It’s spooky season! You know what that means. Besides all the Halloween decorations in stores that have been there since August, and perhaps even some leaves changing colors on the trees, it’s the season of scary stories. The allure of such stories lies in how they evoke chills and keep the audience on edge. But what makes a story spooky? Does it have to be about ghosts or ghouls or other creepy things? Should it always take place somewhere scary—like an empty gas station at night? 

If you like all things Halloween or horror, this is the blog for you. But even if you don’t, you can still learn from how writers build suspense and tension—the key ingredients to all things frightening and dramatic—in their work. 

What Makes a Story Spooky? 

Mood, pacing, and tension building all contribute to a story’s overall spookiness. Horror and suspense come from the balance of all these elements. The longer you can keep an audience in suspense through these techniques, the more engaged they’ll feel in the story. 

Mood is a literary device that describes the feeling the audience gets while experiencing a story. In written work, it is carefully crafted through the words used in each sentence. In visual work, it is created through visual elements, like colors, lighting, and physical reactions. Moods can be anything—a poem about a lover may be praiseful and romantic, making the reader feel warm and loved; an action-packed blockbuster may be fast-paced and thrilling, making the viewer’s heart race. With spooky stories, mood is a key part of building suspense and making the audience feel fearful and uncertain. 

• Example of mood in action: Two similar sentences can evoke different moods depending on the words you use.
  • The broad expanse of the field, full of lush green grass and chirping critters, stretched before him.
  • The field loomed ominously before him, and a strange mist rose up from the dark grass, muffling and warping the noises of creatures trapped within. 

Pacing describes the speed at which the audience experiences the story—which may differ from the speed at which it takes place. For example, a part of a story that takes place over several years may be expressed in a paragraph or even a sentence. Getting pacing right can make or break how a story feels to its audience—or even if they finish it. Go too slow, and the audience may lose interest. Move too fast, and they may miss key details or feel overwhelmed. In scary stories, pacing can be used to build suspense by slowing things down and then speeding them back up at just the right moment. 

Tension boils down to the feelings of suspense and anxiety the audience experiences during a story. And it isn’t only used in spooky stories—everything from literary fiction to nonfiction and more benefits from and utilizes tension to keep readers engaged. Without it, the audience may get bored and stop engaging with the story. It is especially essential, however, in moments that seek to scare the audience. Without tension, the story will lack stakes to feel nervous about and look forward to ending. Tension asks the question, “What’s going to happen next?” 

None of these elements are unique to spooky stories; they appear in all kinds of storytelling. But getting them right in a piece meant to thrill and terrify is the difference between success and failure. 

Suspense in Action

Suspense boils down to isolation, fear of the unknown, and uncertainty.  Let’s take a look at Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” a famous poem that builds suspense masterfully using all of the techniques outlined above. It starts: 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, 
weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of
forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there
came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my 
chamber door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my
chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.” 

The first stanza of this poem invokes the image of a dark, late night, and a person almost asleep over their books, only to be abruptly jolted awake by a knocking sound. Poe’s language, in particular his use of repetition—”rapping, rapping,”—slows down the pace of the poem, leading to a building of suspense as the reader imagines who—or what—might be at his door. The mood is already set through the description of the night and the sleepiness of the narrator. And the tension comes from that word, “suddenly,” which seems to come out of nowhere and surprise the reader. 

The poem goes on at this slow pace, the narrator considering who it could be and even talking to them, only to discover it’s been a raven all along. This, however, does not comfort the narrator; having been wound up by the tension built within their mind, they see the raven as a beast and omen, watching them, without blinking, endlessly. 

Crafting Suspense in Short Stories 

Brevity can be a major factor in keeping tension high and focus sharp. Think about a spooky story told over a flickering campfire. If it goes on for too long, you lose interest. But kept quite brief, it will cause unease and fear even among the most stalwart of campers. 

Building suspense quickly relies on careful pacing—a gradual build-up followed by a sharp twist—and balancing the “Unsaid”—what you purposefully leave out versus what you put in. After all, sometimes the scariest things are those we can only imagine. 

In “The Fall of the House of Usher,” for example, Poe takes time unfolding the events that take place, allowing tension to simmer beneath the surface. The narrator arrives at the house and observes its unsettling environment, but nothing dramatic happens immediately. Instead, a sense of foreboding grows through small details—the gloomy weather, the oppressive atmosphere, Roderick’s strange behavior, and Madeline’s mysterious illness. 

As the story unfolds, Poe builds suspense through a combination of atmospheric details, psychological tension, and narrative techniques. The eerie mood he creates through careful use of language keeps readers on edge from the beginning, and the sense of dread only escalates. Setting is a big part of this. The gothic language used to describe the Usher mansion and its surroundings play a part in setting the stage for something truly creepy to happen. Also, the personification of the house as a character in its own right enhances the malevolent presence as its physical deterioration mirrors the psychological decay of its inhabitants. 

Read the full story here to learn more from the master of suspense and horror. 

Suspense in Longer Formats

In longer formats like novels or TV shows, it’s a challenge to maintain tension over hundreds of pages or minutes on screen. Some ways to tackle this challenge include: 

• Utilizing cliffhangers. End major sections, like chapters or episodes, with unresolved tension to keep the audience wondering what’s going to happen next.
  • Don’t overuse these, however, as it can become cliché and quickly bothersome if done too much. 
• Employing different perspectives. Prevent the audience from uncovering too much of the story at once and keep them on edge with unreliable narrators or a limited point of view.
  • For example, Dracula by Bram Stoker is relayed through a diary format, which limits what the audience can know—they can only ever know what the current narrator of the story tells them through written word. 
  • Additionally, in horror TV and film, the camera often intentionally limits what the audience and the protagonist can see as a way to limit perspective. 

Mood, pacing, and tension building will also play a large part in any long-form suspenseful works, of course. Check out our Study in Classics series covering Dracula for an in-depth analysis of successfully built suspense in longer form fiction. Shows like “The Haunting of Hill House” and “American Horror Story” also do this successfully. 

Setting the Scene for Fear

Atmosphere is a literary device that refers to the mood or emotional tone of a story. Unlike mood, however, it’s not the feelings evoked by that work but rather what is actually on the page. Atmosphere contributes to mood, but mood can change from scene to scene whereas atmosphere permeates a work entirely. 

Atmosphere is primarily conveyed to the audience through the setting. For scary stories, this might mean gothic influences like those seen in Poe’s work or in Dracula. Dark nights, decaying, ominous mansions, and isolated locations make for a scary setting. Think about almost every horror film you’ve seen—how did the setting affect the atmosphere? 

In the famous spooky tale “The Legend of the Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving, the setting of a foggy, haunted town enhances the mystery. Everything, including plot elements, seem shrouded in that thick fog, keeping readers guessing until the very end. While the tone of the story remains light and almost whimsical for much of its length, over time, the supernatural elements coupled with superstition and fear culminate in the famous, suspenseful scene with the Headless Horseman. 

Another major way to convey the atmosphere of a work is through sensory details. The way that characters react to and feel in the world you’ve created will give your audience a sense of how they should be feeling as well. For example, if you’re trying to create a light, magical atmosphere, you might describe golden sunlight glittering over the ground, or a breeze fluttering playfully through the air. 

Common Mistakes and How to Avoid Them

There are faux pas when it comes to suspense and tension. Bad horror movies come out every year, and the techniques we’ve discussed have even been parodied in films like Scream. To avoid an overwrought or clichéd work, keep these tips in mind: 

1. Don’t over do the jump scares. Tension is almost always best when it’s subtle. Let the audience feel it simmering just beneath the surface rather than boiling over the top. Sudden shocks can be exciting and scary when used sparingly, but too many big moments will turn an audience off. 
2. Don’t make the plot too predictable. Keep an audience engaged by subverting expectations. If they can immediately guess what’s going to happen next, they will lose any sense of suspense or tension you’re trying to build. Without the uncertainty of what’s going to happen next, why keep up with the story?
3. Don’t over explain. As mentioned before, the “Unsaid” is often the scariest thing about a story. Let your audience fill in the blanks; this will only add to their feelings of anxiety and suspense.
   1. Example: For all of Lovecraft’s cosmic horror, he tends to label the monstrous things witnessed by his characters as indescribable or inconceivable, leaving only a few details among a lot of mystery. This way, the reader imagines something far more horrible than he could ever write down. 

A Suspenseful Ending

Crafting suspense is about pacing, atmosphere, and withholding information. Balancing elements of mood and tension are key to ensuring your story feels surprising, intense, and unexpected. With the techniques outlined in this work, you can create your very own spine-tingling story for Halloween or any time of year. Put your pen to the test and try writing a suspenseful scene or two—you may be surprised where you end up!

Spoiler Alert—The following review contains plot details about Monstrilio.

What was the origin of the idea behind Monstrilio? Is there a particular experience or event that influenced your decision to write this book?

There isn’t a specific event, but rather a question we all have, particularly queer people: Am I going to be loved no matter what? I wanted to see how far love could be stretched. I wondered if it could break. I decided to explore a family’s love if they had to love something monstrous.

How did you manage to strike a balance between infusing elements of horror and the supernatural with themes of tragedy and grief in your novel?

I think horror is the potential of tragedy. What if the worst thing that could happen happens? How do we react? Do we survive? Horror deals a lot with grief—grief as cause and consequence. Grief is so powerful; death so alarming for us mortals that horror finds fertile ground here, as does the supernatural, attempting to explain things that perhaps we humans will never understand.

Monstrilio also explores themes of queerness, not just for young M but for almost every character in the novel. How important was it for you to write a story so representative of queer identities?

Extremely important. I had two goals: one, to have queer characters exist in a world without prejudice, acceptance, or the need for explanation; two, to tell a story in a queer way, challenging what we think traditional narrative should be.

Using multiple narrators isn’t a conventional storytelling method, especially in the context of horror. What was your intent behind featuring four distinct narrators in Monstrilio? How did their voices evolve during the writing process?

I wanted to capture a family’s experience of loving each other—how it changes. Does it vanish? Strengthen? Shape-shift? It was crucial that I get each member’s individual perspectives, each with their unique take on Monstrilio, while still having their own goals and dreams. It was interesting to me how the individual informs the collective and vice versa.

In addition to Monstrilio, you write a lot of short stories. How did writing a novel differ from your experiences in crafting shorter fiction? What challenges and creative opportunities did you encounter in making the transition from short stories to a full-length novel?

Short stories, by virtue of their shortness, have the agility to shift and experiment before they take their final shape. You can write several versions of the same short story without (usually) spending decades on it. Novels cannot shape-shift as effectively. I learned commitment while writing my novel. I couldn’t write a whole new novel every time I got anxious and wanted to scrap the whole thing! I was forced to seek the beauty and awesomeness in what I already had, and trust that even if it was only a paragraph, a sentence, or a funny phrase, it would carry me through.

Why did you feel it was important to separate the identities of Santiago and Monstrilio from M while keeping him connected through shared memories? Was it always your intention for Monstrilio to evolve into M or did this decision come about as you drafted and edited the book?

A lot (MOST) of the book evolved through drafts and edits. But this one thing, the decision to have Monstrilio evolve into M, I always had in mind. I didn’t want the book to simply be a long metaphor for grief. I wanted the metaphor to fight back and say, “I’m not a metaphor. I breathe, talk, and eat,” and see what happened. I wanted the book’s initial conceit to evolve, just like Monstrilio turns into M, hopefully leaving the reader with a more layered and nuanced (or at least more interesting) story.

Monstrilio has received acclaim for its successful blend of horror with elements like folklore and family drama. What tips would you offer to aspiring authors interested in experimenting with the blending of multiple genres in their writing?

Do it! Genres are not set in stone. Play. Create. Art should experiment, question, challenge. Take a trope you love and twist it in a new way, maybe pile others onto it. The more you play around, the better you’ll be at the game.

Are there any books and/or authors that have been fundamental in crafting your own voice as a writer?

So many. Every book I read leaves a little crumb in me. At any given time, I’ll have a few hovering around me that I can’t stop thinking about (although if you ask me in a month, these may have changed):

• Our Share of Night by Mariana Enriquez
• Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson
• After the Sun by Jonas Eika
• Uranians by Theodore McCombs
• El baile y el incendio by Daniel Saldaña París

The process of getting a book published can often feel more challenging than the writing itself. Could you share your experience with the publishing process and offer some advice to emerging authors who are either just starting or currently navigating this stage?

It is challenging! I’m extremely fortunate to have the amazing Jenni Ferrari-Adler as my agent. She’s been with me since the first drafts of the novel, helping me through the revision process, the publishing process, and everything that comes before, during, and after it’s bought. As harrowing as the process is (you don’t know if your book will be bought!), my advice is to surround yourself with people you trust and who are knowledgeable in the process. Ask a lot of questions. Also, understand that this process will be unique to each writer.