Autumn is the Marmite of the seasons; you either love it or hate it. The weather grows colder, the light fades earlier, and the trees shed their leaves until they stand skeletal against the sky. Some of us find it cosy, others utterly depressing, but however you feel, the damp streets and dark clouds give you permission to stay inside, wrap yourself in a blanket, and turn on the TV.

It’s a season made for shutting the door on the outside world and sinking into stories.

As uni kicks into gear again, that urge to retreat grows stronger for some of us. New responsibilities pile up, reading mounts, and essay deadlines loom in the distance. As a master’s student returning to education after five years away, I’m definitely feeling the fear. Getting used to studying and essay writing again is taking some serious adjustment; my academic muscles atrophied long ago.

At overwhelming times like this, it’s natural to seek an escape from reality. For me, and for many other students in October, that escape takes the form of strange and scary media.

Leaning into fear might sound a little counterproductive, but horror and surrealism offer a safe way to face tension and unpredictability. The worlds are absorbing, the scares are temporary, and the danger is ultimately survivable.

You can flirt with dread and uncertainty while staying firmly planted on the sofa, tea in one hand and takeaway in the other.

And there’s no shortage of eerie worlds to explore. Classic slashers like Halloween deliver pure suspense and adrenaline as you watch Michael Myers silently stalk his victims.

Modern psychological horror such as Hereditary lingers long after the credits roll with its mix of graphic gore (that head scene – eugh) and raw explorations of grief. More playful, bizarre films like Beetlejuice and Coraline blend whimsy with the uncanny: in Coraline, the Other Mother’s distorted parallel home lures Coraline in with cosy colours before curdling into menace, while Beetlejuice’s chaotic mansion scenes mix humour with a persistent sense of danger.

Whether blood-soaked or candy-coloured, each story provides a contained thrill, letting viewers distract themselves from the world, process unease, and return to real life feeling steadier.

Surreal media such as Twin Peaks, The X-Files, or even Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland work similarly, but instead of a straightforward scare, they immerse us in worlds that are visually and logically unpredictable, and where reality is unreliable. In Twin Peaks’ Red Room, cryptic backward speech, zig-zag floors, and jerky choreography create an eerie, hypnotic dream.

Similarly, in Wonderland, Alice contends with smoking caterpillars, vanishing cats, and constantly shifting sizes and environments, plunging us into a strange, disorienting land where the unexpected is the only constant.

Navigating these surreal settings sparks curiosity and keeps our minds engaged beyond lectures and essays, letting us step away from our own familiar, logical reality for a while.

So, why exactly do these weird and spooky stories feel so enticing? According to Dr. Coltan Scrivner, a psychologist at Arizona State University, horror and suspense can actually help ease anxiety. In his paper Scaring away anxiety: Therapeutic avenues for horror fiction to enhance treatment for anxiety symptoms (2025), he outlines several ways it can do this.

First, horror immerses viewers in suspenseful stories, serving as a “distraction from rumination or worry”. Second, it shifts anxiety into a controlled environment, giving people a sense of choice over how much fear they experience. If it’s too much, you can simply turn off the TV. Third, horror allows viewers to practice managing fear safely, including the physical sensations that come with it.

Finally, familiar horror tropes offer a “predictable uncertainty,” letting anxious viewers engage with unpredictability in a structured way. In other words, horror media gives us a safe, contained space to confront fear, experiment with how we respond to tension, and ultimately feel more in control of our own responses to stress.

As someone who suffers from anxiety disorder and the occasional bout of seasonal depression, I definitely understand Scrivner’s points. Immersing myself in a bizarre or scary world lets me set aside my own worries for a little while and just focus. It may not be the most conventional method of therapy, but it’s oddly restorative, all things considered.

So, with Halloween fast approaching, I urge you to sit down, forget your coursework for a few hours, and pop on something scary or strange.

It might just help you feel braver, calmer, and more ready to face darkening days and looming deadlines alike.

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