The Horror Structure Paradigm: A Guide to Writing a Horror Screenplay

I once read something about genre that stuck with me. Screenplay genres are narratively separated based on their relationship to death. Does the story’s big challenge threaten to wipe out a race of people, a planet, a way of life, a community precious to our protagonist … or just make them eat ice cream thinking they’ll never find love again? Therefore, formulating some overarching "mono-myth" applicable to all feature-length films, but with its basis in horror (gasp!) is the devil’s work. Well, I’m going to do it, so get behind me, Satan, and push! 

Below, I have assembled findings from my previous What Sleeps Beneath articles and placed them alongside classic Hollywood plot beats. As I’ve written about monsters and ghosts, those will be the basis of my paradigm. (Sorry, story models featuring faustian pacts are sold separately.) 

I have established my 14 “minimal markers” to a satisfying story (in a loose logical order) in the left-hand column—the sort you get in an average “3-star and above” Hollywood movie. They are beats that, if not present, you will feel their absence, and some are really just questions that need to be answered early. How will horror stand up? Does it have its own narrative structure or not? Is there a really, really good reason why nobody has done this before? Let’s find out!

The General Hollywood Movie Structure	The Mainstream Protagonist Journey Structure	The General Monster Horror Movie Structure	The General Ghost Horror Movie Structure
The fascinating character(s) in a fascinating world at a key moment in their lives—and what’s important to them, what they are struggling with, a reason to “root for them,” if not at least the “why should we care” is answered. Also, what’s important in this world and what is their place within it? We get an idea of the genre, narrative style and the pace of the story. Also, the “size and feel” of the world—are we traveling across vast galaxies or stuck in a sleepy Italian village? This section grounds the audience, sets their expectations, and lets them tune into the tensions of the world. Often this is called “the promise” as you are promising the audience, through skillful setup, that this is going to be well worth their time.	Rejects (the "one word" theme)	Same, because starting like this helps with the "stakes" and it... Prefers to Open Fast: The monster arrives in a spectacular fashion. Sometimes the evil can arrive as early as the first three pages to give everybody a quick jolt and hook them in. Establish the Rules of the World, Players, and Problems: We establish the players, their story-relevant problems, and who/what holds the power. Theirs are interpersonal dynamics—we are following a group as this type of horror is only as good as its victims. The group ideally will have different but relatable characteristics. This differentiates the players quickly and will guarantee personality clashes once the pressure is on.	Same, but the “stakes” aren’t as important, at least initially, and it … Prefers to Open Slowly: Showing the ghost early is a risky strategy unless you are going for a super aggressive, modern ghost. However, showing the tragic death of the person (via a prologue), who becomes the ghost is a legitimate introduction, so they can start fast, too. Establish the Rules of the World, Player, and Problems: The ghost story is all about the slow burn reveal of new information. It creeps along—all melancholy, sadness, loss, and poetic images. There’s an individual dynamic to this kind of horror—we are following one person. The individual can have the luxury of not being like someone we know. The slow reveal of the protagonist’s character is a key part of the story.
The significant change—which has wider repercussions on the defined world. The protagonist may enter a new world, with new rules and standards that challenge them.		Ditto, but can be drawn out for intrigue and suspense to set up a violent jolt later, so it's more ... What's "Off": Something is wrong, leading to a warning. This is ignored or it's just too unclear. Nothing seems to have gotten worse, so they carry on.	Ditto. And ... What's "Off": However, we are going to start to see some differences from here on out.
THE DIFFERENCES BECOME APPARENT HERE
The visible finish line to the story is stated somehow—you hit this then the story can be over.		Not as critical to openly state. The threat is constantly changing and usually equals a horrible death. Survival is a built-in finish line and expectations are clear and obvious—defeat the monster.	This is tricky. A visible finish line can be a plot device—the excuse to visit the haunted place and retrieve something—but it isn’t the main story driver. The ghost story doesn’t like setting permanent deadlines on the paranormal.
Establishing the central and most important relationship is made clear—do we care enough to be engaged with this relationship? “A movie is really about four or five moments between two people. The rest exists to give those moments their impact.” –Robert Towne		Central relationships exist in horror, but in the monster movie, it’s often pushed into the background … as we are all being hunted/eaten/stalked/impregnated here …	There’s a benefit in having a central relationship—but if two humans discuss ghostly things it will undercut the mystery. We don’t talk about the ghost. No one likes to talk about the ghost.
“Why is this happening now?” question		Yeah, sorry you do have to answer this question somehow—particularly for those who aren’t into the genre. Horror fans aren’t fussy if a werewolf just turns up during a full moon—they don’t need an immediate reason. Others need a solid “why now” immediately and love to have all “the rules of the monster” laid out very quickly—which can feel functional and formulaic. There’s an argument to hold off the “rules setting” until later so the characters discover the rules along with the audience through chaos, loss, trial and error. In general, the answer is usually a transgression because of a bad decision (see below).	Usually easy to answer—Someone has died in a terrible way and wants revenge from beyond the grave; it’s a family curse that happens when somebody reaches a certain age; it’s a wish gone wrong. This also can be a transgression because of a bad decision (see below).
The “I can’t walk away, I must confront this” moment—from a decision, event, relationship, fate or unexpected circumstance.	Connected problem of conscience (somehow related to the theme)	Ditto, but more likely to be a … Bad Decision: Someone makes a big mistake due to a character flaw/weakness/naivety/ignorance/moral dilemma/under the guise of “progress of humanity” and awakens the evil. And soon … First Disaster/The Evil Strikes Hard: A very good time to kill off one of the cast…in a really dramatic fashion. Then … Character and Plot Lock-In: The threshold has been crossed, the transgression made, the evil has hit hard. We now establish that there is no way of turning back, either by … Character Lock-In—Something personal has set the evil and the characters on a collision course, and/or … Plot Lock-In—The point of no return. They cannot run away; somehow the bridge home has been burned and the stakes are established.	The Time Has Come or Bad Decision: Can be the same. However, it’s different with a “family curse/being cursed” narrative or when someone has died and has now returned. If so, there’s an overwhelming sense that the time has come “to face the music.” And soon … First Disaster/The Evil Strikes Softly: Someone is put in danger, but not necessarily killed. Then … Character and Plot Lock-In: Key difference here is the ghost definitely wants “you” (the individual) for some reason—but there’s still the mystery of exactly why. The “presence” is slowly revealed as a warped dark mirror of the protagonist, clearly establishing the Character Lock-In. Now the tricky matter of the Plot Lock-In. Why don’t they just run away? Therefore, the ghost should be very mobile and stalk the characters everywhere. There is no place to hide.
“I must get control over the situation.” They struggle and will make a plan to solve it quickly. The plan fails or has unforeseen consequences.		High Tension Debate: Tensions run high. The group finds a safe spot to argue amongst themselves. They need power/control over each other and influence over the evil. Searching for clues/ways to control the situation. An option here is to introduce a “past sin” for the P.O.V. character (the point-of-view character who gets stronger and who we slowly start to follow—final girl, anyone?). This past sin is somehow relevant to the situation.	The Uncanny Meandering: The ghost story here isn’t as active as the monster story. It prefers to be in mystery mode and leans more into the uncanniness of the evil. We establish that this can’t be rational, probably either a spirit or the result of a mental breakdown in the main character. We may now know of the existence of dark secrets that will guide our exploration of the mystery—a form of deeply personal “haunting” from the protagonist’s past.
		Make a Logical Plan: The group establishes the nature of the threat, what they know, their best guess about the evil, and then debate what exactly is to be done: destroy it or send it back (fight), run away (flight), suspend it (freeze), or reason with it (fawn). Searching for “rough rules” (weaknesses, limitations, and patterns of behavior) they have discovered that will help defeat the monster. Rules create hope and you always need hope that the plan will work. The plan selected is the most logical, based on the evidence they have.	What can we do with the illogical? As one cannot use logic, we must seek out unorthodox, possibly mystical ways to deal with the evil. Goals aren’t always important narrative drivers here—often the engine of the story is reacting to the mystery. Therefore, the protagonist is complex, tortured, and mainly “passive.” They are controlled by the evil. It’s the character’s fate and not necessarily the fate of the story world. Even so, they can’t kill the evil so they must find a solution—options are: a. Give it what it wants b. Contain it c. Send it back d. Banish it e. Run away and hope it doesn’t follow (but we know it definitely will) New Information: If a mystical plan is formed here—it fails too. Most likely something significant happens to “up” the jeopardy and increase the strangeness, or we learn more about the ghost’s motivation/back story. We are still in the “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not” phase.
“The shit just got real”—a jolt to the system impacting the plot and/or character(s).		The Midpoint Fail: The first plan (and the most logical) fails somehow and/or a key character death occurs.	How will the Ghost Attack? Gradual unease, building dread, then longer glimpses of the terror until finally, we must decide how the ghost will attack. If the ghost can’t form a physical presence, it must either scare you to death or cause its victims to have an accident/fatal mistake.
Subplot/new location—a connected subplot that allows you to go off in a new direction temporarily—away from the main problem and action—but eventually linked somehow. A huge bonus if in a new location so the story doesn’t become repetitive. A good idea to end this “diversion” section with something that leads us back to the main problem and supercharges it!		The subplot is often unwelcome. In fact, you don’t want to move away from the main action unless it adds more tension. Monster movies can’t be as flexible, resulting in either using other techniques to extend and add variety (there are many) or just committing to lower page counts than the standard 105–110 pages for features. However, a journey to kill the monster on its home turf is a location change that works. In the monster movie, you most likely get … Isolation: The players become more separated either through location (e.g. ascending or descending to a dark place), differences of opinion, or slow mental breakdown. They split up.	If it’s a slow-burn ghost story, you can do all of this—and a shift in location with a subplot can prevent things from becoming too meandering and will extend the page count.
The great unraveling—the characters struggle even harder with a series of losses—with higher stakes and more pressure—if there isn’t a clear antagonist, someone may emerge to fulfill those duties. A plan is formed that is much more desperate. If the story is a tragedy, we will have a high positive moment here within the losses. Characters must lose key relationships/things—it must hurt. Emotions become intense and desperate. The primal urges and survival mechanisms of characters will seem as if they are driving the plot more than the execution of a rational goal/plan.	Embraces (the theme)	The Evil Slowly Takes Control: Inventively kills the characters off, maybe one by one, in twos, an entire group in one go … or the evil infects/maims/takes over the players. It doesn’t kill them but hideously transforms them. Technique Dump/Pressure/Ticking Clock: The evil expands/changes shape/sheds its skin. There’s almost praise for the monster now amongst the group—especially if there’s a betrayal by a character. This creates a debate of who or what the real evil is. The options become progressively worse in order to pace out the kills. Safe spaces turn out to be unsafe. Also, adding a form of twisted sexual release or sexual tension is a good device to deal with the second act drag. In fact, this is a good place to sling in all types of screenwriting techniques, including…a ticking clock. If that hasn’t been introduced early, it will be introduced or reinforced now and will become critical to the story. The overwhelming pressure will lead one of the players to begin a mental breakdown—but not the P.O.V. character. Second Plan: The formulation of a “second and more desperate plan,” or the “do-or-die plan.” Must go into the lion’s den and face the beast. More Powerful Evil: The evil accepts the challenge, but this time is more powerful and the odds are overwhelmingly in their favor.	The Evil Slowly Takes Control: The evil won’t be ignored or denied, lurking in those dark corners, a shadowy parallel bleeding more and more into rational reality. If this pattern is expertly done, then the screenwriter will have hit the jackpot as this is a tricky task. Sometimes, a new ghost will appear to keep the fascination going or we may have a single subplot that allows some breathing space. A Dark Secret/Missing Information Revealed: Ultimately, the key to the protagonist’s journey is that in some way, they are actually haunting themselves. At this point in the story, it’s common for the somebody who is keeping a dark secret to succumb to terrific pressure and reveal it. As internal angst is driving the main tension, we now approach the protagonist’s mental breakdown. The key weakness of the ghost movie is the amount of credible narrative techniques that can be used. Most second act techniques are based on cause and effect. Here, we have one last move left. If monsters have a ticking clock, we have a melting clock. The ghost story can still go “full dream logic” and visit those classic anxiety nightmares—like the heavy-footed escape from a pursuer or not being able to find a room. Transformation/Redemption: If the ghost hasn’t already displayed new powers/changed form, this is the last moment to do so, whether in final malice or in the final release of their curse.
The big soul-crushing loss—or the famous all-is-lost moment. How can they get up off the ground now? It’s over … unless they push themselves to face the true test.	Put to the test (the theme is tested in a way).	It’s Hopeless:> The lowest point for the P.O.V. character. All is lost … backed into a corner … not dead, but certainly finished.	Not usually present.
The true test—usually the “obligatory scene,” or a deeply meaningful test, or a decisive moment in the battle. Ideally, it will lead to a test of “character”—a critical moment of personal challenge for the protagonist.	Prepared to sacrifice (for the theme).	Double-ending Showdown: You must be clever to outwit the evil. The monster dies once—may be resurrected—then must be destroyed again. Maybe requiring a final sacrifice to seal the deal … But remember, the shark must blow up in the end. We need a big spectacular finale for maximum satisfaction.	There may be a final test, or the last confrontation with the ghost—but most likely it’s another reveal. The ghost doesn’t blow up at the end … the closest you might get is the haunted place being burnt to the ground.
The end result—Something (in a way) dies. Some sense of rebirth and transformation. The finish line is reached in an exciting and compelling way. Preferred endings are upbeat ones.	Heroic redemption (the one-word theme is somehow integrated into the protagonist as a new state of being).	The ending isn’t usually a profound character change—it’s relief and release. Maybe it ends on a question mark, or a devastating reveal, or a fate worse than death, or one good final scare … or the protagonist gets killed. “Upbeat endings” don’t normally live here. Monsters send you out of the theater to face the cold … feeling alone.	The End: Ideally, explain a little, but not a lot. The seven best endings are: a. It’s real b. It’s imagined c. It’s ambiguous d. I’m mad e. I’m dead f. “Take me instead!” for the active protagonist. In some way, the main character will sacrifice their own life for what they believe to be the greater good or trade places with the evil. g. Transcendental: The protagonist and the evil fuse together to form a new presence; They become one in a state of communion, whether voluntary or not.
The moment after—Usually the world stabilizes. The problem is normally gone (forever) and often we demonstrate a lasting change/shift/growth in the character.		If there is a moment after, it’s a very short one—usually not needed and adds nothing.	As this genre is more about human relations and dark secrets, it might feel more appropriate to have narrative and emotional closure.

Summary 

Most feature screenplays regardless of genre start in a similar manner. The beginning requires at least one strong scene, a clear definition of the world and what’s important in it, a significant change and we need to be engaged with at least one of the characters (even if it’s the villain). After that, the genre/subgenre preferences really kick in. The audience will now expect a “certain type of story.” 

If horror is a mood—the genre of building dread, dark revelations, shocking revulsions and primal urges—then you’ll need to ask how jumpy, repulsive and primal you want to go and still be appropriate within your subgenre expectations. People don’t watch a ghost movie for the gore. All considered, my classic beats do sit reasonably well against the monster and ghost horror beats, but it’s often an expected “yeah, but it really depends” situation. 

Essentially, once you’ve set up to match the subgenre expectations then you can zig-zag a bit—as long as you come back to a strong genre beat every now and again. To demonstrate, let’s take a look at just four aspects that strongly define the “monster horror movie” subgenre: 

1. How a subplot is treated in the middle of the movie 
2. The size of the world 
3. Character goals and relationship with death 
4. Pacing 

The question of using the subplot/new location is key in contemporary horror screenwriting. Not having a subplot and staying in one main location means a low page count. In non-horror genres, sustaining one idea in one place for 105 pages while keeping it fresh is insanely difficult. Consequently, popular Hollywood genres simply can't survive without a subplot or at least the ability to change locations—particularly in the second half of the screenplay. Therefore, horror has developed a whole bag of techniques and ghastly tricks to keep you engaged in one place. 

For example, Jaws (1975) has local economics and politics as a backdrop because if you don’t go into the water, there isn’t a problem. However, the 4th of July is tomorrow and we need those happy beach tourist dollars to keep us afloat! Buy some ice cream, take a refreshing dip, you might even see a fish! Is this technically an interconnected subplot? I suppose Amity’s economy is, and it’s the 50th Annual Regatta as well, but in a new location? Not really, but ... enter the panicky mayor to supercharge the shark problem.

Many classic monster movies refuse to use a subplot/new location once the game’s afoot, e.g. Alien (1979), The Thing (1982), Predator (1987) and even Jurassic Park (1993)—it makes little sense to have plot information play out somewhere removed, distant and well away from the main action. Claustrophobia and isolation are key. The radio’s destroyed. Help isn’t coming. In the monster horror movie, the world is and feels… small. I guess that’s why Godzilla is more Hollywood than scary. 

There’s a joke—How do you know if a film is a horror or a thriller? 

… marketing. 

Even if you follow the genre patterns detailed above, in practice, horror comes down to two approaches:

• How far are you going to break “reality”?

• How far are you going to embrace the darkness? (e.g. death, mental and physical pain, evil, sin, dark sex, lust, menace, sexual frustration/repression, blood, gore and visceral violence, etc.) 

The approaches to these two questions will determine whether it is a horror, a horror-thriller, or a thriller. You must be clear that you have the right starting point. For example, beware of signaling to your audience that this is shaping up to be a haunted house horror in the first 25 minutes and then not break “reality,” so now that “mysterious and sexually dangerous” character (who just turned up at the front door), will make the menace feel more “sexual thriller” than “ghostly terror.” This runs the risk of confusing an audience. Mystery is good but confusion leads to disengagement—which leads to boredom. 

To be general, in most Hollywood genres, every scene has one character within it wanting a form of love (in the broadest sense of the word). This can exist in horror—but many of the dark subgenres favor survival, the exploration of primal urges and understanding of “what the hell is going on” to drive character behavior first. The preferred character goals we have are immediate survival or control, not personal growth. The protagonist may grow or be redeemed—but they have to survive first and don’t think beyond that. Even if you make good decisions, there are no guarantees you will live. 

Finally, the positioning of the scares can be even (the modern expectation is a scare every 10 pages and a big one within the first 3–5) or uneven (hypnotic opening, slow build-up, front load all the character relationship tensions and then keep punching hard in the second half). There is general agreement that if you do something truly awful and horrific early enough it keeps the audience on their toes waiting for the next awful moment. 

Conclusion

Trying to build an overarching story structure for all feature films is really just an experiment to see if you can do it. It becomes a method to teach beginners, but how useful is it really for the specifics of horror? 

As a diagnostic tool, it can highlight missing plot elements that might explain why you are running out of steam on page 65, or why your story feels like it's meandering too much, or it may shine a light on why that big cathartic ending is falling flat. It’s not a checklist of quality, because some of these classic beats can feel right to include in horror, but it can’t prop up a flawed screenworthy premise or a weak antagonist. 

We are now reaching a close to the screenwriting education boom. Many have punched themselves out with intense 20-plus years of screenplay shapes and techniques online, yet not many got into horror and picked the bones of its narrative corpse—chickens! 

Why? I don’t know. Horror is evergreen and has proven itself time and time again at the box office. Along with comedy, it’s a genre that people like to share with a crowd. There are many horror film festivals around the world with devoted fans who still queue around the block for a midnight showing. 

This table will certainly help at the “design stage” of your monster and ghost stories (and maybe other terrifying subgenres). However, once the main beats are baked into the first draft you will have a tough time making fundamental changes to the shape of the story. You will naturally end up using most of these beats and spending hours trying to disguise the hell out of them through redrafting, reinvention, and character behavior. Waiting for the day when the story characters inside your head take over and start writing the script themselves … 

… but isn’t that just like a horror screenwriter to pray for some kind of demonic possession to kick in?

---

Article written by Arran Crawley

Arran Crawley currently has two ghost story screenplays on the Film Festival circuit, so far, they have won 4 awards and placed in several finals. These include wins at ‘Best Short Screenplay’ at the Ethereal Horror Fest 2022 and ‘Best Dark Drama Feature Screenplay’ at Austin After Dark – Fall 2022. Ever since he relocated to Canada in 2015, Arran has worked with emerging filmmakers, several film festivals (including Vancouver Asian Film Festival) and is the former Program Coordinator at the Calgary Film Centre. You can follow his progress on Instagram - arrancrawley

Other articles you may enjoy…

---