You know what makes horror truly terrifying? It's not the monster lurking in the shadows—it's the fact that the monster could absolutely wreck you in a fair fight. And honey, horror is rarely fair.

Picture this: our cave-dwelling ancestors huddled around fires, swapping stories about their day. These tales probably fell into three categories that still dominate storytelling today: hunting for dinner (action/adventure), hunting for a mate (hello, romance!), and trying not to become dinner ourselves (horror). Back then, we weren't exactly apex predators. We were more like "hopefully not today's lunch special" for saber-toothed cats who were stronger, faster, and came equipped with built-in weapons we definitely lacked.

Fast-forward to modern times, and we've gotten cocky. Movies about animals hunting humans now land in action or thriller territory; think Jaws or The Ghost and the Darkness. We feel pretty confident about conquering nature on land, but throw us in the ocean and suddenly we remember we're just squishy meat bags with delusions of grandeur.

Now, about why horror protagonists are usually women, and before anyone starts yelling about sexism, hear me out. Strip away all the weapons and technology, and let's be honest: most women are going to be at a physical disadvantage in a life-or-death situation. This does two brilliant things for storytelling: it maximizes that crucial ability gap between hero and monster, and it makes us root harder for the underdog. Because at its core, horror is about finding hope when everything's gone to hell.

Consider Alien versus Predator. In Predator, you've got Arnold and his muscle-bound special forces team facing off against an alien hunter. Sure, there's a capability gap, but these guys can fight back. It's more sci-fi adventure than pure horror. But Alien? That's a blue-collar crew of space truckers facing something none of them are remotely equipped to handle. Ripley survives because when brains matter more than brawn, she's got what it takes when no one else does (in fact everybody ignores her until it’s too late).

Here's something else I've noticed as someone who writes about women in extraordinary (and often terrifying) situations: women live with a different kind of baseline fear. We think about sexual assault, abusive partners, walking alone at night—things most men don't have to constantly factor into their daily calculations. While men might statistically face more violent crime, that constant low-level anxiety? That's our specialty.

Movies like Halloween tap into this perfectly. They understand that for many women, horror isn't just entertainment. It's Tuesday.

But here's what I love about the genre: horror actually treats women sympathetically and lets them triumph over victimhood. In my own work I'm always exploring that same dynamic: how do you find power when everything's stacked against you? That's why I write what I write. Because sometimes the most terrifying situations lead to the most empowering victories. And honestly? That's worth celebrating.