How To Scare Your Reader: 11 Tips From 11 Horror Writers

How do you scare your reader? Perhaps the ultimate question for the horror writer, and a question that has intrigued me for a long time. The dictionary definition of ‘scare’ is [to] ‘cause great fear or nervousness’. Fear is an evolutionary survival tactic that originates from our fight or flight response. Fear induces a biochemical physical reaction that can include sweating, heart palpitations, and a surge of adrenaline. The reaction can be so strong it’s even thought, as per Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles, you can quite literally be scared to death.

There’s an interesting study conducted by the University of California, dubbed ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles effect: A natural experiment on the Influence of psychological stress on the timing of death’. Interestingly, our body cannot differentiate between physical danger and emotional scares (check out The Medical Dictionary’s entry on anxiety, specially the limbic system, for further information). Now my interest – despite what some may have you believe – is not to actually scare anyone to death, or even to have readers pass out as per Palahniuk’s infamous ‘Guts’. No, I just want the reader to experience that thrill, that uncomfortable sensation that comes with being unnerved, that rollercoaster-like surge of adrenaline. So naturally I consulted eleven of the best horror writers in the field today, eleven authors who know how to evoke fear and leave the reader restless. Here’s what they had to say when asked ‘how do you scare the reader?’

You’re Not As Safe As You Think You Are

I equate scaring the reader with making them feel unsure, or unsafe. Fill a realistic, recognizable slice-of-life scene with characters that the reader empathizes (not sympathizes; there's a difference) with, and then have something happen that's off. The gradations of off, of course, are up to you; anything from a light knocking with no source, to a tomato-red wasp flitting in, to a giant atomic beastie that drools snarling three-headed dogs. Well, maybe not the last bit, but it's that dichotomy between the real and the off that makes for wonderful moments of anything-can-happen dread.

–Paul Tremblay, author of A Head Full of Ghosts

Reveal the menace, whatever it may be, in a place where your character should be safe, where nothing bad is ever supposed to happen. If your character has allies, you can have them exacerbate things without understanding they're doing exactly the wrong thing with the best of intentions.

–Pat Cadigan, author of Chalk

Atmosphere And Pace

Scaring readers is not something I'm generally interested in doing. I'd rather unsettle the reader, which can be done in a variety of ways. That said, the key to a good scare is atmosphere. Building a sense of creeping dread through choice of vocabulary, setting, and mood creates scares more reliably than any monster or maniac I've ever read about.

–Nathan Ballingrud, author of The Visible Filth

For me, successful horror fiction is about pacing. I prefer stories that build slowly with a sufficient amount of time spent conveying a believable and relatively safe world before any complications are introduced. In this way, the reader has already formed an attachment with the characters and is therefore more concerned when things begin to go wrong. The manner in which things do go wrong, is also made more effective when delivered in a slow and measured way. Stories that have scared me, like Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House and Adam Nevill’s The Ritual work because they build a gradual sense of unease, starting with seemingly innocuous episodes that grow and shift, becoming more serious threats as the story progresses. I’ve adopted this incremental approach in my own writing, finding that orchestrating a series of disquieting moments not only helps structure and shape the story but allows for a better understanding of what your characters are going through. One of my favourite short stories which deals with this technique in quite a self-referential way, is Mary Butts’ ‘With and Without Buttons’. Intent on scaring their neighbour, the two protagonists realise that a good haunting is dependent on the right “choice of stimulants” in small doses over a period of time. It’s a basic but effective formula, highlighting the importance of a slow and steady approach.

–VH Leslie, author of Skein and Bone

Scare Yourself

I suppose the obvious thing to say is, don’t try too hard to scare your reader; scare yourself, and the rest will follow. For me, though, that fear is inextricably tied up with love. The things that scare me aren’t necessarily the ones that go bump in the night, but the idea of losing someone or something I care about. Or the loss of the self – the idea of my mind slipping away and being able to do nothing to stop it. That way true horror lies. These are things that lie deep inside us, of course, and so in order for the reader to feel it they must be able to get inside the mind of your characters, to be right there with them on their journey. I think that’s why Stephen King’s work is so effective; his characters feel so real, they start whispering inside our minds almost as soon as we begin reading.

–Alison Littlewood, author of A Cold Season

It’s a big, frightening question to answer; you almost don’t want to answer it. Is it all a matter of having a sense of horror like some have a sense of humour?


But a couple things do come to mind: first off, I think it’s okay to be scared, yourself, as the author. If you recall the times your friends told you their ghost story, it’s when they get chilled and tears well up in their eyes, the times you see the fear reactivated in them… those are the times that chill you back. So that’s a good place to start, I think, in terms of scaring your reader. Be scared yourself. Another idea is that sometimes, but not always, it’s fun to suddenly drop the fright into the middle of a scene, rather than building up to it. Like, you have a family happily eating dinner and, poof, a slaughtered goat falls through the roof onto their table, smashing the soup bowls to bits. Those sudden right turns can be more frightening than something we’ve carefully built toward for 200 pages or more.

–Josh Malerman, author of Bird Box

Tap Into The Reader’s Psyche

What readers fear in their fiction is specific to their own experiences. It’s as personal as their senses of humor. That’s not just true for this side of the page, either. It applies to the characters, too. For horror to pay, it’s got to hit home by messing with a character’s fears, ambitions, loves. Say your main’s had a tough life, but has always held onto one perfect memory of a perfect day with the person they once loved most. Now let them find out the memory’s not true. Then push it farther, and make that person they loved a monster. So mean! Your reader will cringe! Horror fiction ought to be exactly that personal.

–Sarah Langan, author of Audrey’s Door

There are two ways to scare a reader. The first is pretty straight forward: figure out what frightens people, and expose them to it. The success of this method is pretty fool-proof, if short-sighted. Stories about insects and death and trauma to children all hit their marks, but by and large they are fleeting, their scares lasting only long enough to carry the reader to the next thing encountered. The second way is much more insidious: figure what fills the reader with awe. Awe is a powerful tool, and the line between awful beauty and awful horror is so blurry they are arguably the same. Awe invades the reader, affects the reader, and long after the book is closed and put away, awe is still worming its way through the reader's psyche. Awe makes an indelible mark. To me, that's the best kind of scare.

–Simon Strantzas, author of Burnt Black Suns: A Collection of Weird Tales

Create A False Sense Of Security

How to scare your reader: make your story as based in the real world as possible (even if it's a fantastical world) so that they can recognise it – and then add the things that can show that world’s (and their place within its) vulnerabilities. Real fear comes from seeing in the narrative a set of events that, if they occurred, could threaten what's important to the reader, and could change their world into something they no longer recognise or understand. Monsters aren’t really scary; monsters walking up the street where we’re living and threatening our children? That's scary.

–Simon Kurt Unsworth, author of The Devil’s Detective

Before you scare someone, you have to get them to drop their guard. Readers go into horror thinking they know what to expect and they prepare themselves. So find a way to disarm them. Let them settle into the story. Make them laugh. Make them care about the characters. You have to establish trust with readers before they'll let you get under their skin.

–Helen Marshall, author of Gifts for the One Who Comes After

You won't necessarily scare people with blood, guts and gore. It's more than that. You know that feeling when you have a job interview coming up? Or maybe an appointment with the dentist? Even just thinking about it now, can you feel that horrible, cloying, gnawing sense of nervous dread?

Often the anticipation is worse than the reality, and that's something I like to use to scare my reader. I try to wrong-foot them. I try to catch them out. I try to steer away from what's expected. I try to lull them into a false sense of security then take them in completely the opposite direction.

I guess it all boils down to dragging people out of their comfort zone and putting them in the kind of position they really don't want to be in. And the key for me is keeping them there just that little bit too long…

Find something you know your reader won't want to look at or even think about, then write so tightly that they can't look away.

–David Moody, author of Hater

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Michael David Wilson

Column by Michael David Wilson

Michael David Wilson is the founder of the popular UK horror website, podcast, and publisher, This Is Horror. Michael is the author of the novella, The Girl in the Video, and the novel, They’re Watching, co-written with Bob Pastorella. His second novella, House of Bad Memories, lands in 2021 via Grindhouse Press. His work has appeared in various publications including The NoSleep PodcastDim ShoresDark Moon DigestLitReactorHawk & Cleaver’s The Other Stories, and Scream. You can connect with Michael on Twitter @WilsonTheWriter. For more information visit

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Tim Sanderson's picture
Tim Sanderson September 23, 2015 - 10:15pm

     Scaring people is tough these days. Horror flicks can't do it much anymore, but there's three tried -and-true methods that the producers of those flicks and writers try. Those are by shocking the audience, by creating suspense, or by depicting a scene that is so grotesquese that the reader is revolted by the inhumaity of the perpetrator. The first, simply, is to have a frightening person surprise the viewer by coming out of nowhere, which works better in film. Suspense, which revolves around creating an imminent threat and putting some thick blocks of text between the suggestion and the resolution of that threat. For example, one could write that "the killer picked the lock to the voluptuous woman's house" and proceed with several paragraphs about sensory descriptions about the woman's day-to-day life and a paragraph where the woman pauses and reflects about ther everyday life, that is if you're doing third person. Then, when the killer finally stabs the woman repeatedly, the tension created by the time delay of those seemingly inconsequential details and the hard action of the kill will be released.
Once that tension is released, or if you want to forgo that and go full Rambo on it, one could leave out the woman's point of view and write about how the killer watches her, masturbates some, then digs her eyes out with a rusty spoon. Maybe she's not even dead yet and the killer decides to have a romp with her. Maybe she is dead. Your imagination can go on from here.
The point is that there are only a few techniques used in the movies and writing these days, and in the movies they're coupled with the violin-and-drum soundtracks. To the producers credit, they're now putting in some false tension and release with faux appearances by friends of the protaginist after some threatening music. But, the way to scare people has always been the same, and the products of the horror genre don't effect the auduence like they used to in The Exorcist. New ways must be invented or crueler and more sick ways of murder must be imagined, with which, honestly, I don't have a problem.


And, um, here's some quotes that I found:

Lady Clegane's picture
Lady Clegane from Rustbelt is reading The Gormenghast Novels by Mervyn Peake January 13, 2019 - 7:58am

I used to read a lot of horror, but I've given up on it.  No one writes anything that scares me anymore.  My problems with horror revolve around some common themes.


1.  Human beings just aren't frightening anymore; no matter how cruel or cunning the killer is......yawn.  Once you've gone down the path of misanthropy people can't be threatening, just annoying, pathetic and disgusting.  


2.  After you've walked around the earth long enough and witnessed enough disgusting sights, you no longer have a fear of seeing gross things.  Dismembered limbs, disemboweled guts, severed arteries gushing blood, bloated corpses, etc really aren't scary.


So what's left for readers who aren't afraid of death and nausea?  Please tell me, because I would love to read a book that creates a sense of dread and unease over things that shouldn't be happening, but definitely seem to be going on in our peripheral vision.  I want to read a book which provides that moment where I look the horror right in the face and find it truly horrifying.  Yes, I would pay good money for books like that, if I could find them.