The Quiet Thrill of The Uncanny

The lights dim, shrouding the room in darkness. A dull glow emanates from the television screen, casting eerie shadows that flicker across the walls. Thunder strikes, loud enough to shatter the stillness, as I flinch in surprise. Rain patters in the distance, disturbing the gnawing silence that fills the room.

Filled with trepidation, I pick up the remote and navigate to the “Horror” section on Netflix. Annabelle, It, Lights Out, The Conjuring. The Babadook. Hereditary… and pause for a moment, the cursor hovering over a sinister visage of a woman dressed in black. Two words appear beneath her: “The Nun”. I clutch my blanket a little tighter, almost as a protective shield. My hands grow cold and clammy, probably due to the chilly winds outside…or something else entirely.

My eyes meet those of my friends, and with a perfunctory nod, I press the button.

The show has just begun.

The thumbnail of the movie is unutterable: ghastly skin, bottomless black eyes and sharp, monstrous teeth. A description so unsettling, I might have turned back a few times while writing this, just to make sure it’s all fictional.

And yet…there was something about its inhumaneness that seemed so alluring.

I know what you’re probably thinking right now. 

Who in the right mind would willingly expose themselves to such terrifying imagery? 

You might dismiss this article and presume that this girl must be a psychopath. But what if I told you that horror films raked in an estimated 2.7 billion dollars in worldwide box-office revenue in 2025? And that the movie I just clicked on was watched by 20.7 million others out there? 

These numbers themselves speak to how our fascination with fear is more than a passing Halloween obsession.

I’d like to think of theatrical figures in horror as exaggerated and inflated allegories of our fears in real life. Our fear of illness and contamination is depicted through grotesque zombies; our fear of losing control is intensified through demonic possession; our fear of being followed is embodied by masked figures; and our fear of death is brought to life through ghosts and restless spirits. It is precisely this uncanny resemblance to our own fears that draws us into the world of horror.

Horror offers more than just adrenaline or escapism. Philosopher Noël Carrol talks of an element that makes horror utterly attention-grabbing: curiosity. A pull towards the mysterious and the unknown. With the right narrative, the genre gives us room to explore difficult questions from the safety of our couches. Is evil inherent or shaped by one’s past? Is death truly the end? Is revenge justified? Does love distort our moral compass? 

These are questions we often grapple with in reality, and horror provides a unique space to explore them within a psychological “safety net”. This sense of security allows us to confront unsettling ideas and experience fear in ways that would otherwise feel frightening or risky. 

And then there’s music. 

Music doesn’t just decorate horror; it conducts it. Distant chords, sudden silences and low rumbling tones alert us of danger, our brain already on the edge before anything happens. So when the scare finally comes, it hits twice as hard.

So what happens inside our brains when we watch something terrifying?

When we perceive something as a threat, the amygdala, our brain’s emotional alarm system, helps process it. Our pulse quickens, pupils dilate, blood pressure rises, and muscles tense as adrenaline, a hormone associated with the “fight or flight” response, surges through our system. These psychophysiological reactions to fear are often associated with excitement. All of a sudden, you find yourself riding those waves of enjoyment instead of hiding behind a pillow for dear life.

After the initial shock of a terrifying jump scare wears off, the prefrontal cortex, involved in rational decision-making, helps us recognize that the threat isn’t real after all. And slowly, your surroundings come back into focus. You’re seated on a couch in the comfort of your house, with an emotional support tub of caramel popcorn on your lap. 

The fear remains, but the knowledge and the awareness of safety are what slowly transform it into excitement.

In short, fear plus safety equals thrill. Take away the safety and its trauma. Take away the fear, and it’s boring. Horror movies offer just the right balance.

Two hours have passed since my friends and I decided to dive into this movie head first. I let out a long, relaxing exhale. We’re two minutes away from the ending. My heartbeat slows as the evil entity eventually gets obliterated (took them long enough). 

Finally some peace and quiet.

I pick up the remote to switch off the TV when a haunting phrase flashes before my eyes.

This movie was based on a true story.

Oh crap. Here we go again.

• entertainment
• halloween
• horror
• movies
• psychology