As an indie author, you’re in a unique and powerful position to write horror.

You have the creative freedom to explore the darkest corners of your imagination without studio interference or market trends dictating your every move. In that respect, you’re free to write what you want. But with that freedom comes the challenge of standing out in a crowded genre.

True horror isn’t about gore for gore’s sake or a cheap jump scare (that gets boring after a while). If you want to write powerful horror, it’s more about a lingering sense of dread that follows your reader around, long after they’ve closed the book.

So if horror’s something you’d like to get stuck into, here’s how to craft a story that’ll stick with your readers.

The most common mistake new horror writers make is leading with the monster. The creature, the ghost, the slasher - they are a visual representation of the fear, not the source. The real horror should stem from a relatable human emotion.

The first question you should be asking yourself here is: What is the core fear you’re exploring?

Is it the fear of losing a child (The Babadook), the terror of isolation (The Shining), or the dread of the unknown (The Blair Witch Project)? Anchor your story in a universal anxiety.

When readers see their own fears reflected in your characters, the horror becomes personal to them. Your supernatural entity is then simply the catalyst that amplifies this pre-existing dread to terrifying new levels because you’re tapping into their nervous system.

Horror lives and dies by its atmosphere. This is where your prose does the heavy lifting. Use all five senses to build a world that feels oppressive and wrong.

Sight: Don’t just say it was dark. Describe what you want your readers to see.

Sound: The creak of a floorboard is a classic for obvious reasons. But what about that gentle knocking you can hear in the attic, or the distorted whisper on the wind?

Touch: The clammy cold of a basement wall, the gritty texture of dust and decay, the unnatural chill that has nothing to do with the temperature.

Every description should contribute to a growing sense of unease. The setting itself should feel like a character in itself.

If your readers don’t care about your protagonist, they won’t fear for them. Get us invested before you threaten us with their loss.

A character’s death is only shocking if their life had meaning. Spend time developing your main character before giving them the chop. Give them hopes, flaws, and a compelling reason to stay and fight the horror, even when every instinct tells them to run. You’ll want your reader to see themselves in the character. The danger they find themselves in will feel more real then.

A great horror protagonist is often an imperfect one. Their flaws (stubbornness, addiction, grief) can be the very things the supernatural force exploits, making their struggle more compelling and their potential downfall more tragic. Dig your fingers into their wounds.

What the reader imagines is always more frightening than what you can describe. This is the golden rule of horror.

Your job is to provide the clues and let their minds construct the monster. Think Jaws. For the first two thirds of the movie, the shark is only hinted at.

Hint: Suggest. Show the consequences of the horror. Show the claw marks on the door, the faint, sickly sweet smell of decay, the shadow that moves just outside the periphery of vision. By holding back the full reveal, you build unbearable tension.

When you do finally show the monster, make it count, and make it a payoff for all the dread you’ve been building. Sometimes, never showing it at all is the most powerful choice of all because the reader will always be left wondering.

A horror novel is a perfect blend of tension and release, layer on layer. You can’t have your characters screaming every chapter. That leads to fatigue (yawn). Instead, structure your story like a rising tide, building that pressure to a point that’s unbearable.

Start with small, unsettling events. It could be a misplaced object or a strange dream. Gradually escalate to more direct threats. Allow for moments of false security where the characters (and readers) think the danger has passed. This makes the next scare even more effective. Build and build, layering on the previous threat

The final act should be a relentless crescendo, but it will only work if you’ve expertly laid the groundwork in the lead-up to it.

As an indie author, you have the agility to take risks. You can write the slow-burn folk horror or the deeply psychological character study that traditional publishers might deem ‘too niche.’ Embrace this because it’s your superpower. Find the corner of the genre that genuinely terrifies you, and write that story with passion.

Your authenticity will be your greatest asset, creating a connection with readers that no big-budget marketing campaign can replicate.

The goal of writing horror is not to make your audience jump.

It’s to make them hesitate before turning out the light at night.

Something that will unsettle them as they try to sleep.

What are you waiting for?