Let the Silence Grow Heavy
Silence is not passive. It’s a pressure. It’s the moment when your reader leans forward and asks: What if that quiet means something is wrong?
- Why it works: Our ears strain in silence. Noise is natural; its absence feels unnatural. Horror writers lean into that to unsettle readers. Cynthia Pelayo writes about horror as “a violation of what characters perceive to be reality,” and silence suspends reality.
- How to do it: After a scene’s high tension, drag the silence out. Remove sound cues. Let characters wait in empty rooms, with nothing but their thoughts and beating hearts.
Do
Open scenes or chapters in silence, with characters hearing nothing.
Readers lean in when nothing happens. Don’t waste it.
Avoid
Immediately breaking the silence with a jump scare.
Shock alone fades fast—dread lingers longer.
From My Work
In Salt & Bone: Reckoning (WIP), Jack listens to the baby monitor at night. The silence is so heavy it becomes threatening—until he starts hearing Silas’s voice inside it. The fear doesn’t come from noise; it comes from what shouldn’t be there in the quiet.
Twist the Familiar
When readers see something they trust turned subtly wrong, their brain screams “discrepancy!” You don’t have to invent monsters. You just have to doubt the known.
- Why it works: Horror thrives by corroding assumption. Kindlepreneur says successful horror “mixes mortal peril with real-world horror” and avoids relying on jump scares.
- How to do it: Start with a quotidian detail (a streetlamp, a breath, a reflection) and invert a single element—make it late, make it shift, make it wrong just enough.
Do
Describe everyday sounds/objects, then misplace one detail.
A single uncanny detail feels real—and unsettling—because it breaks the reader’s trust in the ordinary.
Avoid
Overloading scenes with too many strange things at once.
Piling on oddities dulls the impact. One wrong note in a familiar setting is far creepier than chaos.
From My Work
In The Death of Me, a character notices “two silver glowing orbs staring out at me, reflecting the light from a nearby streetlamp.” Streetlights (and, let’s be honest, eyeballs) are everyday objects—but twisted into menace by what they reveal.
Stretch Time Until it Stretches You
If everything moves fast, fear evaporates. Let readers linger where discomfort can fester.
- Why it works: Horror authors often slow their prose in tension scenes. WriterMag notes “make your fiction vivid by employing a close point of view… use the five senses” rather than telegraphing what’s happening.
- How to do it: Use longer sentences, sensory layering, and minute detail in small movement. Slow the beat of the narrative when something feels off.
Do
Let a character slowly walk down a hall; mention creaks, airflow, the friction of socks.
Slowing the reader’s breath makes tension physical. Each detail drags the silence into something unbearable.
Avoid
Rushing from A to B with no atmosphere.
Skipping sensory detail deflates dread. A sprint is over fast—unease lingers in the crawl.
From My Work
“The fog was on us. Its silky silver fingers curling around my ankles. Martin was silent next to me as I watched the ocean fade away under a screen of clouds. Then all of a sudden, he spoke. It was just barely a whisper, but it made my blood go cold just the same. ‘What is that…?’”
In The Death of Me, the fog isn’t rushed. It’s described piece by piece, letting the dread build in silence before the whisper lands.
Place the Reader Ahead of the Character
Unease intensifies when the reader sees what the character doesn’t.
- Why it works: In horror, dramatic irony is gold. Let the reader detect a detail the protagonist ignores. The tension of waiting is more powerful than the reveal itself. StoryFlint stresses that horror must have emotional weight and stakes grounded in character.
- How to do it: Drop small cues—shadows, half-heard whispers, a movement out of sync. Don’t make it obvious, but let a perceptive reader sense threat.
Do
Use tight POV but let offstage footprints go unremarked by the character.
Giving readers knowledge the character lacks sharpens tension. Fear thrives in dramatic irony.
Avoid
Having the character mention exactly what the reader already knows.
Repeating the obvious kills suspense. Readers want to squirm with what the character *doesn’t* see coming.
From My Work
“Too late. Family of three. Gutted. The mother still had a hairbrush in her hand. The kid had one sock on.”
Readers see the aftermath before Jack processes it fully. The detail of the hairbrush and the one sock makes the horror sink in before the character’s emotions catch up.
End Scenes on a Tilt, Not a Scream
A jolt is fleeting. A tilt lingers. End your scenes by throwing off balance—not by shocking, but by making the world feel just a shade crooked.
- Why it works: Chuck Wendig, in his “25 Things to Know About Writing Horror,” says horror is “about fear and tragedy,” not just gore. The tilt is subtle but existential.
- How to do it: Finish with a detail that feels unnatural enough to bug readers. Change something in the next paragraph. Leave a question unresolved.
Do
End with missing sun, a shifted toy, a locked door now open.
Unease comes from what’s changed without explanation. Small tilts in reality echo louder than screams.
Avoid
Ending every chapter with a scream or cliff dive.
Overused shocks dull the reader. Suspense lingers when the world feels slightly—and permanently—wrong.
From My Work
“Silence. Eerie silence. I looked into the blue sky above me and noticed for the first time there was no sun.”
This scene from The Death of Me doesn’t end with a scream—it ends with a wrongness that unsettles both character and reader, pushing them to turn the page.
Final Thoughts
Unease is subtle. It lives in silence, in the tilt of the ordinary, in the details you don’t explain. Write those wrong notes, and your readers will feel the echo long after the page turns.
Now it’s Your Turn
Take one of your own scenes. Strip out the noise. Add a detail that shouldn’t be there—a silence too heavy, a shadow too long. See how it changes the whole mood.
Extras
- Buy The Death of Me (Amazon)
- Read more about The Death Series
- Read about Salt & Bone (WIP)
- Sign up for the newsletter to get weekly tips
- StoryFlint stresses that every horror must have an emotional core or readers won’t care
- Cynthia Pelayo encourages authors to mine their own anxieties for terror
- The WriteLife warns not to rush atmosphere; slow tension is essential