I was sitting in the doctor’s office, with one foot bouncing, waiting to hear if I needed surgery. In the reception area with me, at least a dozen people were apprehensive over the same news. My watch—more sophisticated than it had any right to be—beeped at me, telling me that I was stressed and needed to breathe. Before this, I didn’t even know this was a feature of the watch; it had never done that before. It was then that I realized I was scared, indescribably terrified in a way I hadn’t been for quite a while. A split second in time that was, in so many ways, incredibly boring, had me more afraid than any other moment in the two years before then.
The strongest horror takes root in the experiences that most can relate to—experiences that often would be boring to an outsider at first glance. When we are scared of breaking down on a dark road, are we really scared of the Jersey Devil roaring out of the tree line? Or are we terrified of the rather boring chance of breakdown and the real-life horrors that can follow it?
Salem’s Lot’s terror stems out of odd neighbors; We Have Always Lived in the Castle plot grows out of an anxiety over crowds and the judgment of others. Dracula bites hard into the unease of traveling and the difficulty relating to other people—as does Frankenstein, in its own, stitched-together way.
As horror writers, we are often so focused on making the horror itself that we forget about what nourishes that horror. Not many can relate to an alien on a spaceship, but most understand the discomfort of being stranded, alone and claustrophobic, which is what Alien relies on to make it memorable. A jump scare with no build up is the hallmark of a B movie, while a slow invasion into the dull moments of everyday life make Paranormal Activity, Skinamarink, and The Babadook modern horror classics.
So embrace and feed the anxieties that crawl out of the darkest corners of the mundane. The stress of a job interview can turn into a werewolf stalking the narrow cubicle halls. The ghost of a pending test result can haunt the long nights in someone’s home. Grow your monsters out of dust bunnies and stuffed animals, your specters out of the silhouettes of forgotten hobbies and missed opportunities. Never forget that the most boring experiences are often what unite us—and where the darkest horror often festers.
AM Sutter currently works as a zoo and exotic animal veterinarian and has been fascinated with storytelling ever since she snuck downstairs as a child to watch The Twilight Zone with her father. Whenever she’s not arm’s deep in tiger guts or elephant poop, she enjoys playing the French horn, reading, and hiking with her Shih Tzu, who fully believes he is a wolf. You can read “Wood for the Trees” in our Soul anthology, and her upcoming story, “A Horse Walks into a Bar”, will appear in our Howl anthology (February 2025).
Website: amsutter.com