by Dr. Kevin Dean, Tennessee Nonprofit Network
The chilling silence of the empty office, the flickering fluorescent lights casting long, distorted shadows, the persistent, unsettling feeling that something isn’t quite right. For those dedicated to the noble cause of running a nonprofit, these aren’t just atmospheric details from a horror film; they can be the very real sensations that accompany the daily grind. Beneath the veneer of altruism and community betterment, the world of nonprofits can, at times, transform into a psychological thriller, a slasher flick, or a supernatural haunting, leaving leaders feeling more like protagonists in a nightmare than saviors of society. (Don’t get me started about my paralyzing fear of roaches and the monster roaches that occasionally terrorize our office!)
It’s a peculiar paradox: an endeavor built on hope and compassion often finds itself battling the most sinister of forces – internal strife, unforeseen disasters, and the insidious creep of personal demons. The stakes are profoundly human, making the potential for failure not just a business setback, but a tragic blow to the very people a nonprofit aims to serve. This inherent vulnerability, coupled with the constant pressure to do more with less, creates a fertile ground for anxieties to fester, turning the dream of making a difference into a recurring nightmare.
In this exploration, we will delve into five chilling parallels between the world of nonprofit leadership and the most iconic horror films, dissecting how the anxieties, betrayals, and lurking dangers of the genre mirror the lived experiences of those striving to do good. From the insidious whispers of internal sabotage to the monstrous manifestations of unaddressed trauma, prepare to enter a world where the horror is not just on the screen, but sometimes, disturbingly, inside your own nonprofit.
1) When a Stranger Calls: The Calls Are Coming From Inside the House
“When a Stranger Calls” (1979) opens with a chilling premise: a babysitter, alone in a large house, receives a series of increasingly disturbing phone calls. The caller eventually reveals that they are watching her, and in a terrifying twist, the police trace the calls to inside the house. The horror of the film stems from the realization that the threat isn’t external, a distant shadow, but an immediate, terrifying presence within the presumed safety of one’s own space.
In the nonprofit world, this horrifying scenario plays out in a deeply insidious way. We build our organizations on trust, shared values, and a collective mission. We carefully vet employees, volunteers, and even board members, believing them to be aligned with our goals. Yet, sometimes, the calls are indeed coming from inside the house. The horror isn’t a malicious external hacker or a critical media exposé; it’s the slow, quiet, devastating sabotage enacted by individuals within our own ranks.
Imagine a situation where a disgruntled program manager, feeling overlooked for a promotion, starts quietly discrediting their colleagues to a long-standing foundation officer. They might subtly imply incompetence, share exaggerated anecdotes of internal missteps, or even plant seeds of doubt about the organization’s financial stability. This isn’t overt rebellion but instead a slow, steady poisoning of the well. The foundation, trusting the program manager’s insider perspective, begins to view the nonprofit with skepticism, eventually opting to support a different organization. By the time the executive director realizes why a crucial funding stream has dried up, the damage is irreversible.
Or consider an administrative assistant who, feeling underappreciated, takes passive-aggressive jabs at the organization’s mission during conversations with new donors. They might scoff at the effectiveness of a program, complain about internal inefficiencies, or even subtly suggest that their personal values are not fully aligned with the organization’s direction. New donors, eager to make an impact, might quickly become disillusioned, sensing a lack of genuine commitment from within.
The true horror of “The Calls Are Coming From Inside the House!” in a nonprofit lies in the profound sense of betrayal and helplessness. It’s a violation of trust at the deepest level, forcing leaders to grapple with the uncomfortable reality that their greatest threats can sometimes wear the face of a trusted colleague. The difficulty lies in detection; these actions are often subtle, cloaked in plausible deniability, and difficult to prove. It requires vigilance, open communication channels, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths, even when they reveal that the monster is not lurking outside, but has made itself comfortable right at your desk.
2) Jaws: The Fin Under the Water
Steven Spielberg’s “Jaws” (1975) masterfully builds suspense around an unseen threat. The residents of Amity Island initially only glimpse the “fin” – a shark attack here, a body part there – without truly comprehending the sheer size and voraciousness of the creature lurking beneath the surface. They minimize the danger, prioritize tourism, and resist closing the beaches. Only when the shark reveals its full, terrifying might, gobbling up more victims, do they realize the true scale of the problem. By then, it’s almost too late, and the battle against the monster becomes a desperate, life-or-death struggle.
In the nonprofit landscape, “Jaws” is a chillingly accurate metaphor for systemic problems, particularly those related to organizational culture and capacity, that are often dismissed or underestimated until they manifest in catastrophic ways. We see the “fin” of the problem – a few disgruntled employees, a minor decline in productivity, a consistent struggle to meet deadlines, or a high rate of staff turnover. But we fail to grasp the true magnitude of the monster beneath the surface until it devours our mission, our reputation, or our ability to serve.
Culture issues are a prime example. A toxic culture festers, but we rarely see the full extent of the “monster” before it’s too late. It begins with seemingly minor infractions: a lack of clear communication, favoritism, unaddressed conflicts, or a prevailing sense of micromanagement. Leaders might notice that some employees seem disengaged, that gossip is rampant, or that innovation has stalled. These are the “fins” – warning signs that something deeply damaging is at play. However, like the mayor of Amity Island, nonprofit leaders might prioritize immediate programmatic needs, dismiss the complaints as isolated incidents, or assume that employees will simply “get over it.” They might believe that addressing culture is a luxury, secondary to fundraising or program delivery.
But the monster underneath the surface is a pervasive negativity that erodes trust, stifles creativity, and ultimately drives away talented individuals. When the “shark” of a toxic culture finally emerges, it can manifest as mass resignations, public scandals, or a complete inability to attract new talent. The organization, once a beacon of hope, becomes a revolving door, unable to retain the experienced staff necessary to fulfill its mission. By the time leaders recognize the severity of the cultural breakdown, the damage is extensive, requiring a monumental effort to rebuild trust and redefine values.
Capacity issues present another terrifying parallel. A nonprofit might consistently operate with a lean staff, expecting employees to wear multiple hats and work beyond reasonable hours. The “fin” might be a persistent backlog of administrative tasks, missed grant opportunities due to rushed applications, or a general feeling of overwhelm among the team. Leaders might rationalize this as “doing more with less” or attribute it to a temporary crunch. They might resist investing in additional staff, technology, or training, fearing the financial implications.
However, the “shark” of insufficient capacity eventually catches up. It can manifest as burnout, leading to a mass exodus of staff and a significant loss of institutional knowledge. It can result in a dramatic drop in program quality, as overworked employees cut corners or make critical errors. It can lead to a failure to secure crucial funding, as grant applications are poorly written or deadlines are missed. The organization, despite its noble intentions, becomes ineffective, unable to scale its impact or even maintain its current level of service. The very people it aims to help suffer because the organization lacks the fundamental resources to support its work.
The horror of “Jaws” in a nonprofit is the sudden, overwhelming realization that the problem you dismissed as a minor inconvenience was, in fact, an existential threat….and by then you’ve lost a leg or your entire lower torso! It’s the moment the organization is “gobbled up” by the very issues it failed to address, leaving behind a trail of broken promises and unfulfilled potential. It’s a stark reminder that true leadership requires not only addressing immediate needs but also having the foresight and courage to confront the lurking dangers, even when they are not immediately visible.
3) Get Out: The Sunken Place of Manipulation
Jordan Peele’s “Get Out” (2017) is a masterclass in psychological horror, depicting a young Black man, Chris, who visits his white girlfriend’s family and gradually uncovers their sinister secret. He senses that something is deeply wrong, his gut instincts screaming at him to flee. Yet, he is repeatedly manipulated, subtly coerced, and hypnotized into a state of paralysis, known as “the sunken place,” where he is conscious but unable to control his own body or actions. By the time he fully grasps the horrifying truth, he is trapped, facing a desperate fight for survival.
In the nonprofit realm, “Get Out” resonates deeply with the experience of falling prey to manipulation, particularly from individuals who appear to offer expertise or support but ultimately serve their own destructive agendas. These can be bad consultants, rogue board members, or simply “messy” individuals who bring chaos and disarray. We might sense the red flags – a consultant whose advice feels off, a board member pushing an agenda that seems misaligned, or an individual whose actions consistently create drama. Our gut instincts scream “run!” yet we allow ourselves to be drawn into “the sunken place” of their influence, only realizing the true danger when it’s almost too late.
Consider the “bad consultant” scenario. A nonprofit, eager to address a specific challenge like fundraising or strategic planning, hires an external expert. Initially, the consultant presents themselves as a savior, full of promises and impressive credentials. However, subtle signs begin to emerge: their recommendations are overly complex or impractical, they seem to prioritize their own methodologies over the organization’s unique needs, or they create unnecessary dependencies. The nonprofit leader might feel a nagging sense of unease, a whisper in their mind that something isn’t right. Yet, swayed by the consultant’s perceived authority, the investment already made, or the pressure to find a quick solution, they suppress their intuition. They allow the consultant to lead them deeper into a strategy that is ultimately detrimental, costing the organization valuable time, money, and even reputation. By the time the leader realizes the consultant has effectively put them in “the sunken place” – a state where they are following a harmful path without true agency – the damage is done, and the organization is left to clean up the mess.
Rogue board members present another terrifying parallel. A board member, perhaps with a personal agenda, a desire for control, or simply a profound misunderstanding of their fiduciary duties, begins to exert undue influence. They might bypass established protocols, demand inappropriate access to staff, or push for initiatives that are not in the organization’s best interest. The executive director might feel their power slowly eroding, their ability to lead being undermined. They might sense the manipulation, the subtle attempts to control the narrative or sway other board members. However, confronting a board member can be a daunting prospect, especially if they are well-connected or financially influential. The fear of conflict, or the hope that the situation will resolve itself, can keep the executive director in “the sunken place,” allowing the rogue board member to inflict significant damage, from alienating staff to mismanaging funds, before the true extent of their negative influence is finally recognized.
Even “messy” individuals, who may not have malicious intent but whose actions consistently create drama, conflict, and inefficiency, can trap a nonprofit in “the sunken place.” These individuals might be chronic complainers, gossip mongers, or those who consistently miss deadlines and create extra work for others. The leader might recognize the disruptive patterns but feel obligated to keep them on, perhaps due to a long history, a reluctance to confront, or a misplaced sense of loyalty. The organization slowly becomes bogged down by internal strife, losing its focus and energy. The leader, constantly trying to mitigate the “mess,” becomes mentally exhausted and unable to move the mission forward, realizing too late that the emotional and organizational cost of retaining such individuals far outweighs any perceived benefits.
The horror of “Get Out” in a nonprofit is the realization that your own suppressed instincts led you into a trap. It’s the profound regret of not trusting your gut, of allowing others to manipulate your decisions and drive your organization into a perilous position. It’s a chilling reminder that vigilance, self-awareness, and the courage to sever ties with those who do not truly serve the mission are not luxuries, but essential survival skills in the often-treacherous landscape of nonprofit leadership.
4) The Babadook: The Monster of Our Own Trauma
“The Babadook” (2014) is a psychological horror film that delves into the terrifying manifestation of grief and trauma. A widowed mother, Amelia, struggles to cope with the death of her husband and the behavioral issues of her son. When a disturbing pop-up book, “Mister Babadook,” appears, an entity from the book seemingly begins to haunt their home. However, the film subtly reveals that the Babadook is not just an external monster, but a personification of Amelia’s repressed grief, anger, and mental health struggles. The more she tries to suppress it, the more powerful and destructive it becomes, threatening to consume both her and her son. Only by acknowledging and confronting her trauma, rather than trying to banish it, can she learn to manage and eventually co-exist with the Babadook.
In the nonprofit world, “The Babadook” serves as a potent and often overlooked metaphor for how unaddressed personal trauma, particularly within leadership, can become a monstrous force that ravages an organization. Leaders, like all humans, carry their own histories, their own wounds, and their own coping mechanisms. When these are not acknowledged, processed, and managed in a healthy way, they can seep into the organizational fabric, becoming a destructive entity that impacts employees, stakeholders, and ultimately, the very people the nonprofit aims to serve.
Imagine a nonprofit leader who experienced significant childhood trauma, leading to an unconscious need for control and a deep-seated fear of vulnerability. This “Babadook” of unaddressed trauma might manifest in the workplace as micromanagement, an inability to delegate, a resistance to feedback, or explosive reactions to perceived challenges. The leader might unconsciously project their anxieties onto the team, creating a climate of fear and distrust. Employees might feel stifled, disempowered, and constantly walking on eggshells. Innovation dwindles, morale plummets, and ultimately, talented staff leave, unable to thrive in an environment shaped by the leader’s unexamined internal struggles. The organization, despite its noble mission, becomes a casualty of the leader’s unresolved pain, destroying the very structures and relationships necessary for success.
Or consider a leader who carries the trauma of past professional betrayals, perhaps from a previous organization or a difficult board experience. This “Babadook” might manifest as an extreme skepticism towards new ideas, a reluctance to trust collaborators, or an overly defensive posture in the face of constructive criticism. Every new partnership might be viewed with suspicion, every grant application scrutinized for hidden agendas, and every board meeting approached with a sense of impending doom. While some caution is healthy, this leader’s unaddressed trauma can paralyze the organization, preventing it from taking necessary risks, forming crucial alliances, and adapting to a changing environment. The “monster” of their past hurts hinders growth, innovation, and the ability to truly serve the community.
The horror of “The Babadook” in a nonprofit is the realization that the organization’s struggles are not solely external, but are rooted in the unaddressed internal demons of its leadership. It’s the tragic irony that those dedicated to healing others might inadvertently inflict harm due to their own unhealed wounds. The impact is profound: programs falter, donor relationships strain, and the mission itself becomes secondary to the internal turmoil.
Confronting this “Babadook” requires immense courage and self-awareness. It means acknowledging that personal well-being is not separate from organizational well-being. It requires seeking professional help, engaging in self-reflection, and developing healthy coping mechanisms. Just as Amelia learned to manage her grief in the film, nonprofit leaders must learn to acknowledge and integrate their own trauma, preventing it from becoming a destructive force. Only by taking care of their own internal landscape can leaders truly create a safe and thriving environment for their teams and the communities they serve.
5) Pearl: Becoming the Villain in Our Own Story
“Pearl” (2022), a prequel to “X,” tells the origin story of its titular character, a young woman living on a secluded farm in 1918. Trapped by her strict, religious mother and caring for her ailing father, Pearl harbors grand, desperate dreams of becoming a famous dancer, a Hollywood star. Her isolation, coupled with her simmering resentment and unfulfilled ambitions, gradually twists her perception of reality. As her yearning for recognition becomes an obsession, Pearl’s desperate pursuit of her dreams leads her down a path of increasing violence and depravity, transforming her from a naive, dreaming girl into a terrifying, unhinged killer. She becomes the villain of her own story, driven by a twisted vision of success.
In the nonprofit world, the chilling transformation of Pearl serves as a powerful, unsettling allegory for how well-intentioned leaders can, through an obsessive pursuit of perfection, overwhelming focus on competition, or an insatiable hunger for “success,” inadvertently become the very villains undermining their own organization’s true purpose. The initial dream is noble – to make a profound difference, to achieve significant impact, to build a thriving, effective organization. But the relentless pressure, the constant need for validation, and the competitive nature of the funding landscape can subtly warp this vision, leading to a focus that is no longer about the mission, but about the metrics of success, the perception of perfection, or the defeat of perceived rivals.
Consider a nonprofit leader who, driven by an intense desire for the organization to be “the best” in its field, becomes fixated on achieving specific, often arbitrary, benchmarks. This can manifest as an unhealthy obsession with grant success rates, an inflated view of impact metrics, or a compulsive need to outshine peer organizations. The pressure to appear perfect, to always be “succeeding,” leads to a culture where failures are hidden, mistakes are punished, and genuine learning is stifled. Employees might be pushed beyond their limits, programs might be designed to hit numbers rather than truly serve needs, and ethical compromises might be made in the pursuit of a flawless public image. This leader, once a passionate advocate, slowly transforms into a rigid, demanding taskmaster, inadvertently creating a suffocating environment that stifles innovation and burns out staff. The organization’s true purpose—serving its community—becomes secondary to the leader’s ego and their quest for an idealized, often unattainable, form of perfection.
The drive for competition, while sometimes beneficial, can also twist a nonprofit leader into a villain. In a sector where resources are often scarce, the urge to secure funding can turn healthy competition into a cutthroat battle. A leader might begin to view other organizations, even those with complementary missions, as rivals to be outmaneuvered rather than partners to be collaborated with. This obsession can lead to withholding information, refusing to share best practices, engaging in negative campaigning, or even actively undermining other nonprofits’ efforts. The focus shifts from collective impact to individual organizational survival and dominance. While appearing “successful” in gaining a large grant or winning a particular award, this leader’s actions fracture the ecosystem, hindering the broader collective good and ultimately making the entire sector less effective. They become a “villain” in the sense that their actions, while perhaps benefiting their specific organization in the short term, cause harm to the larger community of impact.
The horror of “Pearl” in a nonprofit is the chilling realization that the very qualities that drove a leader to do good – ambition, dedication, a desire for excellence – can, when unchecked and distorted by external pressures and internal insecurities, become the instruments of their own organization’s undoing. It’s the moment when the noble dream of making a difference transforms into a self-serving pursuit of validation, where the mission is sacrificed at the altar of perceived success. This subtle, internal shift is perhaps the most terrifying, as it often goes unrecognized until the damage is profound and irreversible. It’s a somber warning that true leadership in the nonprofit world demands not just passion, but also profound self-awareness, humility, and an unwavering commitment to the mission above all else, lest one become the monster they vowed to fight.
The world of nonprofit leadership, with its inherent idealism and profound societal impact, can, at times, reveal a darker, more terrifying underbelly. From the insidious whispers of internal sabotage to the monstrous manifestations of unaddressed trauma, and the chilling transformation into a self-serving “villain,” the parallels with classic horror films are not just metaphorical; they are a chilling reflection of the anxieties, betrayals, and lurking dangers that can transform a noble endeavor into a recurring nightmare.
The journey through these five horror scenarios serves as a stark reminder: the pursuit of good is not immune to the forces of darkness. Just as protagonists in horror films must confront their fears, expose hidden threats, and reckon with their own inner demons, so too must nonprofit leaders cultivate vigilance, courage, and a profound commitment to self-awareness.
The calls are coming from inside the house – the insidious nature of internal sabotage demands constant vigilance and a willingness to address difficult truths. The fin under the water – the lurking dangers of unresolved culture and capacity issues – necessitates foresight and the courage to invest in systemic health. The sunken place of manipulation – the seductive trap of bad actors – demands strong intuition, firm boundaries, and the strength to sever ties. The Babadook – the monstrous manifestation of our own unaddressed trauma – requires deep self-reflection, personal healing, and a commitment to emotional well-being. And finally, Pearl – the terrifying descent into self-serving villainy – warns against the corrosive effects of unchecked ambition, the obsession with perfection, and the perils of competition over collaboration.
Ultimately, navigating the horrors of the nonprofit world is not about banishing the monsters entirely, but about learning to recognize them, understand their origins, and develop the resilience and wisdom to confront them head-on. Only then can the true mission prevail, transforming the potential nightmare into a beacon of hope, safety, and genuine impact for all. The curtain may fall, the credits may roll, but for those dedicated to making a difference, the vigilance against the lurking horrors of the nonprofit world is a never-ending, yet profoundly vital, act of courage.