What Isn’t Said Still Screams: Writing Subtext in Horror Fiction

Photo by Aimee Vogelsang on Unsplash

Today’s post is by professor, author, and short-film director Lindy Ryan.

In horror, silence often speaks the loudest. Whether it’s a glance across a dinner table, a hesitation before a door is opened, or a line of dialogue that means the opposite of what it says, subtext is the quiet engine beneath your scene. It’s the difference between a story that moves and one that lingers.

Emerging writers often focus on plot and action—which are essential!—but the true pulse of horror comes from what festers just beneath the surface. Subtext transforms the mundane into the menacing. It’s what makes readers lean in closer, even when they want to look away.

Let’s dig into what subtext is and why it matters to make it work like a whispered warning in your fiction.

What is subtext, and why does it matter?

Subtext is the layer of meaning beneath a character’s words, actions, or silence. It’s what’s really going on in a scene—even (or especially) when no one’s saying it out loud.

In horror and thrillers, what isn’t said often carries more weight than what is. Think of the chilling tension in The Haunting of Hill House or the strained pleasantries of Get Out. On the surface, the scenes are polite, even mundane. Underneath, danger pulses like a second heartbeat.

Subtext creates:

Tension: what’s hidden might be harmfulCharacter depth: people rarely say exactly what they feelRe-read value: a line means one thing now … and something else laterPsychological unease: the essence of horror and thrillers

Shirley Jackson once said, “I delight in what I fear.” Subtext is how you deliver that delight in doses. It lets your reader feel what your character won’t admit—even to themselves.

5 ways to create horror-fying subtext in your scenes1. Let your dialogue lie.

It’s true in life and in fiction: People rarely say exactly what they mean. They dodge, they deflect, they downplay. So should your characters.

Instead of: I’m scared to go in there.

Consider: It’s just a basement—what’s the big deal?

By having a character pretend they’re not afraid, you reveal their fear more powerfully. The reader senses the gap between what’s said and what’s felt, and that’s subtext.

Tip: Write the conversation as if the characters are trying to hide what they’re really feeling. Then go back and tweak the lines so that the real emotion flickers inside what’s unsaid.

2. Use setting to reflect emotion.

Your environment can do heavy emotional lifting without saying a word.

Instead of saying: She felt trapped.

Let the setting imply it: The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, blades slicing the stale air. The windows had been painted shut years ago.

Now, the room mirrors her internal state. The space becomes claustrophobic. The emotion rises not through direct narration, but through imagery and senses. Consider the Overlook Hotel in Stephen King’s The Shining: the building itself becomes an emotional mirror to reflect Jack’s breakdown in chilling echoes.

3. Action > explanation.

We all know the adage “show don’t tell.” This is applicable for subtext, too. When in doubt, let your characters do something that reveals what they’re trying to say.

Instead of: He was jealous.

Consider: He refilled his drink without asking if she wanted more. His laugh came a half-beat late when she said her coworker’s name.

Readers love to decode behavior, especially in genres like horror and thriller. Show them what matters through subtle action. A clenched fist on a table. A gaze that lingers a second too long. A locked door that was never locked before.

Tip: In a highly emotional scene, remove the interior monologue and let body language do the talking.

4. Contradict the mood.

One of the most effective tools in crafting horror and thrillers is to set the wrong emotional tone, intentionally.

Example: Your character just buried a body in the woods. Instead of giving us panic or guilt, they admire the trees or talk about dinner plans. This emotional dissonance unsettles your reader. Why aren’t they reacting the way they should? What aren’t they telling us?

Gillian Flynn masters this technique in Gone Girl, where calm, composed narration often stands in eerie contrast to deeply disturbing events. Ultimately, subtext thrives in that contradiction. It tells us something is very wrong here.

5. Leave gaps for the reader.

You don’t have to tie every ribbon into a neat little bow. Trust your reader to follow shadows.

This might mean:

Ending a chapter on a gesture, not a resolutionLetting a conversation trail off mid-thoughtShowing a reaction without the cause—until later

Cormac McCarthy once said, “There is no such thing as life without bloodshed. The notion that the species can be improved in some way … that is a really dangerous idea.” His writing is sparse, cold, and deeply disturbing—“recording angel” as per his Blood Meridian: brutal, inescapable, non-intervening, observation—precisely because of what it refuses to say.

At its core, subtext is a gesture of trust between writer and reader. You’re saying: You’re smart enough to notice the silence. You’re brave enough to step into the dark.

Don’t overexplain. 

Don’t force the emotion.

Subtext invites your reader to become part of the horror. To guess. To fill in the blank. Let it bloom and, perhaps, your reader’s imagination will go to even darker places than yours ever could.