Lately, I’ve been realizing something about the stories I gravitate toward — they’re not always the ones that make me jump, but the ones that make me feel.

I’ve been reading a lot of what I like to call emotional horror — stories that linger, that haunt through empathy instead of monsters. Books where the scariest thing isn’t the ghost in the corner, but the grief we haven’t made peace with, or the silence between people who love each other but can’t quite say it.

The Kind of Horror That Hurts (in a Good Way)

I used to think horror was only about fear. But emotional horror taught me that fear wears many faces — guilt, loss, shame, regret. Those are the things that crawl under your skin and stay.

Books like Bochica have this beautiful tension — spiritual dread mixed with moral reflection. The haunting isn’t just supernatural; it’s internal. The Haunting of Hill House does the same thing — the house becomes a mirror of the characters’ loneliness. And of course, The Ordinary Bruja was born from that same place in me — where horror becomes a language for grief.

Emotional horror says:
“You’re not afraid of the dark — you’re afraid of what you’ll see when the lights come back on.”

Why These Stories Feel Like Home

I think I’m drawn to this genre because it mirrors the way I process emotions. When something hurts, I can’t always cry it out or talk it through. I write it. I build a world where the emotion has a name — even if that name is a ghost, or a curse, or a woman trying to survive herself.

That’s what I find so cathartic about emotional horror: it gives form to the things we can’t articulate. The sadness, the trauma, the yearning — they become characters. They become visible.

What I’m Reading Now: Salt Bones by Jennifer Givhan

Right now, I’m reading Salt Bones by Jennifer Givhan, and it’s the kind of book that feels written for readers like me — those who find beauty in the unsettling.

Givhan blends the lyrical with the eerie, the sacred with the profane. Her work has always lived between worlds — much like mine — exploring faith, trauma, womanhood, and the ghosts that never quite leave. Salt Bones isn’t traditional horror; it’s psychological, spiritual, and emotional all at once.

It’s about the hauntings we inherit — the ones tied to our families, our cultures, and our own bodies. It reminds me that horror doesn’t have to scream to be powerful. Sometimes it just breathes beside you while you read.

If you loved The Ordinary Bruja or stories that braid faith with fear and tenderness, Salt Bones belongs on your list.

The Ordinary Bruja Lives in That Space

Marisol’s story, at its core, is emotional horror wrapped in magical realism. It’s not about gore or shock — it’s about confronting what haunts you.
The ghosts in her world aren’t just spirits; they’re insecurities, inherited shame, grief passed down like an heirloom.

That’s why I think so many of us find solace in this kind of storytelling. It whispers, you’re not crazy for feeling deeply — you’re just haunted by being human.

What’s Next on My Reading List

Once I am done with Salt Bones I will be reading The Posession of Alba Diaz. You can follow along. Or if you want to sink into this same energy, here are a few books I recommend for your own emotional haunting session:

• The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson — the original “feel something and then question everything” horror classic.
• Bochica by James Montaño — a lyrical, haunting exploration of faith, power, and colonial echoes.
• Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia — lush, eerie, and feminist as hell.
• The Ordinary Bruja by Johanny Ortega — (yes, my own, because this one carries my ghosts, too).

My Takeaway

Maybe emotional horror is so powerful because it lets us face what we’ve buried.
Not to scare ourselves — but to recognize ourselves.

And when the book ends, when the ghosts quiet, what’s left isn’t fear.
It’s empathy.