Why Do We Love Stories That Scare Us?

I think there is a little part of most of us that likes a dark story.

Not necessarily because we enjoy being frightened. I certainly don't spend my evenings hoping something will start scratching at the bedroom window.

But there is something about a story that makes us slightly uncomfortable — something mysterious, unsettling or just a little too possible — that can be incredibly difficult to put down.

My own introduction to horror was Stephen King.

I read Carrie first, and later books such as Pet Sematary, but the King novel that really got under my skin was The Stand.

I still have my copy on my shelves today.

And strangely, it wasn't the more traditional horror that frightened me most.

It was the possibility.

The scariest words might be: What if?

At the heart of The Stand is an idea that is horrifyingly simple.

A deadly virus spreads through the population and kills almost everyone.

The survivors are left in a world in which the structures they have always relied upon have effectively disappeared.

When I first read it, that idea frightened me far more deeply than ghosts or monsters ever had.

Because somewhere in the back of my mind was the uncomfortable thought:

This probably couldn't happen.

Followed almost immediately by:

But what if it could?

And that's a very different sort of fear.

A supernatural story can give us something safely impossible to be frightened of.

But stories that take something recognisable from our own world and alter it by just a few degrees can be much more unsettling.

Because suddenly we can imagine ourselves there.

Sometimes the people are more frightening than the disaster

The virus in The Stand is terrifying.

But for me, the really fascinating question was what came afterwards.

What would happen if only a tiny fraction of the population survived?

What happens to society when there is suddenly nobody enforcing its rules?

Who helps?

Who takes charge?

Who exploits the situation?

Do people naturally begin rebuilding communities?

And when they do, what kind of communities do they create?

Eventually the question becomes even more uncomfortable:

What would I do?

Perhaps that's one reason dark stories fascinate us.

They allow us to explore situations we would never want to experience ourselves.

We can wonder how people might behave when the normal rules disappear — while remaining safely on the sofa.

Fear comes in many different shapes

Of course, not every frightening story works in the same way.

Sometimes it's the supernatural.

The old house where something isn't quite right.

The footsteps upstairs when nobody is supposed to be there.

The ghost that may or may not actually be a ghost.

Sometimes it's psychological.

A character we don't quite trust.

A narrator who may not be telling us everything.

A seemingly ordinary person who gradually becomes anything but ordinary.

And sometimes it's simply the suggestion that something terrible could happen.

Those are often the stories I find the most unsettling.

The monster under the bed is one thing.

The thought that the world you recognise could change beyond recognition is quite another.

We like being frightened when we know we're safe

There is, of course, one enormous advantage to being frightened by a book.

We can close it.

That's rather important.

The strange noise is happening in somebody else's house.

The person walking through the dark forest is somebody else.

The detective investigating the abandoned building has apparently decided that going inside alone at midnight is a sensible career choice.

We, meanwhile, can remain exactly where we are.

Preferably somewhere comfortable.

Possibly thinking:

Do NOT go down those stairs.

They always go down the stairs.  😂  Why do they always go down the stairs?  

There is safety around the fear.

And perhaps that's what makes it enjoyable.

We can experience suspense, danger and uncertainty without actually being in danger ourselves.

Dark stories let us explore difficult questions

The best dark stories aren't always frightening simply because something horrible happens.

Often they're asking questions.

What are people capable of?

How far would someone go to survive?

What happens when fear takes over?

What would we sacrifice to protect somebody we love?

Can an ordinary person become dangerous under extraordinary circumstances?

And perhaps most interestingly:

How well do we really know ourselves?

Put characters under enough pressure and all sorts of things begin to emerge.

Courage.

Cowardice.

Kindness.

Cruelty.

Selflessness.

Self-preservation.

Dark fiction gives writers permission to push people into situations where those things become impossible to hide.

And readers get to watch what happens.

Then the nights begin drawing in...

There is something particularly delicious about these stories at this time of year.

The light disappears earlier.

The curtains are closed.

The wind is making suspicious noises outside.

And suddenly the book containing an isolated house, a disappearance or a deeply questionable character seems considerably more appealing than it did in the middle of June.

Perhaps atmosphere matters more to our reading than we realise.

Autumn makes mystery feel mysterious.

Old houses become more interesting.

Secrets seem darker.

Ghost stories suddenly belong on the bedside table again.

And an unexpected noise elsewhere in the house becomes something we're choosing to ignore until the next chapter.

Browse the Horror shelves at Bookbuddies. 

Perhaps we enjoy testing our own boundaries

There is also a small challenge involved.

How frightening is this actually going to be?

Some readers want full horror.

Others prefer something gothic and atmospheric.

Some love psychological thrillers but want absolutely nothing supernatural.

Others will happily read about ghosts but don't want anything too graphic.

We all seem to have our own invisible line.

And occasionally a book crosses it.

That's when you realise you've been reading the same paragraph for five minutes because you're also listening very carefully to the house.

Apparently every tiny noise a house has made perfectly innocently for the last twenty years becomes suspicious after 11pm when you're reading Stephen King.

The books that frighten us can become the books we remember

And perhaps that's the strangest part.

The Stand frightened me.

Yet decades later, it's still on my shelf.

I've owned countless books since then. Some have been read and passed on. Some have disappeared during house moves. Some I've probably completely forgotten.

But that one stayed.

Maybe because books that make us feel something strongly tend to leave a mark.

It doesn't necessarily have to be happiness.

Sometimes it's sadness.

Sometimes wonder.

Sometimes anger.

And sometimes it's that delicious little shiver that makes you pull the blanket slightly higher and read another chapter anyway.

The books we remember are often the ones that made us feel.

So why do we love stories that scare us?

Perhaps because they let us visit places we wouldn't want to go.

They allow us to ask uncomfortable questions from somewhere safe.

They test characters — and occasionally make us wonder how we would fare in their place.

They give shape to fears that normally sit quietly somewhere at the back of our minds.

And sometimes they simply give us the irresistible pleasure of being scared while knowing that, ultimately, we are perfectly safe.

Although if you're reading one alone tonight and hear a noise upstairs...

I'm afraid you're on your own.

I'm certainly not going to investigate it. 😂

Wherever today finds you, I hope you find a story worth getting lost in.

— BookBuddies