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THE SOUND OF FEAR
When what you hear is scarier than what you see.
I've come to the conclusion that horror filmmakers could make absolutely anything look terrifying with the right soundtrack. Seriously, imagine watching someone making a cup of tea. Nothing unusual, just an ordinary afternoon in the kitchen. Now add the kind of music you'd expect to hear moments before someone gets murdered in a horror film. Suddenly, you're suspicious of the kitchen cupboard, wondering why the camera is taking so long to move, and practically begging this poor person to forget about the tea and get out of the house. The ridiculous part is that nothing dangerous has actually happened. We've simply heard a few notes of music, and our brains have already decided that someone isn't making it to the end of the scene.
I think we sometimes underestimate just how much of a film's atmosphere comes from what we hear rather than what we see. We remember the performances, the cinematography and those scenes that stay with us long after the credits roll. But take away the sound, and suddenly some of cinema's most terrifying moments become surprisingly ordinary.
In fact, John Carpenter once screened an unfinished version of Halloween (1978), without its music or sound effects, for a film executive who told him she wasn't frightened by it. Carpenter went on to compose the film's now-iconic soundtrack, and the executive later changed her opinion. Imagine being told your horror film isn't scary enough, only to prove that a few piano notes can make all the difference.
But why does music have such an extraordinary effect on us? And how can filmmakers manipulate something as simple as silence to make an entire cinema audience hold its breath?
Well, it turns out our brains are rather easily persuaded.
May Baciquetto Executive Editor
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Your Brain Is Listening Before You Are
Our relationship with sound goes back much further than cinema. Long before we were sitting comfortably on our sofas watching fictional murderers chase teenagers through forests, our ancestors depended on hearing to detect potential danger. A sudden noise could mean that something was approaching, and reacting quickly could make the difference between survival and becoming someone else's dinner.
That instinct hasn't disappeared simply because we've invented Netflix.
Research has shown that sounds increasing in intensity can activate the amygdala, a part of the brain involved in processing emotionally significant information, including potential threats. In other words, your brain can begin preparing you to respond to a sound before you've had time to work out exactly what caused it. Which explains why you might physically jump at something on screen even though you know perfectly well that you're watching a film.
There's another interesting detail. A 2010 study published in Biology Letters examined the use of unusual acoustic patterns in film soundtracks and found that horror films frequently featured harsh, noisy sounds resembling certain animal distress calls. These sounds, sometimes described as nonlinear, can be difficult to predict and unpleasant to hear. Apparently, filmmakers have discovered that borrowing elements of the sounds animals make when they're distressed is a rather effective way to make an audience uncomfortable.
Lovely, isn't it?
THE BEAUTY OF ABSOLUTELY NOTHING
Of course, sometimes the most effective sound in a horror film is the one that isn't there.
Take A Quiet Place (2018), for example. In a world where making noise can attract deadly creatures, something as ordinary as accidentally dropping an object becomes terrifying. The film makes you pay attention to details you would normally ignore, until you find yourself practically holding your breath alongside the characters.
But here's the interesting part: cinematic silence is rarely completely silent.
Even when a scene feels quiet, sound designers can carefully control the tiny noises that remain. A character's breathing might suddenly become more noticeable, or a distant footstep might seem much closer than it should. Without a soundtrack guiding our emotions, our attention shifts towards whatever we can still hear. And because we don't know what might happen next, those small details begin to feel suspiciously important.
Whispers can be particularly effective. In an ordinary conversation, we associate whispering with privacy or intimacy. In horror, however, a voice that's barely audible can force us to listen more carefully, sometimes making us feel uncomfortably close to whatever is happening on screen.
There's also a technical distinction that I love. Sounds that exist within the world of the film, such as footsteps or a character whispering, are called diegetic sounds. Meanwhile, the dramatic music playing while someone investigates a suspicious basement is usually non-diegetic, meaning the characters themselves can't hear it.
Which, when you think about it, is rather unfortunate for them. Imagine how many horror movie deaths could be avoided if the characters could hear their own ominous background music.
And silence plays a particularly important role in one of horror's most infamous tricks: the jump scare.
You know exactly how it works. The character approaches a door, everything becomes suspiciously quiet, and the camera moves just slowly enough to make you uncomfortable. You've watched enough horror films to recognise the signs, so you prepare yourself for what's coming.
Then a sudden noise interrupts the silence, often accompanied by a sharp musical accent called a stinger, and your body reacts before you've had time to decide whether the frightening image is actually dangerous.
I'm convinced that knowing a jump scare is coming makes absolutely no difference to how much I embarrass myself when it happens.
Not every frightening soundtrack relies on sudden noises, though. Sometimes filmmakers prefer to make us uncomfortable gradually, allowing the music to create an atmosphere that we can't quite explain.
One technique involves dissonance, when musical notes clash or create tension rather than settling into something harmonious. Our ears often expect musical patterns to develop in familiar ways, so when a soundtrack refuses to give us that resolution, it can leave us feeling strangely unsettled.
Then there's infrasound, referring to frequencies below approximately 20 hertz, generally beneath the conventional range of human hearing. At sufficient intensity, these very low frequencies can sometimes be detected or experienced as physical sensations. Researchers have explored their possible effects on discomfort and emotional responses, although the evidence is still developing. The idea that an inaudible frequency can automatically make anyone terrified is much more complicated than certain horror theories would have us believe.
And we shouldn't forget repetition. When filmmakers repeatedly associate a particular sound with danger, audiences begin recognising it as a warning. Eventually, the music itself can be enough to make us nervous, even before anything frightening appears.
Which brings us to some of the most recognisable sounds in cinema history.
NOW, LET'S TRY SOMETHING
Of course, explaining all this is one thing. Actually demonstrating it is considerably more fun.
So, for this article, I decided to try a little experiment of my own. I recorded a video of myself doing perfectly ordinary things, the kind of activities nobody would normally find particularly interesting or frightening, and added horror music in the background.
Nothing about the activities themselves is supposed to be scary. There's no elaborate special effect involved, and I certainly didn't hire a professional horror composer to accompany my daily routine. But with the right soundtrack, even something completely harmless can suddenly feel as though it belongs in the opening minutes of a thriller.
It's important to remember that this isn't a scientific experiment, just a little demonstration of something filmmakers have understood for decades: music can completely change the way we interpret what we're watching.
And after spending so much time researching the psychology of sound, I thought it would be interesting to let you experience that difference for yourself.
So, take a look at the video below. Pay attention to how the music influences what you're expecting to happen, even when there's absolutely no reason to believe anything frightening is coming.
And if you suddenly find yourself feeling suspicious of someone doing something as ordinary as making a cup of tea, congratulations. You've officially experienced the power of horror sound design.
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THE SOUNDS WE'LL NEVER FORGET
Some horror soundtracks have become so iconic that hearing just a few seconds is enough to transport us straight back into the film. And while we might not remember every scene, we certainly remember how those sounds made us feel.
The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad (1949) The Headless Horseman
Now, this one is particularly personal to me. Growing up, I was absolutely terrified of The Headless Horseman, a song performed by Bing Crosby in Disney's animated adaptation of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. And yes, we're talking about a Disney film. Apparently, even children's animation wasn't safe from giving me nightmares. What makes the song so interesting is that it's actually rather catchy, with an almost playful melody accompanying a story about a terrifying headless rider. I remember being genuinely frightened by it as a child, and looking back, I find it fascinating how a song that sounds almost cheerful can make something so disturbing even more memorable. Proof that music doesn't necessarily have to sound frightening to leave a lasting impression.
Psycho (1960) Bernard Herrmann
The infamous shower scene would hardly feel the same without Herrmann's piercing strings. Interestingly, Alfred Hitchcock initially wanted the sequence to have no music. Thankfully, Herrmann had other ideas, and the result became one of the most influential musical moments in horror history.
The Exorcist (1973) Mike Oldfield
The haunting opening of Tubular Bells wasn't originally written for the film, but its use in The Exorcist transformed an existing composition into something audiences would forever associate with supernatural horror. The film's sound effects are equally fascinating, with the production using recordings of real animals to help create its disturbing soundscape.
Jaws (1975) John Williams
Two notes. That's all John Williams needed to make generations of cinema audiences deeply suspicious of the ocean. But here's something that makes this soundtrack even more fascinating: during filming, Steven Spielberg's mechanical shark, affectionately nicknamed Bruce, kept breaking down. With their supposedly terrifying star refusing to cooperate, Spielberg had to find creative ways to suggest the shark's presence without actually showing it. And that's where Williams' music became absolutely essential. As the rhythm grows faster and louder, we instinctively understand that the shark is approaching, even when we can't see it. The soundtrack essentially became the monster itself, turning a rather unfortunate production problem into one of the most effective suspense techniques in cinema history. Not bad for a shark that couldn't even do its job properly.
Halloween (1978) John Carpenter
Carpenter's famous piano theme uses an unusual 5/4 rhythm, creating a repetitive pattern that feels slightly uncomfortable. Inspired by a rhythm his father taught him on the bongos, the melody is remarkably simple, yet instantly recognisable. It's also an excellent example of how a filmmaker working with limited resources can create something unforgettable.
The Shining (1980) Wendy Carlos and Rachel Elkind
Even the beautiful mountain scenery at the beginning of The Shining feels threatening once the music begins. Its opening theme incorporates Dies irae, an ancient melody associated with death, transformed through electronic instrumentation into an ominous warning of what's to come.
Friday the 13th (1980) Harry Manfredini
And finally, those unforgettable whispered sounds: ki-ki-ki, ma-ma-ma. Manfredini created them by recording and processing fragments of the words "kill" and "mommy", giving the unseen killer an unmistakable presence. It's not even a conventional melody, yet horror fans recognise it almost immediately.
What I find particularly interesting about these examples is how differently they approach fear. Some rely on memorable melodies, while others use sounds that barely resemble music at all. Yet each has become such an essential part of its film that imagining the story without it feels almost impossible.
Saw (2004) Charlie Clouser
If you've ever watched Saw, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about. The moment "Hello Zepp" starts playing, you know something enormous is about to be revealed. And here's what makes it even more interesting: composer Charlie Clouser deliberately kept much of the film's soundtrack dark and indistinct, saving the powerful, dramatic melody for its final twist. The result was so effective that the theme became a signature of the entire franchise. Personally, I think it's one of the best examples of music making a plot twist even more unforgettable. You might forget some of the traps, but you'll certainly remember that soundtrack.
The Haunting of Hill House (2018) The Newton Brothers
Now, I might be slightly biased here, because The Haunting of Hill House is, in my opinion, the greatest television series of all time. Yes, ALL TIME. But I have enough to say about that masterpiece to fill an entirely different article, so we'll save that discussion for another day. What makes its opening theme so memorable is how beautifully it combines horror with sadness. Composed by The Newton Brothers, the music feels haunting long before anything frightening appears on screen. There's a melancholy to it that perfectly captures the emotional weight of the Crain family's story, reminding us that horror isn't always about being afraid of what might be hiding in the darkness. Sometimes, it's about the things we carry with us long after the ghosts are gone.
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