/Answers: Our Favorite Horror Movie Jump Scares

A sequel to The Exorcist seems like a bad idea, and Exorcist II: The Heretic was just that – bad. Yet there was still some fire left in the franchise, as evident by the surprisingly great The Exorcist III. Original Exorcist author William Peter Blatty stepped in to direct the third film in the franchise, an adaptation of his novel Legion. The film follows Lt. Kinderman (George C. Scott), the cop from the first film, as he deals with a serial killer who has the power to jump out of his body and possess others to do his evil bidding. It sounds kind of silly, but it's actually one of the most effective horror sequels ever made. And it also contains perhaps the best jump scare of all time.

Jump scares can be cheap things – quick, pointless moments that shock but then quickly fade from memory. The jump scare in Exorcist III is different. Blatty keeps the camera at a fixed position, far away from the action. A nurse (Tracy Thorne) is going about her rounds late one night at a mostly empty hospital. She moves from one room to the next then back to the nurse's station. Modern horror films would keep building this moment up with dramatic, spooky music, but Blatty keeps it silent, which somehow makes it all the more unnerving. We know something bad is going to happen, but we're not sure what. The nurse checks another room, shuts the door, turns her back and begins to move. In a flash, a figure dressed as a nun in flowing robes comes flying out of the room the nurse just looked in, brandishing a huge pair of surgical shears aimed right at the back of the nurse's neck. Now, at last, Blatty moves the camera in for a zoom as a musical sting blasts out, and the shot quickly cuts to a decapitated statue of Jesus. Without seeing a single drop of blood spilled on screen, we know the terrible fate that befell the poor nurse. Through this subtle editing, the scare has burned itself into our brains; it won't be fading away any time soon.

If I'm ever by myself at a house during the night and walking by an oversized window, this scene comes to mind. Every time. It's a perfect jump scare that leaves a mark. It's also a jump scare that earns shock and terror without a loud noise or a blaring piece of music or sound FX. The buildup to the ghostly Peter Quint's big hello is masterful. The young actors – Martin Stephens and Pamela Franklin – were perfectly cast, and their laughs, demeanor, and everything about them (and that music) creates unease. There's something sinister and mischievous about the music that readies you for something awful. When Miss Giddens enters the large room, the abrupt silence creates instant tension. Director Jack Clayton gives this big scare an equally unnerving buildup and pay-off.

There's so much I love about this scare: Kerr's genuine reaction of terror, Quint's chilling stillness, the close-up of Kerr when he arrives in the background, the deep shadow of darkness the ghost casts, the reflection of Mrs. Grose, and so much more. "He was staring past me into the house as if he was hunting someone," Giddens says. Even the character's description of the jump scare and Qunt is fantastic.

Not all "jump scares" are created equal. In the worst – and most frequent – cases, filmmakers fail to introduce organic terror before going the route of 1,000 cheap jabs (cat jumps into frame, face pops out of nowhere, etc). Effective horror earns the right to hit us with a quickie jump scares and scatters them sparingly; devilish injections that manipulate time, pacing and safety. A title like [REC] minimizes the frequency of outright jumps – especially for found footage – yet when utilized, fear penetrates any sense of laziness. Danger from left field, supplemental to thematic tension or already heightened dread.

In one particular scene, only Ángela Vidal (Manuela Velasco) and her cameraman Pablo remain living (we assume). They reach Father Alberta's penthouse, discover the Niña Medeiros origin, and just as they begin searching for a way out – WHAM! An attic hatch in Alberta's "workshop" flies open. The perfect "DON'T GO UP THERE" moment. Even Pablo knows this – so he doesn't go up. He uses the camera, AKA us, to investigate what may be scurrying above. "I'll record what's up there and we can look at it." Right. Fuck you, Pablo.

The camera periscopes, and slowly starts rotating 360 degrees. Our hearts increase thumpage, knowing that any opportunistic filmmaker is about to throw a nasty genre punch. The camera keeps spinning, almost hitting a full turn. We begin to think "maybe there's nothing up here," which is exactly when a small "infected" child lunges at the camera for a PERFECT scream. Directors Jaume Balagueró and Paco Plaza know exactly how to toy with our fears, pushing us to the brink of discomfort while squeezing every last drop of horror from their leap-out-of-your-seat scare.

I've seen [REC] some 10 times over and that moment still puckers my unmentionables. Take note, movies-that-do-lame-crap-like-

end-with-something-lunging-at-

the-camera (except you Paranormal Activity, you'll always be perfect to me).

What is scary? Haunted houses. What is scarier? Basements and cellars in said haunted houses? What is scariest? Being locked in said basement of said haunted house in the pitch darkness. Just add a creepy child's voice and some clapping ghost hands and you have a recipe for a heart attack. The Conjuring is arguably one of the best horror films of the last 20 years, so successful in its story and characters, that the fear was made worse by sympathetic proxy. I first saw The Conjuring at a German movie theater, and as it turns out, fear is a universal language. This film so masterfully pulls off the age old jump scare, that I was nervous to write this. Merely thinking about those hands and that clap sends a chill down my spine, and no matter how many times I watch this movie, I always jump.

Harkening back to the early days of horror movies, the set-up to the scare is simple. You know something is about to happened. A strange noise in the night draws Carolyn (Lili Taylor) out of bed. She hears kids running around playing a game, but her own children are asleep. The noises lead Carolyn downstairs. Tension is building. Something is about to happen. The creepy basement door opens on its own with a creak (classic), followed by a literal "dun dun duuuuunnn" being played out on an out of tune piano down below (this should be cheesy but it isn't). It has been quiet for too long. You have now resigned yourself to the fact that you are about to jump. You hold your popcorn steady and you prepare your heart for inevitable arrhythmia. She turns the light on in the basement, your ears fill with the familiar high-pitched tones (right on cue).

Quickly, things go from tense to terrifying. Carolyn yells down towards the noise, "Whoever's down there, I am going to lock you in now!" Boom. The door slams in her face, sending her tumbling to the cellar floor. Was that the jump scare? You are still tense. But why? It's quiet. You realize that it isn't over. A creepy ball rolls across the floor. The music intensifies. The light goes out. You hear a child's laughter. Carolyn is trapped in the dark, lighting match after match for some sort of salvation. The music is replaced with her shaky breaths. "Hey wanna play hide and clap?" Silence. Fear. Two ghostly grey hands. Clap. Clap. 

OH. MY. GOD. 

It's no secret that I haven't watched a lot of horror movies. And since I used one of my few jump scare experiences on a previous /Answer on Scary Movie Scenes, I was kind of at a loss for this /Answer. Not wanting to go down the rabbit hole of horror movie YouTube clips, I wracked my brain all day and finally settled on that one time Lord of the Rings gave me one of the biggest jump scares I'd seen in a movie theater. Don't tell me you didn't yelp a bit, too.

The scene arrives midway through Peter Jackson's epic fantasy film, when the fellowship seems to have finally found sanctuary at the Elven town of Rivendell after days of horror and hardship. The film's gritty tone had returned to the comfort and soft greenery that Hobbiton introduced us to at the beginning of the journey. Then it's revealed that the aging Bilbo Baggins, who had departed Hobbiton for one last adventure before his death, is living there. Bilbo's presence and Rivendell's warm mysticism lulls the audience, and you and me, into complacency as Bilbo bestows Frodo with weapons and tokens from his own journey. And then the most terrifying thing that has ever happened in an epic fantasy movie takes place: Bilbo catches a glimpse of the Ring hanging around Frodo's neck and is suddenly possessed by a greed for it, his eyes becoming sunken holes and his teeth becoming fangs. It takes place over a split second, but I still remember the trauma I felt watching it to this day. Bilbo's moment of madness is the point where the evil became real — more so than the gaping eye of Sauron, and even more than the Ringwraiths that stalk Frodo and the fellowship. There is nothing more terrifying than a gentle, affable old man suddenly turn into the monster he escaped from.