open invitation for her unsolicited (and, in her opinion, life-saving) wisdom. She’s a serial eavesdropper with the soul of a nosy angel, always poised to swoop in with a tip, a trick, or a mildly condescending anecdote from her own life. Grocery stores, bus stops, doctor’s offices—no place is safe. In her mind, she’s performing a public service. In reality, she’s one poorly timed comment away from being asked to mind her own business… again.

Elsa likes things just so—and heaven help the poor soul who puts the mugs on the wrong shelf. A full-blown type A with a flair for theatrical despair, she zips around in a tightly-wound panic, “fixing” problems no one else noticed and muttering about how no one ever does anything right. She’s a control enthusiast with a talent for dramatic sighs and an eye twitch that says, “I’ve already reorganized this pantry three times today.” Beneath the whirlwind? A heart of gold and a deeply suppressed urge to relax—just not today. Or tomorrow. Or ever, probably.

Finley is the essence of naughty—if there’s trouble to be stirred, he’s already halfway through it with a mischievous smirk. Mayhem trails him like a shadow, from missing shoes to mysteriously unplugged appliances. He’s not mean-spirited, just a little too curious for his own good. His saving grace? That wide-eyed, genuinely puzzled look when someone gets upset, followed by a heartfelt (if slightly dramatic) apology. You want to stay mad, but somehow you never quite can… probably because he’s already moved on to his next scheme.

Francis is trying to figure out her next move, which would be easier if her family would stop passive-aggressively sending her job listings with health benefits. She knows they mean well—sort of—but she’s not quite ready to trade in her big dreams for a dental plan just yet. Sure, there’s something comforting about a 9-to-5 and a steady paycheck, but Francis is more drawn to the idea of launching a niche podcast from a yurt or opening a traveling pop-up art gallery that may or may not make money. She's not lost, she's just... meandering with flair.

Hank is a softie through and through—he cries at rom-coms, sentimental commercials, and occasionally over a really good sandwich. He’s head-over-heels for his partner of eight years, Dee Dee, and makes no effort to hide it. His friends give him endless grief for being such a sap, but Hank just chuckles and shrugs it off. He’s got love in his life, a heart on his sleeve, and absolutely zero shame about it.

Harvey is the class clown, always ready with a joke, a pun, or an exaggerated impression—friends say he’s “never at a loss for words,” and they’re absolutely right. He’s wild about sports and surprisingly devoted to poetry and opera, which give his big ol’ heart a proper outlet. But under all that charisma and bravado is a sweet little soul who lives for post-bath snuggles with his mom, wrapped in his favorite jammies and blanket, listening to a bedtime story like it’s the grand finale of the day.

Judy is everyone’s favorite aunt, and she likes to believe it’s because she’s a great listener who dotes on her nieces and nephews with love and attention. And sure, that’s part of it—but let’s be real: it’s mostly the fact that she can burp the entire alphabet thanks to her legendary indigestion. The kids lose it every time, and Judy secretly lives for the applause. She's not above turning a family BBQ into a one-woman burping recital, and honestly, neither is anyone else.

Karen usually gets overwhelmed in large crowds, but nothing—not even spiraling anxiety—was going to keep her from seeing Lady Gaga at Coachella. Armed with her big girl panties, a well-stocked fanny pack (complete with water, snacks, and a mini first aid kit), and a heroic dose of CBD gummies, she braved the chaos. Elbow-to-elbow with glittered strangers and surrounded by bass you could feel in your bones, Karen danced, wept, and lived her absolute best life. Turns out, nothing soothes social panic like a flawless key change and 60,000 new best friends.

Larry likes to come off as “with it” and “progressive.” He’s genuinely trying—he reads blogs, listens to podcasts, and even joined a group chat called “Cool Uncles Only.” But despite his best efforts, he’s always a step behind. Pronouns confuse him (he’s working on it), mullets make him nervous, and he still can’t understand how a cup of coffee now requires four adjectives and a $9 price tag. Still, he means well, and his heart is firmly in the right place—buried somewhere under that graphic tee he bought to “blend in.”

Leonard can be a timid fellow—the kind of guy who apologizes when someone bumps into him and would rather eat cold fries than send them back. But don’t let that fool you. Leonard gets his aggression out in ways that surprise everyone: namely, cleaning house at the poker table. His quiet demeanor lulls his opponents into underestimating him, right before he wipes the floor with them and smiles politely as he rakes in the chips.

Logan is a goofball at heart, always quick with a joke and a sideways grin, but underneath all the silliness is a performer with real craft. He’s a street artist who blends physical comedy, sleight of hand, and storytelling into a magnetic act that draws crowds on corners and plazas alike. While some people dismiss him as just another guy clowning around, those who stick around realize there’s something clever—almost poetic—in the way he works a crowd. His suitcase is full of props, his timing is razor sharp, and his joy is absolutely infectious.

Lynne is the picture of “grandma” in the dictionary—a now-retired librarian with a knack for pie crusts, flower beds, and knowing exactly when someone needs a warm hug or a firm talking-to. She’s most at home barefoot in her garden or reading a book on the porch, and is a beloved fixture in her extended family. She uses the word “bosoms” without irony, to the shrieking delight of her grandkids, and her devilish smile, rosy cheeks, and twinkly eyes make her absolutely impossible not to adore.

Mable is a little rough around the edges—loud, unfiltered, and proudly immune to social norms. She has a talent for mortifying her children at school functions, whether it’s by striking up wildly personal conversations with other parents or scratching places in public that polite society would consider strictly off-limits. She’s brash, bold, and completely unapologetic about it. Her wardrobe is mostly animal print, her laugh can silence a room, and she knows exactly who she is—much to the horror (and secret admiration) of everyone around her.

Marc is still trying to figure out his life. Although he can be a little gruff and critical, he’s actually a big softie who feels everything way too deeply. He has a wicked sense of humor, a talent for side-eye, and perhaps an unhealthy relationship with his many cats—each of whom has a personality, a backstory, and at least one dedicated spot on the couch. Under the sarcasm and occasional brooding, he’s the kind of person who shows up when it really matters… even if he complains the whole time.

Patrick is in it for the long game. He never does things quickly and likes to spend time pondering life’s questions—like whether time is a construct or if soup is technically a beverage. He takes the scenic route, both literally and metaphorically, and he’s the kind of guy who reads instruction manuals cover to cover just for fun. Friends joke that he moves at glacial speed, but Patrick would argue glaciers get the job done—eventually and with great purpose.

Patsy thought family life would be a little easier than it turned out to be. Why does she have to “bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan,” manage everyone’s appointments, remember who hates peas this week, and pretend her buffoon of a husband isn’t actively trying to destroy every towel by washing them with jeans? She loves her family, truly—but she also fantasizes daily about running off to a cabin in the woods with nothing but wine, a trashy novel, and no one asking where their other shoe is. Just one moment of peace, is that so much to ask?

Suzan is the kind of gal who can find the good in anyone—even that neighbor who never returns her Tupperware. She’s friendly to a fault, chipper is her default setting, and her group texts are a flurry of encouragement and heart emojis. She gets equally excited about her friends’ accomplishments as her own, often showing up with balloons, cupcakes, or a confetti cannon she keeps in her trunk “just in case.” Her calendar is jam-packed with dinner dates, coffee catch-ups, and impromptu brunches, and honestly, no one knows how she keeps it all straight—but they’re glad she does.

Trent lives for a party—if there’s music, snacks, and questionable lighting, you can bet he’s already there and two drinks in. He’s never met an invitation he didn’t accept with a hearty “hell yes” and a dramatic shimmy. Known for starting impromptu conga lines and being unreasonably enthusiastic about the chicken dance, Trent’s idea of a quiet night is yelling “WOO!” a little less loudly. Subtlety isn’t his strong suit, but infectious joy… that’s his whole brand.

Scary Monsters June ’25 Preview