The best supernatural thrillers to scare and thrill

The British Isles seem to lend themselves to a peculiar brand of horror, not least because of the often dark weather and a blood-soaked history. The Woman in Black is short, beautifully narrated, and utterly chilling. This rates as my all-time favourite, possibly due to its subtlety and creeping suspense, but ultimately the absolutely horrific impact of the ending. Set in the wild fens of eastern England, a young solicitor must wrap up the affairs of a deceased woman who lived in a solitary house, accessible only when the tide has ebbed sufficiently to leave a mud flat. Not of an especially nervous disposition, he is somewhat surprised when overnight it sounds as if there’s been a terrible accident outside. He stumbles out into the fog, ankle-deep in water… Oh, the chilling atmosphere is a masterpiece on par with M. R. James.

I admire the skill of the pace and prose, the calm matter-of-fact way the story is told, but most of all, the young man’s awakening to the existence of the dark. The film totally missed the shock of that… the fact he would never recover from what happened later, after he returned, which confirmed his worst nightmare. Superb…      

Set in the dark prison walls of Victorian London, and the prim and proper front parlours of the upper classes, this is another subtle, creepy suspense. The Victorians of England had a fascination with the paranormal—from photographing the dead to séances—and this is what draws the protagonist into the drama. A privileged young woman, during her weekly round of duty at a local prison, becomes entranced by a beautiful and gifted spiritual medium, who’d been accused of trickery at one such event. The story is so deftly told you honestly cannot work out what’s real and what isn’t, and I truly did not see what was coming. Honestly, this is a masterclass in storytelling. Utterly horrific, it left me reeling. And on top of that, you get a terrific snapshot of well-researched history. First class!      

Although this was made into a fabulous black and white film starring Lawrence Olivier, it still didn’t do justice to the sub-tropical magic of Cornwall or the tortured new Mrs. De Winter of Mandalay. It’s another psychologically adept narrative, with the gradual awakening of the main characters to horrific truths as fragile veneers begin to crumble under unspoken pressure. In a study of jealousy, misunderstandings, and naivety, a very real horror is gradually exposed. I love the way the human flaws are exposed, almost without their knowledge, as events escalate beyond their control, and the way Du Maurier breathes life into such a wild and exotic part of England—so remote from the rest of the country. Once again, we also have a snapshot of history and the dependence of minions on any benevolence, or otherwise, the upper classes may bestow. But most of all, it is Mrs. Danvers, the mad, obsessive lady in waiting to the late Rebecca, who takes such delight in tormenting the new Mrs. De Winter, who steals the show. Class act—absolutely superb both in atmosphere and the horrific, creeping suspense.     

The late, great James Herbert is still, in my opinion, incomparable in the genre of British horror. I devoured most of his books as a teen, but stumbled on Shrine only a few years ago. This, and so relevant today, is a study on mass hysteria—a frightening enough concept—but it isn’t that which lingered. For me it was one particular scene. The story centres around a church, and the protagonist, an investigative journalist, decides to look into how the entire village became a shrine to what was basically a vision. This leads him to a small privately owned ancestral estate, and it is here, in this small dark church with high wooden pews, where the bone-chilling encounter takes place. I have to say I’ve never read a more visual description of encroaching dread than this. Brilliantly executed. Second to none.       

You may say this isn’t classic horror, it’s a love story. But is it? Set in a castle on the wild moors of northern England, this is a dark tale of casual cruelty, jealousy, and revenge that depicts an age of harsh regimes where the ruling classes held sway over the fate of everyone else. 

Jane is totally at the mercy of her vindictive aunt who locks her in the red room with the ghost of her uncle, then abandons her to a school for orphans. Her best friend dies in her bed and it’s astounding the rest don’t die of cold. However, the real horror begins after she takes a post as governess to the glowering Mr. Rochester. Perhaps it’s the dark stone walls flickering in the candlelight, the quick rapid footsteps in the corridor outside her room, or most likely the mad cackling laughter in the dead of night when the house is supposed to be empty? But it’s a menacing atmosphere for a very young woman whose only company is a small child and a cook. The master of the house, however, seems to be home more and more, and the two are drawn to each other, an unlikely match. But what of the mad cackling and the fires that start in the dead of night? 

I never felt this was primarily a love story, but of the triumph of love over evil, and the unravelling of ancestral ill deeds and the consequences of those. Ultimately Rochester must face his demons, although not before he pays a high price. 

An eternal classic and, again, an absolute masterclass in storytelling.