The 95 Best Horror Movies Ever

Assembling a definitive list of the best horror movies ever made isn't easy. While action spectacles and swooning love stories have universal appeal, horror is innately subjective. What scares one viewer is unlikely to scare another, and a film's most frightening moments aren't always the ones that people think of first.

In addition, with over a century's worth of horror films to choose from, selecting only 95 is nearly impossible. Yet, when you really look at the genre's storied history, the classics are easier to identify than you might originally think. While some cult picks and personal favorites didn't make the cut, that's less of a testament to their quality than it is a comment on the constraints of merit-based classifications. 

At the end of the day, these are the films that'll haunt you long after the credits roll. They are the subversive masterpieces, the horror tentpoles, and the films that restructured an entire genre, altering its trajectory for years. Grab your favorite blanket, dim the lights, and get ready — it's about to get scary.

C'mon, it's "Alien." As fantastic as James Cameron's spectacle-heavy sequel is, its scale and its focus on bombastic action disqualify it from this list. Ridley Scott's original, on the other hand, is another beast; despite Cameron's standout work, "Alien" is still the best movie in the series.

More or less a haunted house movie in space, "Alien" is a monstrous and ferocious enterprise that permanently altered the cinematic landscape. A blend of science fiction and pure, bone-chilling horror, it gave birth to one of the genre's fiercest heroes in Sigourney Weaver's Ellen Ripley and gifted the world the Xenomorph, one of the most terrifying creatures ever conceived. Even after all these years, H.R. Giger's design work remains unmatched. "Alien" didn't just launch a franchise that continues to successfully reinvent itself, and it's not just a masterpiece. It's practically God.

Alex Garland is responsible for some of the 21st century's best genre films. Not only did he pen "28 Days Later," but he wrote "Sunshine," an incredibly underrated science fiction adventure, and directed "Ex Machina," another modern standout. However, his most impactful film is "Annihilation," an adaptation of the first book in Jeff VanderMeer's "Southern Reach Trilogy."

VanderMeer's novel is cryptic, moody, and Lovecraftian, and Garland has the unenviable task of making it all work on film. He doesn't just succeed. With "Annihilation," Garland delivers a legitimate modern horror masterpiece, a movie that takes hold of the audience with the hand of some nocturnal, hybrid monstrosity and never lets go. 

The story is about scientists' efforts to investigate the Shimmer, a mysterious region of the United States where strange creatures and other odd phenomena lurk. Natalie Portman's Lena, a biologist whose husband was the first — and only — person to make it back from the Shimmer alive, leads the latest research team. I won't spoil the surprises they encounter; just be aware that the Shimmer hosts some of the scariest sights ever committed to film. "Annihilation" is a disquieting, disorienting, and all-around terrifying foray into the unknown.

As perfectly observed by Tara in the latest "Scream" film, "The Babadook" is a profound meditation on grief and depression. Largely responsible for the 21st century's preoccupation with so-called "elevated" horror, "The Babadook" eschews conventional scares in favor of probing, deeply uncomfortable explorations of trauma and tragedy.

Amelia (an awards-worthy Essie Davis) is a depressed widow living in Adelaide, a city in Australia. She spends most of her day self-medicating, grieving her late husband, and dealing with her troubled son, Samuel (Noah Wiseman), who exhibits erratic and often violent behavior towards Amelia and the other kids in the neighborhood. One night, Samuel asks Amelia to read him a bedtime story called "Mister Babadook," a terrifying tale about a long, lean, pale human figure with slender fingers and a top hat. 

But the Babadook doesn't remain fictional for long, and Amelia and Samuel are soon haunted by the creature itself. One of this century's scariest movies, "The Babadook" will satisfy both fans of conventional supernatural spook shows and those who prefer more cerebral horror.

"Black Christmas" is the slasher that changed the horror landscape forever, and a perennial holiday watch for genre die-hards and mainstream audiences alike. An urban legend in film form, director Bob Clark of "A Christmas Story" fame adapts the popular "Babysitter and the Man Upstairs" myth in the most terrifying way imaginable: by telling a story about an unknown assailant who breaks into a sorority house and systematically picks off the residents over Christmas break.

Clark trades any sort of narrative rationale for the action for richly-developed characters, a lived-in world, and plot beats that would soon become standard genre tropes. As Jess, Olivia Hussey is a final girl for the ages, and Margot Kidder delivers a cult performance as Barb, the acerbic (and likely bisexual) sorority sister whose mantra seems to be "Chaos for chaos' sake." "Black Christmas" laid the foundation for every slasher that followed, arguably establishing a more successful template for the genre than either "Psycho" or "Peeping Tom." Horror wouldn't be horror without "Black Christmas."

Mario Bava's "Blood and Black Lace" was an inspiration for some of Dario Argento's work. The colloquial master of the giallo genre, Argento only found success on account of Bava. In other words, if Argento is the star, then Bava is the one who started it all. "Blood and Black Lace" is a stylish "Mod Squad" slasher, a sensational, swinging '60s foray into fashion, deception, and murder.

In "Blood andBlack Lace," a killer targets the models at Christian Haute Couture, a Roman fashion house known for its groundbreaking styles and exceptionally beautiful women. The killer, manifesting a trend, is adorned in a fedora, a trenchcoat, and a white, featureless mask, making it difficult for police inspector Ispettore Silvestr (Thomas Reiner) to deduce their identity before no one is left. Full of genuine tension, "Blood and Black Lace" might be less violent than its contemporaries, but it still packs a mean punch, especially for a film made in 1964. It's a fundamental slasher film, and while it's not as well known as "Halloween" and "Black Christmas," it still deserves its spot in history.

When it comes to interrogating, dismantling, and then reassembling horror tropes, nothing has come as close to "Scream" as "The Cabin in the Woods." Ostensibly the story of five very silly, very hot young adults and the horrors they encounter at the titular cabin, director Drew Goddard and co-writer Joss Whedon deliberately deceive the audience, introducing "The Cabin in the Woods" as one type of movie before pulling the rug out from under the viewer, revealing it to be an entirely different beast altogether.

Without ruining the best surprises, suffice it to say that "The Cabin in the Woods" is about considerably more than zombies picking off teens in the wild. It has a wicked, subversive sense of humor, plenty of violence for gore hounds, and a genuinely affecting commentary on not just the horror industry, but horror as a genre. But "The Cabin in the Woods" has plenty of legitimate scares, too. It's not just a love letter to the genre — "The Cabin in the Woods" is as solid a horror experience as it gets.

"Carrie" was the first film adaptation of horror maestro Stephen King's work. That's appropriate, given that "Carrie" was also his first published novel. The story of a telekinetic girl (Sissy Spacek), her abusive zealot mother (Piper Laurie), and a gaggle of mean high school girls (Nancy Allen and P.J. Soles chief among them), "Carrie" remains eternally relevant.

Carrie's torment grows as her powers develop, culminating in the infamous prom massacre, where director Brian De Palma makes gleefully deranged use of split-screen effects as Carrie uses her powers to kill everyone at the high school dance. Packed with genuinely affecting performances (both Spacek and Laurie were nominated for Academy Awards for their work), groundbreaking effects, and the final jump scare to end all final jump scares, "Carrie" is the real deal. Even the lackluster 2013 remake packed a mean punch, serving as a testament to the enduring legacy of "Carrie" as a cautionary tale. Don't bully, kids.

Before "The Conjuring," there was "The Changeling." While the film lacks the new-century intensity of the Warren's franchise-launching adventure, director Peter Medak more than makes up for it with genuine, good old-fashion suspense — and that wheelchair scene.

George C. Scott stars in "The Changeling" as John Russell, a New York City composer who moves to a Victorian mansion in Washington after his wife and daughter are killed in an auto accident. The house has been vacant for a while, and John soon discovers why: As is often the case, the house is haunted. 

However, Medak wisely infuses "The Changeling" with more than just supernatural chills. It's as much a mystery as it is a horror movie, and half the fun comes from piecing together the clues alongside John, who is desperate to understand the haunting and stop it before more people are killed. "The Changeling" is sensationally acted, gorgeously scored, and utterly fantastic to look at.

"The Conjuring" is a modern classic, a movie so profoundly terrifying that it spawned an entire cinematic universe full of supernatural baddies. A classic haunted house story with contemporary verve, "The Conjuring" ostensibly follows the Perron family and their haunted Rhode Island farmstead.

In truth, though, "The Conjuring" franchise is really about real-life ghostbusters Ed and Lorraine Warren (Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga, respectively). "The Conjuring" was prescient enough to fictionalize the Warrens' real lives, rather than simply using their cases as springboards (both "The Amityville Horror" and "The Haunting in Connecticut" are based on actual investigations that the Warrens conducted). In that regard, "The Conjuring" succeeds as a poignant account of love in the face of adversity. Most importantly, though, "The Conjuring" is terrifying. It radically recalibrated our expectations for what haunted houses could be, and cemented itself as the 21st century's horror movie to beat.

Don't worry, director George A. Romero's "Night of the Living Dead" is featured here, too. Not content to make just one history-defining zombie opus, Romero returned to the genre he more or less invented in 1978 with "Dawn of the Dead," a wickedly gruesome deconstruction of consumerism and late '70s capitalism.

A group of survivors fleeing a virus responsible for reanimating the dead comes across a shopping mall and opts to stay. They reason that the mall will make for a perfect sanctuary — it has plenty of food, medicine, and other supplies. Though tense at first, the group manages to make the mall into a sanctuary, drinking themselves into a stupor and living it up in their own slice of paradise, at least until the zombies break in.

A master of tone, Romero ensures that "Dawn of the Dead" incites laughs as often as genuine tension. With some of Tom Savini's best makeup effects and a sensational score from Goblin, "Dawn of the Dead" didn't stay lifeless for long — it's still the de facto zombie epic.

"The Devil's Backbone" is Guillermo del Toro's masterpiece. It's also, arguably, his most personal work. While the film didn't reach the same critical heights as either "Pan's Labyrinth" or "The Shape of Water," "The Devil's Backbone" is a gem, and the movie that best encapsulates del Toro's career.

Carlos (Fernando Tielve) arrives at an orphanage during the middle of the Spanish Civil War. Run by loyalists and frequently targeted by Francisco Franco's troops, rumors say that a large cache of gold is hidden somewhere in the building's walls. Worse still, the boys that live there tell stories about a boy named Santi (Junio Valverde), who went missing after an inert bomb fell in the courtyard, and who still roams the halls as a ghost. Terrifying, heartbreaking, and utterly unique, "The Devil's Backbone" is both quintessential del Toro and quintessential Gothic horror.

Director Neil Marshall makes the list once again with "Dog Soldiers," an early prototype for his eventual success with "The Descent." But this is more than just a training ground. "Dog Soldiers" is sensational in its own right, an early-'00s scare fest with inimitable pacing and frenetic werewolf action.

Following a string of deaths, a squad of six British soldiers are dispatched to the woods as part of a training exercise, unaware of the killings plaguing the Scottish Highlands. Soon, they are assailed by unknown creatures; after retreating to an abandoned cabin in the woods, they discover that their pursuers are werewolves. Fervent violence follows. With a kickass soundtrack, and a smart subversion of werewolf tropes, "Dog Soldiers" is akin to "Aliens," but with wolves. It's also a terrifying and sometimes gut-bustingly funny interrogation of masculinity, ceaseless war, and the monstrous beast that lives in every man.

Deciding between Sam Raimi's "The Evil Dead" and "Evil Dead II" was difficult, but the curious place that "Evil Dead II" occupies in the franchise ultimately rendered it supreme. A sequel spiced with a dollop of a remake, the opening 10 minutes of "Evil Dead II" essentially recap the first film, recreating its plot in truncated form. Ash Williams (Bruce Campbell) and his girlfriend Linda (Denise Bixler) accidentally unleash an ancient evil while on a romantic getaway in the woods by playing a tape containing passages from the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis, aka the Book of the Dead. Poor decisions abound, and Linda turns into a "deadite," a type of demonic zombie. Ash escapes, but not before losing his hand, and ends up possessed. That's when a team of researchers arrive at the cabin, and the carnage begins anew.

"Evil Dead II" follows its predecessor's beats closely. One by one, the newcomers are possessed and killed; only Ash is capable of fending off the deadite invasion. With better pacing, a more assured tone (unlike the first movie, "Evil Dead II" embraces the innate camp of its premise), and a cooler Ash, it supersedes "The Evil Dead" in almost every way. It's ultimately a more accomplished vision, and on account of so closely resembling its forebearer, usurps the original's place here.

"Eyes Without a Face" is a French horror classic. By the time that Hitchcock dominated the American horror scene with "Psycho," the French had already delivered a tour-de-force with 1955's "Diabolique," and 1960's "Eyes Without a Face" kept the streak going strong.

Director Georges Franju's subversive adaptation of Jean Redon's novel follows a plastic surgeon who is desperate to perform a face transplant on his daughter after she is disfigured in an auto accident. The film opens on Alida Valli's Louise, who has ostensibly dumped the body of Doctor Génessier's (Pierre Brasseur) daughter, Christiane (Édith Scob), in the river. It is mere misdirection, however. The real Christiane is alive, and the body belongs to an unnamed woman who Doctor Génessier kidnapped and killed after an unsuccessful attempt to graft her face onto his child's. Though it was controversial when released, "Eyes Without a Face" has overcome its initial reception to emerge as a horror favorite. It continues to influence the genre, and demands to be seen.

The Universal Monsters series is part and parcel of the horror genre. Even among non-genre initiates, the public's perception of horror films is heavily influenced by legacy players like Dracula, the Wolfman, and, of course, Frankenstein's monster. In fact, James Whale's "Frankenstein" is arguably the most accomplished of the original slate of Universal horror films. As worthwhile as "Dracula" and "The Mummy" are, the adaptation of Mary Shelley's seminal work defines the Universal era.

In "Frankenstein," Colin Clive plays Henry Frankenstein (not Victor, as in the source material), a mad scientist who successfully resurrects an assemblage of pilfered body parts, famously brought to life by the inimitable Boris Karloff. A critical and commercial success, "Frankenstein" proved the efficacy of horror as a commercial art form that could be both resoundingly profitable and also as critically engaged as its non-genre peers. "Frankenstein" is a profoundly significant film, as well as a terrifying morality play anchored by an iconic, heartrending monster.

Obviously, there is no "Friday the 13 Part 2" without the original. However, as important as the original "Friday the 13th" is, its impact has more to do with launching a titanic horror movie franchise than any of its individual accomplishments. Although it's suspenseful enough, it's basically a "Halloween" riff set in the woods, only without John Carpenter's controlled suspense and primal scares. It's not bad, and there's a kind of indie charm to the proceedings, but it's merely a starting point for what the franchise is really about: Jason Vorhees.

As Casey Becker from the first "Scream" knows all too well, Jason doesn't debut until "Part 2," and it's a hell of a showing. Working from the same template of the first, the film is almost a quasi-reboot, with a group of horny counselors being systematically picked off at a summer camp. Yet, it distinguishes itself from its predecessor with stronger characterization, gorier kills, a bigger body count, and much more suspense. An iconic, sack-hooded Jason, a fierce final girl Ginny (Amy Steel), and the foundation of the Jason mythos make "Friday the 13th Part 2" the best entry in the franchise.

"Funny Games" is terrifying in its nihilism. Michael Haneke directs this grim foray into the randomness of violence, which follows a family that's held hostage and tortured by two young men who break into their house. A meditation on violence in the media and audiences' demands for more carnage, "Funny Games" delivers exactly what fans ostensibly want, subverting their expectations with a wickedly meta script that constantly rewrites the rules. Nothing is sacred here, with Haneke both leaning into and blowing up conventional tropes. 

Yet, for all the devilish craftsmanship, "Funny Games" is still a horror movie at its core, and a damn scary one at that. Though less mainstream than its American counterparts (e.g., "Scream"), "Funny Games" was no less important in horror's transition from the end of one century to the next. If you're not up for reading subtitles, Haneke also directed a shot-for-shot remake of the film in English, one that is more or less as successful as the original; thankfully, this isn't Van Sant's "Psycho."

Stephen Volk's "Ghostwatch," directed by Lesley Manning, is the little found footage movie that could, if "could" means sending an entire generation of BBC viewers into a panic. First televised on October 31, 1992, "Ghostwatch" achieved the same kind of mythic infamy as Orson Welles' 1938 "War of the Worlds" radio broadcast. More than 30,000 viewers called the network, fearing the program they were watching was real. It wasn't, but Pipes the ghost earned his place in horror history regardless.

Michael Parkinson, a real-life journalist and TV host, introduced audiences to the live crew that was investigating an allegedly haunted house in Northolt. Unfurling both in-studio and on the ground, "Ghostwatch" is patient in how it doles out its scares, favoring atmosphere over all-out jolts. That changes at the end, of course, when "Ghostwatch" gets perversely sinister, unleashing a torrent of terrifying imagery and sound. A favorite among found footage aficionados, "Ghostwatch" is criminally underseen, likely on account of poor distribution over the years, and sensationally scary. It's just a movie, sure, but for an hour-and-a-half, it certainly feels real.

Found-footage horror had an incredibly difficult time in the 2010s. The success of films like "The Blair Witch Project" and "Paranormal Activity" boosted the subgenre into the limelight, and its accessibility and relative cheapness meant that any person — and any studio — could churn out a found-footage movie, make a quick buck, and retreat. As a result, lesser efforts like "Chernobyl Diaries." "The Gallows," and "The Pyramid," not to mention endless "Paranormal Activity" sequels, all but killed found-footage horror in the United States.

In that light, Jung Bum-shik's "Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum" was just the import that we needed. In it, the filmmakers behind a burgeoning horror web series set their sights on the Gonjiam Psychiatric Hospital, an abandoned facility whose director is rumored to have killed all his patients before going missing. As horror characters are wont to do, the crew stages a fake séance that proves real, and soon enough the spirits of Gonjiam are out for revenge. Though it does little to reinvent found footage tropes, "Gonjiam" is scary — really scary — and its consistent frights more than compensate for the familiar plot beats.

John Carpenter's classic needs no introduction. After all, "Halloween" started the slasher craze as modern audiences know it. Although the likes of "Black Christmas," "Psycho," and "Peeping Tom" predate it, "Halloween" is largely responsible for the subgenre's ongoing legacy. Originally titled "The Babysitter Murders," it's a deceptively simple tale about some hedonistic teenagers, a killer in a Captain Kirk mask, and the suffocating tension that results when they mix.

With scream queen Jamie Lee Curtis' film debut as signature final girl Laurie Strode, Carpenter revolutionized the horror genre. The well-worn tropes, the familiar plot beats, and the now-dated cliches that define slashers were all established here. Sex equals death, alcohol is a no-no, and only pure, unbridled virginity ensures survival. Better still, this is where slasher icon Michael Myers was born. The acme of masked killers, Michael Myers is as much a product of the horror genre as he is the horror genre. Even after countless sequels, reboots, and "requels," "Halloween" remains a staple of the genre — it might just be the best horror movie ever made.

"Hellraiser," based on Clive Barker's own novella, "The Hellbound Heart," is gnarly in both tone and appearance, making for a graphic, uncompromising directorial debut. Central to "Hellraiser" is a mythical puzzle box that's responsible for summoning the Cenobites, a group of interdimensional sadomasochists who equate pain with pleasure. Doug Bradley's Pinhead is both the de-facto leader of the Cenobites and the face of the franchise writ large.

The inaugural entry in the long-running series, "Hellraiser" subverts expectations in a way that most mainstream horror of the '80s was afraid to. Julia (Clare Higgins) and her husband Larry (Andrew Robinson) move into brother Frank's (Sean Chapman) house shortly after he's taken by the Cenobites. Frank is resurrected after Larry cuts himself, and Julia, having had an affair with Frank before she married Larry, agrees to help Frank be reborn (he's resurrected as a gooey, skinless shell). So, Julia begins to bring random men home, all of whom she sacrifices to help bring Frank back to life. For his part, Frank is desperate for resurrection, explaining that the Cenobites' realm hosts all kinds of new, carnal pleasures. It's graphic stuff, but "Hellraiser" never devolves into camp. Instead, it's the kind of punk slasher that isn't afraid to explore themes that horror often ignores.

"Hereditary" had the unfortunate luck to be labeled one of the scariest movies ever made after its 2018 premiere at Sundance. It very well might be, but audiences don't like being told what to find frightening, and "Hereditary" received a dismal D+ CinemaScore, a metric that's used to audiences' reactions to new releases over their opening weekends. Luckily, the furor surrounding its debut has subsided, and now almost everyone agrees: "Hereditary" is freaking terrifying.

Toni Collette stars as Annie Graham, a married artist and mother who begins "Hereditary" at her own mother's funeral. It's clear from the way that she eulogizes her mother that their relationship was contentious, predicated on deceit, secrets, and lies. Shortly thereafter, tragedy strikes, and Annie's mental state unravels. Parallels to her own mother's decline take hold, just as supernatural phenomena begin to rock her family's sequestered Utah home. 

Collette is simply incredible, delivering one of the horror genre's all-time best performances. It's ferocious, scary, and empathetic all at once. With "Hereditary," writer-director Ari Aster delivered a modern classic, a notoriously frightening movie that will no doubt go down in history.

Directing duo Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo are still making movies, but years after their debut film, it's becoming clear that they hit their zenith right out the gate. That isn't a bad thing, either, since "Inside" is so assured in its commitment to splayed guts and geysers of blood that it's more than merely triumphant — it's a gonzo gore classic.

Sarah (Alysson Paradis) is an expectant mother who's spending Christmas Eve alone in preparation for her planned delivery the next morning. She's still grieving the loss of her husband months before, and the film's tone is dour from the start. After Sarah passes out on the couch, she is visited by La Femme (Béatrice Dalle). Though unnerving, La Femme doesn't make any explicit threats, content to shroud herself in the darkness outside while chatting with Sarah. Still, Sarah is sufficiently spooked, so she phones the police and goes to bed — but not before La Femme makes her way inside. 

You see, La Femme isn't there arbitrarily. She wants Sarah's baby, and she's going to get it any way she can. Excessively violent, although never to the detriment of its genuine tension, "Inside" is the apex of the French Extremity movement. It's brutal, uncompromising, and aggressively frightening.

Jack Finney's "The Body Snatchers" is one of the scariest novels ever written, and it has served as a springboard for an interminable (in the best way) number of adaptations. There's 1956's "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," 1993's "Body Snatchers," 1998's "The Faculty," 2007's "The Invasion," 2019's "Assimilate," and dozens more. The best of them, though, is Philip Kaufman's 1978 film, "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," a movie that successfully replicates Finney's slow-creeping tension and gooey body horror.

Kaufman's remake retains the original's general conceit — pod people from space are slowly replacing human beings with replicas — but beefs it up with post-Vietnam-era paranoia and biting political undertones. It's hard not to imagine the terror of a complacent populous, one that thinks and acts with a hive mind. It's even scarier when combined with classic horror thrills, including close escapes, car chases, and pursuits across scaffolding. "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" is the de facto sci-fi and horror hybrid, a classic of both genres as well as modern cinema writ large.

Director Andy Muschietti had the herculean task of adapting Stephen King's seminal work for the big screen. After a semi-successful made-for-TV adaptation aired in the 1990s, a contemporary film based on "It" was ostensibly dead-on-arrival for two decades. The attached directors, writers, and stars kept changing, rendering "It" one of those mythic films that are eagerly anticipated but unlikely to ever really happen. Well, against all odds, "It" did happen, and it was a bonafide success. "It," quite frankly, is terrifying.

Colloquially known as "It: Chapter One," this remake delivers in all the right ways. The young cast, which includes the likes of Sophia Lillis, Finn Wolfhard, and Jack Dylan Grazer, is arguably one of the genre's most successful ever. Thanks to "It," these kids skyrocketed to fame overnight, and it was well-deserved. Additionally, as Pennywise the Dancing Clown, Bill Skarsgård wisely creates his own, almost carnivalesque characterization for the antagonist, one that's more Victorian and more sinister than Tim Curry's memorable take. While the sequel is bogged down by the source material, particularly the dense, cosmic origins of Pennywise and Derry, the first chapter is little more than the story of a bunch of kids who fight a homicidal clown. No wonder it's the highest-grossing horror movie of all time.

The legacy of Jaws goes without saying. It's the classic shark movie and the original summer blockbuster, the film that's single-handedly responsible for the annual feeding frenzy of big-budget tentpole releases. Its production is the stuff of legend. It's a movie almost synonymous with, well, the movies. When people think of cinema, there's a good chance they're thinking of "Jaws."

For the one or two who don't know, Steven Spielberg's breakout hit (which is the rare movie to improve on the novel on which it's based) follows a series of great white shark attacks at the summer resort town of Amity Island. As the community panics, police chief Martin Brody (Roy Scheider) vows to hunt down and kill the beast with help from Richard Dreyfuss' marine biologist and Robert Shaw's professional shark hunter. The opening scene alone, which depicts an attack at dusk, is classic stuff, but Spielberg keeps the tension high throughout, showing just enough to sell us on the danger of this marine menace and leaving the rest up to our imaginations. "Jaws" is both the definitive summer movie and the apex predator of killer shark flicks. After watching, you'll never go in the water again.

"Martyrs" is uncompromising in its bleak vision of the worst of the worst. Director Pascal Laugier crafted what some might call a "dare" movie, an hour-and-a-half-long feature filled with such savagery and misery that it can feel like more of an endurance test than a narrative experience. But Laugier is too crafty and too talented for his film to deserve such an uncharitable moniker. Yes, "Martyrs" is hard to watch, but it's also one of this century's most profound meditations on trauma, healing, and the cyclical nature of abuse. Horror is a curative genre, and "Martyrs" hurts in order to heal.

Lucie (Mylène Jampanoï) escapes from a slaughterhouse and is swiftly placed in an orphanage, where she meets Anna (Morjana Alaoui). Almost immediately, it's clear to Anna that Lucie endured considerable abuse, and her trauma manifests as violent night terrors in which Lucie imagines herself being attacked by a vicious, frail woman. 

Years later, the two young women remain friends, and Anna joins Lucie on her quest to confront the family that's responsible for her imprisonment. Much to Anna's terror, Lucie quickly dispatches them — as it turns out, Anna isn't convinced that this seemingly normal family is responsible for Lucie's pain. Well, they are, and the truth of what they're doing is considerably more terrifying than anything Anna could have imagined. Tense, uber-violent, and brutally cathartic, "Martyrs" transcends genre labels. It's art, pure and simple.

Wes Craven came up with the central conceit for "A Nightmare on Elm Street" after reading an article about Hmong refugees who suffered debilitating nightmares and died inexplicably in their sleep. From those accounts, the bogeyman Freddy Krueger was born, a supernatural killer who hunts victims in their dreams. The terror doesn't end with Freddy's prey wakes up, though; if his targets die in their dreams, they're dead for good.

As he would with "Scream" a decade later, writer-director Craven injected new life into the declining slasher genre, ensuring its longevity for years to come. With a supernatural angle that's often alluded to in films like these but rarely fully explored, "A Nightmare on Elm Street" merges the tension and violence of a traditional slasher with the magical realism of an elevated fantasy. Robert Englund's Freddy Krueger was unlike any slasher villain we'd seen before, while distributor New Line Cinema is colloquially known as "The House That Freddy Built" on account of the franchise's financial success. More than a remunerative behemoth, "A Nightmare on Elm Street" is a perennial horror classic.

Horror is defined by black and white classics. What they lack in contemporary thrills, length, and technology, they more than make up for with artistry, technique, and lasting haunts. F.W. Murnau's "Nosferatu" is the preeminent German Expressionist film, a benchmark for both a classic form and the horror genre in general. More than that, Max Schreck's Count Orlok remains one of cinema's best monsters, and arguably the definitive rendition of Stoker's Dracula.

Schreck's Orlok is a vampire who targets his estate agent, Hutter (Gustav von Wangenheim), and his wife (Greta Schröder) after Hutter takes him on as a client. Told through shadows, text, and iconic shots, including a spine-chilling image of Court Orlok ascending a staircase, "Nosferatu" endures to this day. Though Stoker's estate successfully sued the "Nosferatu" filmmakers and all copies of the film were supposed to be destroyed, several prints survived. Today, "Nosferatu" is considered nothing less than a masterpiece of horror cinema. Orlock even scored a cameo in "Spongebob Squarepants" — he's that big of a deal.

Kaneto Shindo's "Onibaba" is full of haunting imagery. In fact, it's almost oppressive in its murky landscapes, which consist largely of fields of ancient Japanese reeds and lonely, sequestered huts. In this historical drama with horror overtones, Nobuko Otowa and Jitsuko Yoshimura star as two unnamed women who routinely kill soldiers and loot their corpses.

The women are torn asunder, though, when Hachi (Kei Satō) returns from the war. Hachi, a friend of Kishi, the older woman's son and the other's husband, is initially treated with apprehension, though Yoshimura's character begins sleeping with him, much to the older woman's chagrin. After leading a lost samurai to his death, the older woman steals his Hannya mask and uses it to terrify her daughter-in-law, eager to end the affair. A dense, dark, and terrifying morality tale, Shindo's "Onibaba" is one of the most stylish horror movies ever made.

Alejandro Amenábar's "The Others" is, perhaps, the template for Bayona's work on "The Orphanage." Though it's never quite as maudlin — or, dare I say, saccharine (in a good way) — as Bayona's film, "The Others" is still an unconventionally felt, tragic ghost story anchored by one of Nicole Kidman's best-ever performances. Much ado is made of the movie's final twist, a rug pull that proved no less influential than Shyamalan's doozy in "The Sixth Sense," but even forgoing the big reveal, "The Others" is a Gothic delight.

Kidman plays Grace Stewart, a woman who lives in a remote manor on the Channel Islands with her two children, Anne (Alakina Mann) and Nicholas (James Bentley), both of whom suffer from an unnamed disease that renders them supremely sensitive to light. As a result, the house is often dark, with the curtains drawn and both children prohibited from playing outside. Before long, Grace hires an odd bunch of new house servants, who are cryptic in both their words and their actions, to help out. As the supernatural occurrences begin to stack up, Grace suspects her house is haunted, and sets about solving the mystery before it's too late for her and her children. 

With memorable frights — "I am your daughter" — and that wallop of a twist, "The Others" revitalized the Gothic haunted house film, demonstrating that new scares can easily be found in old places.

"Psycho" didn't really start the contemporary slasher craze. In truth, that honor lies with Michael Powell's "Peeping Tom." The first movie to place the audience in the killer's point of view — a technique that would later be used in countless slashers, most notably the introduction to John Carpenter's "Halloween" — "Peeping Tom" is a visceral exploration of a murderer's mind, told from a perspective that essentially makes the audience an accomplice to the slaughter.

Carl Boehm is an aspiring filmmaker and bonafide voyeur. He secretly films women, follows them home, and then murders them. The next day, he poses a reporter or some other interested party to further ingratiate himself into the victims' stories. Film legend Martin Scorsese himself has remarked, "I have always felt that 'Peeping Tom' and '8 1/2' say everything that can be said about filmmaking, about the process of dealing with film, the objectivity and subjectivity of it and the confusion between the two." "Peeping Tom" is murder as entertainment, a rich and psychologically dense foray into a terrifying and disturbed mind.

One of the more polarizing features on this list, "Possession" either does or does not work, depending on the viewer's sensibilities. Either way, it's not easy to watch. And yet, Andrzej Żuławski's cult-classic endures as a sort of early '80s "Midsommar" that serves as a cathartic exploration of grief, loss, and love.

The plot of "Possession" is difficult to describe in detail, in part because so much of its appeal comes from letting Żuławski take you on a wild ride through the characters' various secrets and lies. It stars Isabelle Adjani and Sam Neill as a couple in the midst of a divorce, with Neill's Mark soon discovering that Adjani's Anna is up to some weird stuff. Gore, tentacle monsters, murder, doppelgängers, and one of the horror genre's best-ever performances follow. 

It's a lot. Thankfully, Żuławski is unmatched when it comes to layering a veneer of dreamscape over urban settings. While it's bound to be polarizing, "Possession" is an unsung gem that more than earns its place here. In other words, hand yourself over and let "Possession" possess you.

The internet is a scary place. While it might seem very "Okay, boomer" to remark on the way that social media and the internet in general have degraded interpersonal relationships and, almost paradoxically, accelerated individual loneliness, that's true, whether people want to hear it or not. Kiyoshi Kurosawa certainly knows; in 2001, he presciently explored the advent of the internet in expectedly terrifying J-horror fashion with "Pulse," a film that imagines a world where ghosts make use of the internet to creep back into the world of the living.

"Pulse" features parallel storylines and heartrending depictions of sequestered individuals who migrate more and more of their lives online at the expense of those around them. People disappear, cryptic messages are scrawled on walls, and, yes, ghosts exploit the online sphere in order to invade the living world. Unlike the 2006 remake, which quite literally has ghosts crawling out of washing machines, it's considerably more subdued than it sounds, with Kurosawa making use of muted performances and a saturated color palette to bring his central thesis home. Let the dead invade, he seems to be saying — when we spend our lives online, we practically become ghosts anyway.

Stuart Gordon's "Re-Animator" is, without a doubt, the most successful H.P. Lovecraft adaptation ever filmed. Lovecraft's writing is notoriously difficult to adapt. Not only is it incredibly problematic in its depictions of race, but it's also profoundly cosmic in a cryptic, literary way that doesn't translate well to screen. As a result, Gordon had to infuse Lovecraft's serialized short story with humor to make it work. The end result is a deeply personal film; it also has some of the best chaotic gore that the genre has ever seen.

An incredible Jeffrey Combs stars in the film as Herbert West, a medical student fixated on reanimating the dead. The resurrection tonic he's developed does indeed bring the dead back to life, but not without horrific side effects: Basically, everyone comes back as a homicidal monster. Later, West arrives at Miskatonic University in Arkham, Massachusetts (yes, Lovecraft references abound) without having learned a damn thing. Much to the horror of those around him, he continues reanimating the deceased. Gory fun follows, cementing Gordon's status as the superior Lovecraftian filmmaker.

Years later, it's easy to forget just how influential "The Ring" was on early '00s, post-9/11 horror. At the time, horror was already beginning to depend on international releases (see, for example, "High Tension") and overseas scares. "The Ring," though, cemented the trend, all but guaranteeing that a decade of J-horror adaptations, each one desperate to reach the heights of their foreign source material, would follow.

With its now-infamous story of a cursed videotape, a phone call, and just seven days to live, "The Ring" superseded dated horror tropes to deliver an enduring classic. With director Gore Verbinski's distinct, muted color palette, a wickedly smart script from Ehren Kruger, and a truly sensational performance from Naomi Watts as a reporter combatting the VHS-driven curse, "The Ring" remains unmatched. The combination of suggestive suspense and outright horror ensures that its frights hold up, and while some of its hallmarks feel familiar now (especially the little ghost girls), "The Ring" makes use of these elements so successfully that they're practically immune to the passage of time. "The Ring" is a masterpiece with scares so potent that they'll haunt you long after seven days have passed.

"Saw" is ... complicated. Even the first entry, objectively the strongest in the franchise, was released to a mixed critical reception. The response to the series only grew worse from there; even 2021's quasi-reboot, "Spiral," which was designed to revitalize the waning franchise, failed to wow everyone. Still, during the series' heyday, so-called "torture porn" was the horror subgenre du jour, and "Saw" films dominated the box office every October, grossing over $1 billion worldwide. As the tagline went, "If it's Halloween, it must be 'Saw.'"

That mixed reception is likely due to the graphic violence on display, because beneath the severed limbs and blown-up heads, the original "Saw" is a smart, restrained, and genuinely thought-provoking exercise. The first entry, helmed by contemporary horror maestro James Wan, follows two men who have been kidnapped and confined in a bathroom by series antagonist Jigsaw (Tobin Bell), a man who tests his victims' will to live by making them play deadly games. Unlike the torments in some of its imitators, the games in "Saw" can be won. With enough brawn and determination, almost every single one of Jigsaw's victims could theoretically survive their ordeals, cementing the series' central argument that Jigsaw doesn't really kill his victims — they kill themselves. It's a controversial conceit, but it clearly resonates with audiences. For better or worse, Halloween will always belong to "Saw."

Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining" wasn't treated like the classic it is today at its time of release. In 1980, the critical reception to the film was mixed at best, with author Stephen King himself decrying the film, largely on account of its (considerable) deviations from his original novel. Yet, in the time since its debut, "The Shining" has been reappraised, and is now largely considered a foundational horror film, and like every other entry here, one of the scariest movies ever made.

"The Shining" abounds with characters, from Jack Nicholson's Jack Torrance to the Overlook Hotel itself. Yet, it's Shelley Duvall's Wendy Torrance who seals the deal. Like the rest of the film, her performance was once deemed overwrought and bombastic, but is now considered the key to the film; she's the entry point for the audience, with Wendy providing some much-needed empathy and familiarity. Duvall herself has recounted the notoriously difficult, borderline abusive shoot, during which Kubrick pushed her further than necessary to get the performance he desired. Duvall speaks for herself, though. A fierce, fearless performer, Duvall makes "The Shining" the powerhouse that it is.

Logically speaking, "Sinister" is deeply flawed. Brad Miska, writing for Bloody Disgusting, describes it perfectly when he says, "'Sinister' is pretty stupid, but it is also scary. Super scary." In the film, Ethan Hawke plays Ellison Oswalt, a true crime writer desperate for the success he possessed a decade earlier. Resultantly, he moves his family to the site of a grisly massacre. Once there, he runs afoul of Bughuul, an ancient deity that he discovers on old Super 8 footage of several murders.

To a rational person, little of what follows makes much sense. Why does Ellison need to live in a murder house? How is his wife so blithely unaware that it is a murder house? When it becomes clear there was a supernatural component to the killings, why does Ellison act as if it's no big deal? Yet, as dumb as the characters are, Miska is right: "Sinister" is freaking terrifying. Bughuul is a horrific monster, and director Scott Derrickson doesn't hold back at all. The scares come in rapid succession, growing in intensity until the viewer is close to having a catatonic meltdown. It would be nice if the surrounding story was stronger, but with frights this intense, it hardly matters.

"Spoorloos" — or "The Vanishing," as it's known in English — is the tensest Dutch thriller ever made, and concludes with one of the scariest endings ever committed to film. A muted, austere, and matter-of-fact crime story, "Spoorloos" scares with minutiae and the sheer normalcy of its horrific central crime.

Couple Rex (Gene Bervoets) and Saskia (Johanna ter Steege) stop at a rest station for gas while vacationing in France. Rex and Saskia epitomize young love — they even bury two coins at the rest stop to symbolize their commitment. When Saskia runs inside for snacks, Rex waits out front. Only Saskia never returns. Rex frantically searches for her, but to no avail — she's simply gone. The point of view then shifts to sometime earlier to focus on Raymond (Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu), a professor who plans to abduct and murder a young woman. As a stark portrait of a psychopath-in-training, it's the realism that makes "Spoorloos" linger long after the lights have come back up.

Dario Argento appears on this list again. While his strongest film remains up for debate, there's no denying that "Suspiria" is the movie he's best known for. A technicolor nightmare of witches, ballet, and sinister magic, "Suspiria" is unmatched, a movie so inimitable in style and tone that the Luca Guadagnino-helmed remake had no choice but to do something entirely different.  Quite simply, no one can do Argento like Argento.

Jessica Harper stars here as Suzy Bannion, an American dancer who arrives in Germany to study ballet at the prestigious Tanz Dance Akademie. Unbeknownst to her, the academy was founded (and is still run) by witches. A hybrid of a giallo slasher and esoteric magical realism, "Suspiria" raises its own bar as it goes, topping each graphically orchestrated death with another, even stronger display of thoughtfully-crafted savagery. Gorgeous to look at, scored to perfection by progressive rock band Goblin, and amusingly good despite a less than stellar dub, "Suspiria" is a horror hallmark for a reason.

"The Texas Chain Saw Massacre" is a curious beast. Yes, it's a masterpiece, and a film that accomplishes a lot with very little (despite its infamy, there's hardly a drop of blood to be seen in the entire thing). It also feels very much like a one-time deal. The sequels, though fun in their own ridiculous, campy ways, don't come anywhere close to justifying a legacy-driven franchise like "Halloween" or "Friday the 13th." "The Texas Chain Saw Massacre" has a top-tier concept and villain, but it doesn't have the legs of other slasher franchises.

Still, there's no denying the original is a frenzied foray into the bowels of rural Texas and the chainsaw-wielding psychopath who lurks there. With a stripped-down, almost cinema verité approach to the proceedings, at times "The Texas Chain Saw Massacre" almost resembles a snuff film. The violence is blunt and unadorned; the scares simply happen. Director Tobe Hooper's work here is legendary stuff and, alongside "Halloween," helped make the 1970s the decade for horror.

John Carpenter doesn't just have one masterpiece, but several. Alongside "Halloween," Carpenter's remake of "The Thing from Another World" — this time around, shortened to just "The Thing" — is largely considered one of the best genre films ever made, a hybrid of science fiction and horror with enduring appeal. With top-notch practical effects, an intoxicating sense of tension, and some of Carpenter's best directorial choices, this claustrophobic thriller soars.

Kurt Russell stars as R.J. MacReady, a helicopter pilot who, alongside an Antarctic research crew, recovers an alien creature that slowly takes over the crew of the station, possessing their bodies and inhabiting them from within. Paranoia ensues as the crew, desperate to escape, must fight for their lives while contending with the fact that one or several of them are imposters. The strong premise gives way to several standout set pieces (defibrillator, anyone?). While it was poorly received at the time of release, it has since been reassessed not just as a good movie, but one of the best ever made.

The release of "Trick 'r Treat" was a nightmare for horror fans. Despite premiering in 2007, it took nearly two years for the film to arrive on video-on-demand. While such a long wait is usually a death sentence for films, "Trick 'r Treat" defied the odds, immediately becoming a cult classic and a contemporary Halloween staple that demands a yearly re-watch. Besides, anyone who has ever been to a Spirit Halloween store can attest that the film's central antagonist, Sam, is all but the modern ambassador for Halloween.

Told in a quasi-anthology style, "Trick 'r Treat" includes four distinct tales, all of which overlap and influence the others. There are werewolves, zombie children, and serial killers, and Sam, a little guy who wears orange pajamas and a mask made out of a burlap sack, is there for it all. Really, he's the de facto leader of Halloween as he makes the rounds, enforcing the ancient rules of the holiday and taking the lives of those who violate the spirit of the season. "Trick 'r Treat" is ingeniously crafted, funny, and scary when it counts most. It just isn't Halloween without an annual visit from Sam.

This "The Uninvited" is not the remake of "A Tale of Two Sisters" mentioned above, but Lewis Allen's sensational Gothic haunted house chiller. In it, a brother (Ray Milland) and sister (Ruth Hussey) are enchanted by the Windward House, an abandoned home by the sea, while on vacation in Cornwall. However, its curiously low price should be evidence enough the house is haunted.

It is. Soon after moving in, the siblings are plagued by supernatural occurrences, several of which seem to be related to the young woman whose grandfather sold the pair the home. 

The 1940s saw an influx of supernatural horror films, with haunted houses in particular being especially popular. Naturally building on the Gothic paranoia of earlier movies ("Rebecca" and "Laura," for example), these paranormal yarns made the suggestedliteral. "The Univited" is the most successful of the bunch, a movie whose chills are not dulled by the year of the film's release and accompanying censorship efforts. It's a classic haunted house movie with shades of Henry James' work, and it freaking rocks.

Ryan Murphy's "Feud" is a must-watch for fans of Robert Aldrich's psycho biddy masterpiece, "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" A behind-the-scenes dramatization of the real-life feud between "Baby Jane" stars Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, "Feud" adds considerable weight to the subversive terrors on display in the film. Quite simply, the two didn't like one another, and that venom is gorgeously, viscerally present on screen.

Davis plays "Baby Jane" Hudson, a child actor whose career is long over. Once the star of her family, that title now belongs to Blanche (Crawford), an acclaimed actress who no longer lives under her sister's shadow. The two find themselves living together in a large mansion, although Blanche's mobility is limited on account of her wheelchair. When Blanche plans to sell the house, Jane assails her with all manner of violence and psychological abuse, intending to keep Blanche locked away with her forever. 

"What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" is dark, campy, very gay, and scary as hell. Even late in her career, Bette Davis demonstrates why she remains one of Hollywood's most singular actors. Crawford excels too, although her role is less showy. Even without the behind-the-scenes drama, "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" emerges as one of the best horror outings of the 1960s.

"The Witch" was deceptively scary. It was A24's first big foray into horror as a distributor before it began financing films of its own. As expected, the marketing for the film — especially its first trailer — stunned audiences by showing a stark, brutal world where hidden horrors lurk behind each frame. While A24-style horror is almost a genre of its own now, it wasn't at the time, and audiences were frustrated that the scariest bits remained on the periphery for the entirety of the movie, earning "The Witch" a C- Cinemascore.

A family outcast from their religious community sets up a new homestead near the woods, unaware that a sinister presence lives nearby. Contemporary reception aside, "The Witch" is as close to a modern classic as 21st century horror gets. With a stellar lead performance from burgeoning star Anya Taylor-Joy, a painstakingly realized script, and enough suggestive horror to terrify even the most agnostic viewers, "The Witch" is a dark foray into an occult world that feels all too real.