How to Write a Horror Screenplay: Scares and Suspense.

So, you want to write a horror screenplay. The flickering shadow. The whispered name. The unsettling hum beneath the floorboards. I mean, horror isn’t just about gore, right? It’s about that primal, visceral reaction to the unknown, the disquieting, the terrifying. Writing a horror screenplay goes beyond crafting a scary story; it’s about meticulously engineering an experience for the audience, manipulating their senses, expectations, and fears. It’s an art of psychological warfare, a delicate dance between unveiling and concealing, a masterclass in tension and release.

I’m going to lay out the very fabric of horror screenwriting for you, offering concrete, actionable strategies to elevate your script from chilling to truly terrifying. We’ll explore the architecture of fear, the mechanics of suspense, and the art of crafting scares that resonate long after the credits roll.

The Foundation of Fear: Genre, Subgenre, and Premise

Before you even think about penning a single line of dialogue, you need to lay a robust foundation. Horror is a vast landscape, and understanding its terrain is crucial.

Defining Your Horror Niche

Not all scares are created equal. Identify your horror subgenre early. Is it slasher, psychological, supernatural, body horror, folk horror, creature feature, found footage, cosmic horror, or something else entirely? Each subgenre comes with its own set of tropes, expectations, and unique avenues for terror.

Slasher: Focus on the killer’s iconic presence, escalating body count, and cat-and-mouse chases. (Think Scream, Halloween)
Psychological Horror: Emphasize the unraveling mind, unreliable narrators, and existential dread. (Like Hereditary, The Babadook)
Supernatural Horror: Deal with ghosts, demons, curses, or occult forces. The rules of the supernatural entity are paramount. (Think The Conjuring, Poltergeist)
Body Horror: Exploit the visceral discomfort of physical transformation, mutilation, or disease. (Stuff like The Fly, Tusk)
Folk Horror: Root terror in ancient rituals, isolated communities, and the unsettling allure of nature. (Think Midsommar, The Wicker Man)

Here’s what you need to do: Write a one-page “Genre Statement” for your script. Define your chosen subgenre and list 3-5 films within that subgenre you admire and why. This clarifies your vision.

The Potent Premise: Your Story’s Terrifying Core

A strong premise is the beating heart of your horror script. It’s not just a plot summary; it’s the core conflict, the inciting incident, and the central question that drives the dread.

Elements of a Potent Horror Premise:

Likable Protagonist(s): We need to care about who is being terrorized.
Clear Stakes: What is truly at risk? Not just life, but sanity, relationships, the soul?
The Threat: What is the source of the horror? Be specific.
The “Hook”: What makes this story unique, terrifying, and compelling?

Example Premise (Weak): “A family moves into a haunted house.” (Generic, no stakes, no hook)

Example Premise (Strong): “A grieving mother, desperate to reconnect with her deceased daughter, inadvertently conjures a malevolent entity that feeds on her sorrow, forcing her to confront the terrifying truth that some doors should never be opened, or risk losing her mind and her living child.” (Clear protagonist, high stakes, specific threat, strong hook based on emotional vulnerability).

Here’s what you need to do: Condense your entire story into a single, compelling sentence. Then, expand it into a three-sentence premise that answers: “Who is the protagonist, what do they want, what stands in their way, and what happens if they fail?”

Character as Conduit for Fear: The Human Element

Horror resonates because it preys on our deepest anxieties, and those anxieties are best explored through relatable characters. Audiences invest in the terror when they invest in the people experiencing it.

Crafting Vulnerable and Relatable Protagonists

Your protagonist doesn’t need to be a hero from the outset. Often, their journey is one from vulnerability to forced resilience.

Internal Flaws: Give your characters realistic struggles, anxieties, or moral ambiguities that the horror can exploit. A fear of abandonment, guilt over a past mistake, or a struggle with addiction can be magnified by the supernatural or a relentless killer.
- Example: In The Babadook, Amelia’s deep-seated grief and resentment towards her son are the very things the creature feeds on, making her both victim and unwitting accomplice.
Relatable Goals: Their aspirations should be universal – connection, safety, understanding, belonging. When these basic human needs are threatened, the audience feels it.
Agency (Even When Scared): Even in extreme terror, characters should make choices, however flawed. This keeps the audience engaged rather than passive observers. A character who simply screams and runs is less compelling than one who actively tries to understand or fight back.

Here’s what you need to do: Detail your protagonist’s greatest fear unrelated to the horror threat. How does the horror ultimately force them to confront or overcome this pre-existing fear, or how does it exploit it?

The Antagonist: Not Just a Monster

The source of your horror, whether human, supernatural, or psychological, needs clear definition.

The “Rules” of the Monster: If it’s a creature or entity, establish its capabilities, limitations, and motivations early. Does it only appear in the dark? Can it be harmed by conventional means? What does it want? Consistency builds dread, inconsistency breeds confusion.
- Example: The creatures in A Quiet Place hunt by sound. This rule dictates every choice the characters make, ratcheting up tension.
Human Villains: Give them a twisted logic or a distorted motivation. A random killer is less terrifying than one driven by a warped ideology or deep-seated trauma.
- Example: Hannibal Lecter isn’t scary because he’s strong; he’s terrifying because of his intellect, his control, and his chilling philosophical detachment from human life.
The Ambiguous Threat: Sometimes, the most terrifying antagonist isn’t fully seen or understood. The fear of the unknown can be more potent than any revealed monster. This requires careful build-up and a strong atmosphere.
- Example: The unseen entity in It Follows is horrifying precisely because its nature and origin are vague, and its pursuit is relentless and inevitable.

Here’s what you need to do: For your antagonist (or threat source), complete these sentences: “It wants _______.” “It can _______.” “It cannot _______.” “Its biggest weakness/vulnerability is _______.”

The Architecture of Dread: Building Suspense

Suspense is the promise of a scare, the slow tightening of a knot in the audience’s gut. It’s what keeps them on the edge of their seat, not knowing when or how the payoff will arrive.

Incremental Revelation: The Art of the Slow Burn

Don’t show your monster too early or explain everything upfront. Reveal information piecemeal, hinting at the horror gradually.

Sensory Details: Start with sounds (a creak upstairs, a distant whisper), then fleeting glimpses (a shadow, a movement in the periphery), then partial views (a hand, an object), before a full reveal.
- Example: In The Grudge, the croaking sound often precedes Kayako’s appearance, making the sound itself terrifying even when she’s not on screen.
Environmental Cues: Let the setting tell a story. A rotting scent, a flickering light, an unexplained chill. These small details build unease.
The Unreliable Witness: Characters who dismiss early signs or are disbelieved add to the suspense. Is it real or are they imagining things? This plants doubt in the audience’s mind too.

Here’s what you need to do: Outline three distinct moments in your first act where the audience gets a hint of the horror, each one slightly more revealing than the last, without showing the full threat.

Foreshadowing and Red Herrings

These tools are crucial for building anticipation and occasionally subverting expectations.

Ominous Foreshadowing: Plant clues that hint at future dangers or reveals. A child’s drawing of a monster, a historical newspaper clipping, an offhand comment that takes on new meaning later.
- Example: The recurring imagery of the telephone poles and severed heads in Hereditary subtly prepares the audience for specific grotesque events.
Strategic Red Herrings: Misdirect the audience’s attention to something benign or a different threat, making the actual scare more impactful. Be careful not to overuse this, or your audience will stop trusting anything.
- Example: A character might investigate a loud bang from one direction, only for the true threat to emerge from another.

Here’s what you need to do: Integrate at least one piece of visual foreshadowing (e.g., an object, a picture) and one piece of dialogue foreshadowing (e.g., a character recounting a local legend) into your first 30 pages.

Pacing: The Rhythmic Pulse of Fear

Pacing is everything in horror. It’s the ebb and flow between tension and release, quiet and chaos.

Slow Builds: Allow moments of quiet dread and character development before escalating tension. This makes the scares more effective by contrasting them with relative calm.
Relentless Escalation: Once tension begins, gradually tighten the screws. Don’t let up completely until a major scare or a turning point. Increase the stakes, frequency of events, and directness of the threat.
The Breath: Even in a relentless horror story, characters (and the audience) need short moments to breathe before the next onslaught. These are not lulls in tension, but brief respites that allow the fear to reset and build anew.
- Example: After a terrifying chase, a character might hide, allowing a few moments of silent, panicked breathing before the monster’s footfalls are heard approaching again.

Here’s what you need to do: Map out your script’s tension curve on a simple graph for your first act. X-axis: Scene numbers. Y-axis: Tension level (1-10). Note where tension rises, plateaus, and drops. Are there enough peaks and valleys?

The Jumpscare and Beyond: Executing the Scare

A good horror screenplay uses a varied arsenal of scares. The jumpscare is one tool, but it’s far from the only one, and often the least effective if used poorly.

The Jumpscare: Precision and Impact

A well-executed jumpscare isn’t just a sudden loud noise. It’s built on expectation, misdirection, and a truly unsettling reveal.

The Setup: Build anticipation. The character (and audience) knows something is coming. The camera lingers, the sound design emphasizes silence or subtle creeks.
The False Alarm: Often, a minor, benign event (cat knocking over a vase, friend walking into frame) is used to release some of the tension. This makes the real scare more impactful when it occurs immediately after.
The Payoff: The sudden, loud, and visually jarring reveal of the threat. It should be quick, clear, and impactful.
The Immediate Consequence: A character’s scream, a fall, a quick cut – this reinforces the impact of the scare.

Example (Actionable):
INT. BASEMENT – NIGHT
SOUND of dripping water
JESSICA (20s) shivers, flashlight beam sweeping the shadows. She moves slowly towards a flickering light source across the room – a broken fuse box humming ominously. Her breath hitches.
A LOOSE PIPE CLANGS loudly behind her. Jessica yelps, spins, flashlight beam wild. Nothing there. Just the pipe. She lets out a shaky breath.
Suddenly, a pale, GAUNT FACE with rotten teeth LUNGES from the fuse box, SCREAMING an unearthly shriek.
Jessica screams, falls backwards, dropping the flashlight. Darkness.

Here’s what you need to do: Designate one scene for a potential jumpscare. Write out the setup, the misdirection (if any), the scare itself, and the immediate consequence in screenplay format.

Beyond the Jumpscare: Psychological and Atmospheric Terror

The most memorable horror creates a creeping sense of dread that haunts the audience, not just startles them.

Atmospheric Horror: Use setting, sound design, and visual motifs to create a pervasive sense of unease.
- Example: The unsettling quiet of the Overlook Hotel in The Shining, the claustrophobia of The Descent’s caves, or the suffocating humidity of Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
- Screenplay Action: Use vivid, sensory-rich descriptions in your scene headings and action lines: The air in the cabin is thick with the scent of damp earth and something acrid, like old blood. Dust motes dance in the single sliver of moonlight, revealing an unsettling stillness.
Psychological Horror: Exploit character fears, paranoia, and the unreliability of perception. Is the threat real or imagined? Is the protagonist losing their mind?
- Example: In Gaslight, the villain subtly manipulates his wife’s environment and sanity, making her doubt her own reality.
- Screenplay Action: Incorporate subjective camera directions (CLOSE ON Jessica's TERRIFIED EYES), internal monologue (if justified for a specific scene), or visual distortions that hint at an unraveling mind.
Body Horror: Focus on vulnerability of the human body. Disfigurement, disease, unnatural mutations.
- Example: Cronenberg’s The Fly, where the horror comes from the slow, agonizing transformation. It’s not just scary; it’s viscerally disgusting and tragically sad.
- Screenplay Action: Be precise and unflinching in your descriptions, but avoid gratuitousness unless it serves a purpose. A single, bulbous EYE bulges grotesquely from his wrist, a glistening red vein pulsating beneath the skin.
Existential Horror: The fear of the meaningless, the indifferent universe, or the breakdown of societal norms.
- Example: Lovecraftian cosmic horror or the unsettling lack of morality in films like Funny Games.
- Screenplay Action: Introduce concepts that dwarf human understanding or challenge fundamental beliefs. The ancient carvings aren't just symbols; they are a language of cosmic indifference, whispering of a void that predates human thought.

Here’s what you need to do: Choose two distinct scenes from your script. For one, focus on building atmospheric terror through sound and setting. For the other, craft a moment of psychological horror by making the character (and audience) question what’s real.

The Power of Sound (and Silence)

In a screenplay, you’re not just writing what’s seen, but what’s heard. Sound design, even implied on the page, is an incredible tool for horror.

Strategic Silence: The absence of sound can be more terrifying than noise. It amplifies small sounds and makes the audience hyper-aware.
- Example: The usual hum of the city is gone. EERIE SILENCE.
Distorted Sounds: Normal sounds that are slightly off – a child’s laughter that’s too slow, a familiar song played backwards, a distorted whisper.
Non-Diegetic Sound (Score): While a director and composer will handle this, you can imply it in your action lines to guide the tone. A low, unnerving HUM begins to vibrate through the walls. This tells the reader (and future director) the desired emotional effect.
Specific Diegetic Sounds: Don’t just write FOOTSTEPS. Write DRAGGING FOOTSTEPS or WET, SQUELCHING FOOTSTEPS. The specificity itself evokes a creepier image.

Here’s what you need to do: Review five random pages of your script. Identify five instances where you can replace a generic sound description with something more specific and evocative of dread. Also, identify one scene where strategic silence would amplify the tension.

Structure and Pacing: The Narrative Spine of Terror

A horror film, like any good story, needs a compelling narrative structure. The scares are the punctuation, but the story is the sentence.

The Horror Beat Sheet: A Guide to Escalation

Most horror films follow a variation of the Hero’s Journey or a three-act structure, but with specific horror beats.

Act I: The Setup & Inciting Incident (Approx. Pages 1-30)
- Normal World: Establish characters, their lives, their vulnerabilities.
- Inciting Incident: The first overt sign of the horror’s presence. This shatters the normal world.
- Reluctance/Investigation: Characters react, often with disbelief, before beginning to investigate or try to dismiss the threat.
Act II: Confrontation & Escalation (Approx. Pages 30-90)
- Rising Action: The horror escalates; the threats become more frequent, direct, and dangerous.
- Midpoint: A significant turning point where the characters fully understand the nature/stakes of the threat, or where their attempts to fight back initially fail, leading to deeper despair. Often, this is a major scare or revelation.
- Descent into Darkness: The characters are pushed to their limits; hope dwindles, and their world crumbles around them. They make desperate, often flawed, choices.
Act III: Climax & Resolution (Approx. Pages 90-120)
- All Hope is Lost: The protagonist faces their darkest moment, often alone.
- Climax: The final confrontation with the horror. This dictates the ultimate fate of the characters.
- Resolution: The aftermath. Is the horror truly vanquished? Is there a lingering dread? A final scare (the “stinger”) is common.

Here’s what you need to do: Using your premise, outline your script across these main beat points. What happens at your inciting incident, your midpoint, and your climax? What is the exact nature of the horror presented at each of these points?

Refusing the Call and the “Idiot Plot”

A common frustration in horror is the “idiot plot,” where characters make continuously illogical and self-destructive decisions purely to facilitate the plot. Avoid this.

Logical (for the Character) Choices: Characters should make choices consistent with their established personalities, fears, and available information – even if they are ultimately wrong. Fear makes people do irrational things, but it should be understandable within the context of their panic.
Information Blindness: Characters might not have all the information the audience does, leading to seemingly poor choices. Their ignorance is often the source of their peril.
Trapped Narratives: Design scenarios where characters literally cannot escape or easily call for help (e.g., isolated locations, communication blackouts, societal indifference). This justifies their continued presence in danger without making them seem foolish.

Here’s what you need to do: For a pivotal scene where your characters make a high-stakes decision, write an inner monologue (not for the script, just for your understanding) for the character. What are their motivations, fears, and limited information that lead them to that specific decision?

Subtext and Theme: The Underside of Horror

Great horror is rarely just about monsters and mayhem. It often explores deeper societal anxieties, psychological traumas, or philosophical questions.

Tapping into Universal Fears

Beyond the immediate scare, successful horror taps into fundamental human anxieties:

Loss of Control: Our inability to control our environment, our bodies, or our minds.
The Unknown: What lies beyond our comprehension.
Death and Dying: The ultimate fear of non-existence.
Isolation/Abandonment: Being utterly alone against a threat.
Loss of Identity/Transformation: Becoming something monstrous or losing who you are.
Societal Breakdown: The thin veneer of civilization peeling away.

Here’s what you need to do: Identify one universal fear that your screenplay primarily explores. How does your specific horror threat, and your character’s journey, directly manifest and amplify this fear?

Symbolism and Metaphor: Layers of Meaning

Horror often uses monsters or terrifying situations as metaphors for real-world issues or psychological struggles.

The Monster as Metaphor: The creature could represent grief (The Babadook), societal pressure (Get Out), infectious disease, or even addiction.
Setting as Symbol: A crumbling house could symbolize a broken family. A claustrophobic cave could represent internal entrapment.
Objects as Harbingers: A seemingly innocent toy or picture could be imbued with sinister meaning.

Example (Actionable):
Instead of just a haunted house, if your horror is about a monster that feeds on resentment within a family, the house might be overly ornate, full of trapped shadows, and decay only begins in certain rooms – reflecting the family’s outward appearance vs. internal rot. The monster might manifest only when family members argue or harbor secrets, physically shrinking its victims, symbolizing the “draining” effect of bottled-up animosity.

Here’s what you need to do: Brainstorm three specific symbolic elements you could weave into your script’s setting, character actions, or the nature of the horror itself. For each, explain what real-world concept or emotion it would represent.

Crafting the Page: Screenplay Specifics

Even the most terrifying ideas fall flat if presented poorly on the page. Screenplay format, concise description, and evocative language are essential.

Economy of Language

Every word counts. Unlike a novel, a screenplay isn’t about lengthy exposition or internal monologues. It’s about visible action and audible dialogue.

Show, Don’t Tell: Instead of writing Jessica was terrified, write Jessica’s breath hitched, her knuckles white around the doorframe.
Active Voice: Use strong verbs. The creature SCUTTLED across the ceiling rather than The creature was scuttling across the ceiling.
Concise Descriptions: Get straight to the point. Focus on details that are visually impactful and contribute to the horror.

Here’s what you need to do: Take a paragraph from your script that describes character emotion or an observation. Rewrite it, reducing the word count by 25% while making it more active and visible.

Visualizing the Scare

Write with the camera in mind. How would this look on screen? Where would the camera be? What would the audience see (or not see)?

Strategic Use of CLOSE UP, POV: Guide the reader’s eye and control the revelation.
- CLOSE ON Jessica’s EYE, dilated with primal fear.
- POV – Jessica’s flashlight beam sweeps across a wall, landing on...
Implying Camera Movement: The camera PANS slowly down the hallway, the shadows growing longer, deeper.
The Omission: Sometimes, the scariest thing is what you don’t show. The implied violence, the suggestion of something horrific just out of frame.
- A bloodcurdling SCREAM echoes from the next room. Silence.

Here’s what you need to do: Choose a scene with a primary scare or moment of tension. Rewrite the action lines focusing exclusively on what the audience would see, hear, and how the camera might move to maximize dread.

Dialogue: Beyond Exposition

Dialogue in horror serves multiple purposes: character development, tension building, exposition (sparingly), and of course, reactions.

Realistic Reactions to Fear: People stammer, gasp, whisper, or go silent under extreme duress. Their reactions should feel authentic.
Subtext in Dialogue: Characters might say one thing but mean another, or fear prevents them from speaking the whole truth.
Exposition Through Conflict: Instead of having a character explain the monster’s backstory, let two characters argue about it, revealing bits of information organically.
The Unsettling Line: A child’s innocent but dark comment, a villain’s chilling philosophical statement, or a character’s broken, desperate plea.

Here’s what you need to do: Identify a scene where characters are discussing the threat. Can you remove any direct exposition and instead convey the information through their conflicting opinions, fears, or actions?

The Enduring Impact: Leaving Your Audience Terrorized

A truly great horror screenplay lingers. It doesn’t just scare in the moment; it infects the audience’s thoughts long after they’ve left the theater.

Thematic Resonance

Revisit your core themes. Does the ending reinforce or subvert them? Does it offer a profound (and possibly terrifying) commentary on human nature or society?

Does the protagonist conquer their inner demons along with the external threat?
Is humanity ultimately doomed, or capable of resilience?
What message, if any, about fear, trauma, or the human condition, does your film convey?

The Unsettling Ending (or the Lingering Threat)

A happy, tidy ending often feels out of place in horror. Consider leaving a lingering sense of unease.

No Clean Sweep: The monster is dead, but its effects remain (psychological trauma, physical scars, a cursed object).
- Example: In Hereditary, even after the horrific climactic events, the family’s fate is sealed, and the supernatural entity’s presence is definitively established as victorious.
The Cycles of Evil: The threat is gone, but the audience knows it will return, or it’s passed to someone else.
- Example: The final shot of It Follows, ambiguous yet terrifying.
The Descent into Madness: The protagonist survives physically, but is irrevocably broken or has themselves become part of the horror.
- Example: The chilling end of The Blair Witch Project.
The Ambiguous Ending: Did it really happen, or was it all in their head? This can be very powerful if earned, but frustrating if unearned.

Here’s what you need to do: Write two alternative endings for your script’s climax: one that offers a more definitive (but not necessarily happy) resolution, and one that leaves a significant and unsettling element unresolved or ambiguous. Which one resonates more with your chosen themes?

The Final Scare: The Stinger

Often, a horror film will have one last little jolt after the main conflict, just to remind the audience that the terror isn’t truly over. This should be quick, effective, and perhaps a nod to your theme.

Example: The hand reaching out of the grave, the quick shot of the killer’s returned mask, the subtle movement in the background of a character walking away.

Here’s what you need to do: If your script has a “final girl/guy” or a moment of seeming relief, brainstorm one specific, quick “stinger” that subtly cuts against that relief, leaving the audience with an uncomfortable chill.

Writing a horror screenplay is a meticulous journey of crafting fear. It requires not just a scary idea, but a deep understanding of human psychology, narrative structure, and the technical craft of screenwriting. By focusing on compelling characters, building pervasive suspense, and executing truly impactful scares, you can create a horror film that doesn’t just frighten an audience for an hour and a half, but truly haunts them. Go forth, and make them scream.