Horror Books for Children: Embracing the Shadows

David Salariya
Sep 3
6 min read

Updated: Oct 16

Every childhood library has its shadows. Among the picture books and adventures sits horror—a genre that whispers from the dark corners of the shelf, daring us to turn the page. Horror for children isn’t about cheap scares; it’s about learning courage, empathy, and the thrill of survival. I still remember as a child the torchlight flickering, reading, the night air thick with possibility, and the delicious fear of not knowing what waited in the next sentence.

Book cover of ghost stories "Shivers" By John Townsend — Shivers: Ghost Stories John Townsend 10 Bad and Dangerous Ghost Stories

Ghost and Horror Tales

I created, designed, and commissioned four volumes of ghost and horror tales from the author John Townsend, each packed with ten spooky, creepy, funny, and slightly gruesome short stories. From cursed skulls and creepy clowns to haunted hostels, these collections—illustrated in high contrast lino-cut style by Isobel Lundie—have entertained and tested the imaginations of a new generation of young readers. They’re perfect bedside books or campfire reads, cementing the notion that fear can be fun when it’s safely contained and lovingly told.

I see a wonderful resurgence: children’s horror reimagined as an emotionally intelligent, artful, life-affirming genre. Whether it's a spine-tingling short story in Townsend’s collections or the psychologically rich monsters in the new Gloam by Jack McKay, these books share a mission: to give children the words, the tools, and the courage to navigate their own, sometimes scary, world.

So, join me as we explore why horror—done well—deserves its place on every child’s bookshelf.

Horror is not about darkness for its own sake - it’s about learning how to find a torch and shine it.

The Importance of Horror in Children's Literature

We live in a world that often feels frightening. The headlines, the climate, the undercurrents of uncertainty, and yet when it comes to what children read, we sometimes flinch at offering them books that contain fear, peril, or unease. We instinctively reach for comfort, joy, and hope.

But there’s a reason why Goosebumps by R.L. Stine sold over 400 million copies. There’s a reason why Neil Gaiman’s Coraline is still talked about in playgrounds two decades after publication. There’s a reason why Jack Mackay’s new debut Gloam (Rock the Boat, August 2025) is being called one of the biggest middle-grade releases of the year—already sold to the US, France, Italy, and more.

It’s because horror works for children. In fact, I’d argue that it’s not only good for reading—it’s essential for emotional growth.

Horror Gives Children a Safe Way to Experience Fear

The classroom, the playground, and even home life are not always safe spaces, emotionally speaking. Children experience anxiety, uncertainty, and grief just as adults do—but they rarely have the vocabulary to describe what’s happening inside them. Horror stories—especially well-crafted ones for readers aged 9 to 12—offer something profound: a safe container for fear. A fictional playground in which terrifying things can happen… and still be overcome.

Jack Mackay puts it perfectly:

It’s the best place to talk about things that exist in the world and that a lot of kids experience, but don’t have the tools to understand.

In Gloam, the monsters aren't just monsters. They're the embodiment of grief, identity anxiety, and the fear of growing up. Mackay’s young heroine Gwen faces a nightmare world where her childhood is literally decaying around her—mouldy toys, blurred photographs, and a creature that eerily mirrors someone she knows. This is metaphor made visible. For a young reader going through their own losses or fears, it’s a powerful, affirming message: you are not alone in the dark.

The Rise—and Fall—and Rise Again—of Children's Horror

Let’s rewind to the 1990s. R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps was a publishing juggernaut. Scholastic pumped them out like penny dreadfuls, and children devoured them. Were they literary? Not particularly. Did they teach sentence structure? Maybe not. But did they make children read under the covers with a torch, voluntarily, night after night? Yes. And that’s a victory for literacy.

The horror boom of the ’90s created a whole generation of readers who felt that books were thrilling, dangerous, and even a bit forbidden. Yet, in the decades since, children's horror has often been treated with suspicion by gatekeepers. Too scary. Too disturbing. Too... difficult to classify.

But the tide is turning again. Coraline, The Graveyard Book, Small Spaces, The Nest, and now Gloam—these are works of art, using fear not to traumatise, but to build resilience, insight, and empathy.

Horror Improves Emotional Literacy and Resilience

When a child reads a horror story, they encounter characters in impossible situations—characters who are scared, unsure, and endangered. They watch those characters make decisions, adapt, and grow. That’s not just reading. That’s rehearsal for real life.

Psychologically, horror stories can help children:

Name their fears.
Understand the difference between real and imagined danger.
Recognise power dynamics (as in Gloam’s chilling babysitter, Esme).
Develop empathy and intuition.
Feel less alone in their experiences.

The real trick? Horror lets children be frightened in a way they control. They can shut the book. They can skip ahead. But they don’t want to—because they want to know if the character makes it. In most children’s horror, the character does. That’s what makes it different from adult horror. It’s not nihilistic. It’s defiant.

Horror Creates Passionate Readers

Do you want children who read for pleasure? Who beg for the next book in the series? Who seek out authors, fan art, and discussions about plot theories? Horror does that.

Goosebumps created thousands of obsessive readers. So did Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, Point Horror, and More Bloody Horowitz. Now, Gloam has the potential to do the same—especially given that Mackay wrote it for his younger sister, testing the scenes on his siblings, pitching it just above the comfort zone but below the trauma line. That’s the golden place where magic happens.

Don’t Flinch. Let Them Read the Scary Stuff.

As a writer, illustrator, and lifelong advocate for children’s books, I say this with conviction: we must stop treating horror like a guilty pleasure in children’s reading. Done well, it’s not sensationalist or gratuitous. It’s thoughtful, emotional, and even healing.

As Mackay says:

“Just because it’s horror and it’s scary and intense doesn’t mean that it can’t be life-affirming. It can be full of love and joy and show a real passion for life.”

Fear and joy are not opposites. In fact, in childhood, they often arrive hand-in-hand. If we allow space for both in the stories we give to children, we’ll not only create better readers—we’ll create stronger, more emotionally literate humans.