The Ancient Enigma of Morbid Curiosity
The human compulsion to seek out and consume horror stories stands as a profound psychological puzzle, a phenomenon that has baffled thinkers from Aristotle to modern neuroscientists. Logic would dictate that the emotion of fear evolved as a critical survival mechanism—a built-in alarm system to trigger the fight-or-flight response, urging us away from danger and threats to our well-being. Yet, despite this primal directive, we actively engage with films, books, and interactive experiences specifically designed to send shivers down our spines and accelerate our heart rates. Interestingly, for some, horror films are seen as a form of anxiety relief, making the horror genre a consistently thriving sector of the entertainment industry.
Mark Miller, a research fellow, highlights this conundrum as “the paradox of horror,” noting the ancient observation that while we are programmed to evade harmful and disgusting things, we are simultaneously “magnetised” to fictional spaces where we encounter them. Over the last decade, psychologists have made significant strides in resolving this enigma. They now suggest that engaging with fictional tales of terror is not an act of mere masochism, but rather a process that taps into deep brain functions critical for dealing with uncertainty. Emerging evidence indicates that these cinematic journeys into the macabre can yield genuine psychological benefits, including a measurable reduction in the anxiety we feel regarding real-world events. They function as a psychological salve, providing relief from our everyday worries by refining our internal threat simulations.
The Adaptive Value of Fictional Terror
Psychologist Coltan Scrivner, a leading researcher in this field and author, has extensively explored this adaptive function of morbid curiosity. Scrivner emphasizes that the impulse to consume scary narratives is not new; he points out that even the earliest evidence of human writing, such as the 4,000-year-old Babylonian tablets featuring the Epic of Gilgamesh, is rife with “horrible demons and monstrous beasts.” This historical ubiquity suggests that features of horror are, in his words, “as old as language.” A primary explanation for this enduring fascination is that horror stories function as a form of “play” that allows individuals to understand the dangers surrounding them and prepare for potential threats. This is an adaptive trait observed across species—like gazelles observing a distant predator before fleeing—but uniquely amplified in humans due to our unparalleled ability to create and transmit complex stories.
Scrivner’s research has built substantial support for these adaptive benefits. In one study, involving a large online questionnaire about horror film consumption, participants were categorized into three distinct groups based on their motivations. These groups included the “Adrenaline Junkies,” who seek the physiological thrill and feel “more alive” from the fear; the “White Knucklers,” who dislike the stress but relish the feeling of conquering their fear; and the “Dark Copers,” who actively watch horror to contextualize real life, using the on-screen violence to remind themselves of their own relative safety or to test their personal bravery against anxiety.
These multiple paths to morbid curiosity were validated in completely different settings, such as an interactive experience like the Dystopia Haunted House in Denmark, confirming the universality of these motivations. Furthermore, Scrivner found that fans of horror demonstrated greater resilience during the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, reporting a stronger belief in their ability to cope with difficult times and taking news of the crisis “in their stride.”
To explore this fascinating area further, you can read more about morbid curiosity and adaptive learning.
Training the Brain’s Anticipatory Engine
The therapeutic effect of fear is intrinsically linked to a fundamental principle of brain function known as predictive processing. Neuroscientists and philosophers agree that the brain is essentially an “anticipatory engine,” constantly building and refining simulations of the world to interpret new events and plan appropriate responses. The more accurate these internal simulations are, the better equipped we are to navigate our inherently uncertain world. As Miller explains, horror stories provide an optimal level of uncertainty that keeps this anticipatory engine fully engaged. This controlled engagement allows the brain to “refine its simulations” and make more accurate predictions of threat in the future.
This process of “hanging out in this sweet spot” means constantly growing one’s predictive capabilities, which translates directly into better long-term management of uncertainty and a moderated stress response to unsettling events in reality. Horror, in this light, is an opportunity to “play with being scared, play with being disgusted, play with being under duress,” without the actual risk.
The key advantage, of course, is the safety and control—we can pause the movie, leave the room, or seek comfort, actively controlling our exposure and the level of fear experienced. This mechanism of controlled exposure is what makes fictional terror a powerful tool for developing emotional regulation skills.
The idea is that by processing fear in a safe environment, we learn to downplay our stress into a state of pleasant titillation, which helps us cope better with the stresses of everyday life. You can learn more about the predictive processing model of the brain and its role in anxiety.
Therapeutic Applications of Controlled Fear
The potential for integrating horror stories into psychological therapy is a compelling application of this research. Scrivner suggests that given the right medium, this controlled confrontation with fear can be a highly effective way to teach people to handle difficult emotional situations. He points to researchers in the Netherlands who have successfully treated children with anxiety using a video game called MindLight. The game features a haunted house setting, but the child wears an EEG headset that measures brain activity and controls a light on their avatar. Crucially, the calmer the child becomes, the brighter the light shines, actively reinforcing their relaxed state.
If the child maintains this relaxed state during a monster attack, the creature transforms into a benign, friendly kitten. If they become too scared, the game offers immediate advice on calming the mind before proceeding. Clinical trials of MindLight have shown that children who regularly play the game experience reduced everyday anxiety, with benefits comparable to classic cognitive behavioural therapy—the gold standard for treating anxiety in children.
Scrivner strongly suspects that the principles behind this game, which involve practicing cognitive reappraisal and tolerating uncomfortable somatic experiences in a safe, controlled environment, are mirrored by the consumption of traditional horror media. By looking for content just outside your normal tolerance—often starting with books for greater control—you can leverage this form of fictional terror for real-world calm.
For those seeking practical ways to apply this concept, here is a resource on cognitive reappraisal techniques for anxiety. Finally, for a deeper dive into the relationship between fear, stress, and resilience, check out this comprehensive overview of adaptive psychological responses to stress.
