Horror That Haunts: How to Write Horror Without the Gore

So, you want to write horror that’ll make your readers feel like something is creeping up on them from behind? That’s fantastic! And the best part? We’re going to do it all without buckets of blood and without throwing in organs that slop around like leftover pasta. Because real horror—the kind that keeps you looking over your shoulder for hours—lives in the shadows, the silences, and the things left unseen.

1. Build Characters Your Readers Care About

Real horror doesn’t work unless readers feel for the person in the thick of it. No one wants to see a bunch of cardboard cutouts running around and screaming for their lives. (Or worse, you end up with the “bad B horror” tropes where the best part is counting down to when each character gets picked off.)

So, flesh out your lead. Show us their dreams and flaws. Maybe they’re a librarian who steals odd paper cutouts from the lost-and-found, or a café owner who always smells like burnt coffee. Let us know them, flaws and all. Why? Because when the spooky stuff kicks off, we want readers to care. Make readers root for your characters to get out alive, even when it seems like they won’t.

Tips to Make Your Characters Stand Out:

– Throw in personal habits. They might talk to their plants, avoid certain cracks in the pavement, or hum when they’re anxious. Each tick or habit reminds readers, “Hey, this is a real person.”

– Give them fears before the horror starts. Maybe they’re afraid of silence, or the smell of iron, or that empty space under their bed.

– Show us the people they love or hate, what matters most to them. When things get dire, readers will worry about who they might lose.

2. Unsettling Settings

Now that we’re attached to our character, let’s dump them in the most off-putting setting we can conjure. Not overtly dangerous, mind you—just wrong. Think of places that feel slightly askew. Think less “haunted mansion” and more “something feels off here.” It’s the ordinary twisted by the smallest detail: an empty office after hours with only the hum of the AC, or a hotel lobby where the receptionist, eyes a little too wide, tells you with a cheery smile, “You might want to leave now.” These small twists throw us off balance because they’re unexpected. Don’t overdo it; let the setting breathe and show its strange charm through unsettling details—flickering lights, a smell of stale bread in a supposedly clean room, or, worst of all, complete silence. A place that should feel safe but somehow doesn’t will have readers bracing themselves for something to jump out.

Don’t over-describe. Let readers fill in some gaps. Describe only what your character experiences directly: that smell of stale bread or the flicker of fluorescent lights. The less we see, the more our imagination takes over.

Use unusual sensory details. We’ll get to that next, but just remember—smell, touch, and sound are your friends here. Use them, like the scent of something metallic in an otherwise empty hallway.

3. Make ‘Em Sweat

Nothing’s scarier than what we can’t see. If your monster is stomping around in broad daylight, your readers are more likely to analyze it than feel afraid. Instead, have it exist in hints, sounds, sensations, and weird coincidences. Let the readers and the character both wonder: “What is that?”

Use your character’s senses, but give them no visual.

Your character hears a dripping sound… but there’s no water anywhere. Or footsteps squishing behind them. The muffled sound of something breathing.

Imagine a hand brushing across their neck—no one’s there. The scratch of something sharp against their leg under the table. A faint pressure that shouldn’t exist.

A whiff of mold or blood where neither should be. Maybe an unnatural sweetness, like decaying fruit in a hospital.

If your readers can hear the claws scratching in the dark but can’t see them, they’re going to fill in the blanks with much scarier possibilities than any you could dream up.

4. Make the Mundane Spooky

Taking something everyday and twisting it ever-so-slightly until it feels… wrong. This isn’t about haunted dolls or cursed mirrors (though hey, that works too). Think about spaces, people, or actions that should feel safe but somehow don’t.

Have your character notice the clock isn’t moving, or that every time they look away, it ticks backwards.

Imagine a hallway where every fifth step sounds different. Or a path they’re following that seems to loop no matter which direction they take.

Horror thrives on taking the familiar and twisting it just enough to unsettle. That bus stop on the corner? It’s always packed during the day, but today, at noon, it’s completely deserted. Or maybe it’s a street that seems to stretch on forever, no matter how far your character walks. Readers—and your character—should start doubting reality, unsure if their senses can even be trusted.

5. Pacing and the Power of Delay

Here’s where you play horror maestro. Tension builds through pacing. Never give it all away; give out details in pieces and make readers wait. Tension is half timing, half temptation, so resist the urge to throw in all the spooky action at once.

Think of a sequence like this:

Something feels wrong, but maybe it’s just nerves. Let the character feel like they’re overreacting.

The character begins to hear or feel things more clearly. Someone—or something—is moving closer.

Give a brief “all clear” where nothing happens for a beat.

The worst suspicion is confirmed—or left hauntingly unclear.

Give readers a beat to relax, let them laugh off a “false alarm” before tightening the screws again. And when you finally reach that breaking point, reveal just enough to make them shiver without answering every question. A monster fully seen is a monster understood, and a monster understood is a monster with less power. Let some questions hang, lingering long after the story’s over, because nothing’s scarier than what we can’t quite explain.

6. Show Their Anxiety

Now, let’s make sure your character’s nerves aren’t a mystery. We’re not talking about cliché reactions like “their heart pounded” or “their skin went cold.” Sure, you can use these, but try to go deeper. Let readers feel the character’s internal conflict: Do they run? Do they freeze? Do they try to laugh it off?

Maybe they clench their jaw so tightly their teeth ache. Or they get a metallic taste in their mouth from fear. Sweaty palms, trembling fingers—they all help us feel the character’s anxiety.

Let us hear them doubt themselves. “Did I just hear that? No, it’s just my imagination… right?”

The best horror stories leave a few unanswered questions. You don’t have to wrap up every creepy detail. Leave readers with just enough mystery that they can’t stop wondering. Was there really something out there, or was it all in the character’s head?

And remember, horror isn’t about scaring everyone the same way—it’s about unsettling them in ways that stick around. If you’ve left your readers suspicious of every tiny sound in their house or looking over their shoulders for a shadow that isn’t there, congratulations. You’ve achieved true horror.

Now go, write your nightmares onto the page—but, you know, keep it simple. Because nothing’s more terrifying than the monster lurking… just out of sight.