Elements of Scariness

by Gueast Author Mike Dellosso

Scariness. I was going to use the word horror but from what I’ve read and heard through that proverbial grapevine, horror is a word that’s not held in very high esteem in CBA circles. Too worldly, too anti-Christian. But horror is simply scary, isn’t it? If you write a novel or short story that’s scary, whether it includes elements of supernatural beings, monsters, or maniacal serial killers (or all three, the best kind) couldn’t it be classified as horror? Horror does not have to equal Satanism or anti-Jesus, it can mean just scary.

So what makes a good horror story? What makes it so durned scary? Here’s a few thoughts with examples from one of my short stories, The Last Hunt.

One element of scariness is the unknown. Strange noises, eerie shadows, unexplained phenomena, mysterious happenings, unidentified sightings, and the like. Glimpses of the unknown build suspense.

In my story, The Last Hunt, four men are into their first night at the family hunting cabin when one of them is awakened by a strange noise.

I had just dozed off when the sound of crunching leaves from outside the cabin woke me. I sat straight up in my cot and listened. There was silence for a few seconds, then more footsteps and rustling of leaves. I slipped my arm into my sleeping bag and groped for my flashlight.

Do you feel the tension beginning? A simple noise gets things started. The unknown is out there.

Another element of scariness is the anticipated. The unknown becomes a little more known and the imagination kicks in conjuring up scenarios and images that are best left in nightmares.

Suddenly, the silence of the outside world was shattered by a woman’s scream. At least, that’s what it sounded like at the time. It rose in volume, held at its peak maybe two, three seconds, then faded into a moan. It reminded me of the peacocks Grandpa used to have on his farm, but it sent a pair of cold fingers crawling down my spine.

The noise now has a voice adding a little more clarity to the picture. The tension builds as the anticipation of what’s out there climaxes. Is it a woman? Or something else? Questions swirl and a sense of not-rightness settles on the story. That little phrase “at the time” signals that it’s probably not a woman.

A third element is the tease. Once you’ve got the reader’s attention and you’ve got him anticipating something, then throw in a tease. Don’t reveal the element of horror just yet. Let the feelings of dread and suspense linger. Play on the readers’ imagination; let him feel the sense of panic a bit longer.

I was just about to say that the footsteps didn’t sound human when the scream ripped through the air again. This time it held on longer and ended in a kind of howl, almost like a wolf’s. The scream was definitely coming from somewhere in front of the cabin. Everyone froze and looked at each other.

Okay, so it’s not a woman. Then what is it? Do you see the tease? Can you feel the reader groping for an explanation? Let them bump around in the dark for a while and enjoy the moment.

Finally, the big reveal. Show them the horrific thing. But beware, if the realization does not satisfy the hunger brought on by the unknown, the anticipation, and the tease, you’re in trouble. You don’t want the ending, the reveal, to be anticlimactic. We’ve all read books or seen movies where this is the case and what a let down. This should be the moment when the noises and shadows and tension are fully realized and a scream or gasp escapes the readers’ mouth.

Here’s the reveal in the The Last Hunt.

At first I thought it was a man. Just to see anyone standing out there in the snow made me nearly jump out of my skin. He was at least seven feet tall and thin. His skin was black, or maybe dark brown, and stretched taut over an angular face, like a burn victim. His cheekbones were like razors trying to push through that leathery skin, and his jaw was square and ended in a narrow chin. His head was hairless, his nose just two holes in his face, and his eyes . . . black as coal and lifeless, like cold rocks. No whites to them at all. He had what looked like a black or brown blanket wrapped tightly around himself and just stood there, snow whipping around him, staring right at me, though at the time I would have sworn he was staring right through me. The sight of him set my scalp and face to buzzing and my hands were suddenly numb.

And later we get a better glimpse of the thing.

Suddenly, its torso started convulsing, the wings spasmodically expanding and contracting. It did this maybe ten times then stopped, then resumed again. The whole thing reminded me of the abdominal contractions a dog undergoes right before it vomits. After one of the convulsions, the thing opened its mouth and the scream escaped, carrying across the frigid air and smacking me square in the chest.

So there you have it, four elements to building a good horror story and making it durned scary. The key is this: don’t reveal the scary thing at the beginning of the story, let the readers’ imagination take him for a walk first, let it wander around and grope about in the dark. Tease the imagination, play with it, give the story time to build anticipation and suspense, then spring it, show the it or thing or monster or whatever in all its horrific glory. (Note: in books, Stephen King is the master of this; in movies, M. Night Shyamalan.)

But please oh please make it worthwhile.

(Further note: if you would like to read the whole version of The Last Hunt, you can get a copy by signing up for my newsletter.)