Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about visibility within the horror space as an author, genre conventions and expectations, and what actually makes a horror book linger with its readers. I don’t want my horror sanded down, apologetic, or neatly wrapped up in a beautifully bloody package. I want it raw, aggressive, and deeply uncomfortable.

As a mid-year inventory, here are the four books that have entirely defined my reading landscape so far.

Both Scream and Friday the 13th (two of the biggest horror franchises—and also my favorites) produce that exact moment. But they’re not producing the same one. And I think the difference between them is more useful—for readers, for writers, for anyone trying to understand why horror hits the way it does—and which one is more for them.