The horror genre is all about what frightens us. It burrows into the deepest depths of our psyche and forces us to confront our fears, our anxieties, and the darkness that lurks in us all. It allows us to question and grapple with facets of human existence safely through the lens of fiction.
At the same time, horror is everywhere. Fantasy has monsters and unexplainable, surreal concepts. Thrillers and mysteries contain heaps of death and danger. As L. Marie Wood says: ‘Every story is designed to make the reader feel something … but, in each of those situations, isn’t there an undercurrent of fear? Aren’t the two people involved in a meet-cute afraid the spark won’t be reciprocated? … Isn’t the scientist in a sci-fi book worried (read: afraid) [that] robots are planning to rise up and take over the world?’
Fear resides in every story, but for horror that fear is the focus. Read on to learn about the core elements of a horror story that not only let you tell a scary tale, but a good one too.
The all-important ‘story’ in a horror story
Arguably the most crucial element of writing a horror story is, ironically, not about horror at all. It’s a reminder to not forget your purpose: you’re telling a story. It’s all too easy to get excited about amping up the scares and building the bone-chilling atmosphere. But avoid getting so wrapped up in the horror element that you neglect everything else.
Your characters still need to be developed and believable, with goals, motivations ‘n’ all. You should be able to tell what they want, what’s getting in their way, and why. There should be stakes if they fail. The core conflict needs to be compelling. The setting and worldbuilding, especially in horror, need to be effectively drawn out. Weave in subtle suggestions of movement in the shadows, have unexplained sounds at night, or make something off about the neighbour’s cat all you like, but eventually your reader will ache for something to happen. Something engaging. Atmosphere alone can only go so far.
So, strip away the monsters, ghosts, eldritch abominations, or whatever the main horror element is away for now. How much story is left? There should still at be at least a backbone, some whisperings, of a story. More the better, because the horror elements entwine with and enhance the groundwork laid.
Characters that make readers care
Giving your readers someone to give a damn about is important in any story, but it’s especially so in horror. In Michelle Paver’s hauntingly atmospheric Dark Matter, we follow Jack, down on his luck after his family’s bankruptcy shattered his hopes of finishing his degree, embittered and alienated as a result. Desperate to prove himself and escape his drab clerking job, he accepts an offer from a group of well-off, Oxbridge-educated young men to embark on an Artic expedition as their wireless operator. In witnessing his developing feelings towards his comrades and initial antipathy towards Isaak, a loyal husky, evolve to affection, it’s hard not to eventually root for him, especially after his courageous sacrifice. And Swan Song by Robert McCammon wouldn’t be nearly as fantastic without one of the best casts I’ve come across.
Characters don’t have to be good people either. Liam, in Philip Fracassi’s A Child Alone with Strangers, is part of a gang of kidnappers. His caring for the wellbeing of the child and the internal conflicts that tear at him show he has a shred of decency that places him a smidge above the others. But even right at the other end of the spectrum, if you want us to really hate someone, we have to feel strongly. Readers don’t need to just love your characters; they need to feel emotions all across the board. If you’re going to tell a story that ruins your characters and puts them through hell, we have to feel. Otherwise, it’s all for nought.
Talking about putting characters through hell…
Suffering, physical and mental
There’s an old adage in the world of fiction that urges writers to put their characters go through hell, really push their boundaries. In no genre is that more true than horror. The clue’s in the name; as Tim Waggoner says in his excellent Writing in the Dark, ‘horror is an emotion’, unlike fantasy, sci-fi, or mystery, for example.
At the heart of fiction is conflict and how characters deal with the resulting pain and loss. Horror takes this up a notch, whether by the existential dread of cosmic horror, the shocking revelation of our fragility in body horror, and all the shades in between.
Horror isn’t simply an arena to play out sadistic fantasies (okay, maybe a little). Witnessing characters pull through – and sometimes even triumph over – immense, nightmarish situations is a cathartic relief. It helps us make sense of the horrors in our own lives and, perhaps, arms up with a little more resilience to deal with them. Characters rarely, if ever, make it through unscathed, and horror is more unflinchingly honest about this than any other genre.
So don’t be afraid to be mean to your characters. The more you push them – the more they break – the bigger hit of relief readers feel when they survive. The more cathartic readers’ experiences will be. The more they’ll question how they would act in the character’s boots. Don’t forget the focus on the aftermath, too. Horror doesn’t vanish after the immediate threat has passed; it lingers and leaves its mark. It’s through this exploration of how characters grapple with their disbelief and trauma that the real terror takes root.
Characters rarely, if ever, make it through unscathed, and horror is more unflinchingly honest about this than any other genre.
Vivid senses and sensations
Horror stories aren’t just about the horror, but how characters react to it. Horror fiction is at its finest when those sensations reach out the page, cling to the reader and become palpable, visceral. Sight typically offers the fullest impression to a reader and is what you’ll rely on the most, but don’t forget to show readers what things smell, taste, sound, and feel like. Use the smallest, intricate details as well as the larger ones. Sometimes noting the absence of an expected sight or smell is even more unsettling. Don’t feel that, upon reading this, you have to cram every sense into a scene, but aim for at least more than one. Take this great passage in John Langan’s short story ‘Shadow and thirst’.
A tree cracks like a rifle shot and rushes to thud the ground. Another tree groans, as if a great weight is sliding against it. Something grunts, the deep note of a steam engine venting pressure. Bushes hiss as they drag on whatever is pushing through them. The dead leaves and pine needles that carpet the earth make a sound like sizzling as heavy feet shuffle closer. Before it appears between the trunks of a pair of birches, as if framed in a doorway, there is a moment when Will sees the darkness beyond the trees become darker still, occluded by a shape whose outline does not make sense.
A good horror narrative won’t just recount events. It’ll pull you inside and make you experience the terror with the characters, and fully engaging the senses is what makes the grip that much tighter.
The unknown
Every genre deals with the unknown; if everything in a narrative is known, there’s no story. The urge to find out whether protagonist A will get their promotion to earn enough to pay their rent or whether protagonist B will prove themselves innocent keeps readers turning the page. For most genres, reader satisfaction hinges on most of these unknowns being brought to light. In horror, most of the unknowns remain shrouded in the shadows.
Humans crave knowledge, and it’s the being in the state of not knowing, of our brains being unable to see the whole picture, is what terrifies us. You wake in the dead of night, half asleep, and that dark silhouette in the corner looks increasingly like someone watching you. You turn on the light and breathe a sigh of relief: it’s your coat slung over the punching bag. You can sleep soundly.
So, keep the character – and in turn, the reader – speculating, letting their mind conjure up the dread from the gaps you leave behind. Resist the urge to explain every grisly detail of your monster or how the warped structure that defies logic came to be. Once you make sense of the scary stuff, can categorise it, it loses its power.
Once you make sense of the scary stuff, can categorise it, it loses its power.
A balance of dark and light
A much younger self was sat with family watching the news, genuinely terrified about tragic events happening halfway across the world. Nowadays, the near constant exposure to the world’s conflicts has numbed the shock, alarming headlines barely stirring in me a response. The same thing happens with fictional horror – when the scares become the norm, become commonplace, the reader becomes desensitised to them.
Rarely are horror novels scary all the time. They’ll stop being scary otherwise. You may think this sounds counterintuitive – surely more the better, right? Think of it like this: fear is like a flickering light, uncertain and wavering. But if the light stays off, your eyes adjust to the dark. Let there be peaks and dips, moments where the characters feel safe. Happy, even. The sharper the contrast, the more amplified the horror will be when it strikes.
Final thoughts...
Writing a horror story means you’re contributing to a genre with a long, rich history. Yes, horror is about crafting chills and spine-tingling dread, but it’s also about diving deep into the depths of the human condition, hence a strong focus on character in this post.
You may see I’ve missed out staples of the genre: a dark, gloomy setting or a big, bad monster, for example. But horror happens in mundane places too, and not every story has a monster, at least not of the supernatural variety. So I’ve explored what, to me, are the elements common to most horror stories.
So, don’t forget:
- Don’t neglect the ‘story’ in horror story.
- Develop strong characters that readers can root for and loathe.
- Don’t hold back on the suffering you inflict.
- Hit the reader with all the sensations.
- Let the mystery of the unknown do some heavy lifting.
- Strike a balance between light and darkness.
Now, let the darker side of your imagination unfurl and craft a killer horror story.
