History of Horror: Haunted Houses, Part One (2025)

A haunted house (or mansion, hotel, any place of residence really) might be the first thing someone thinks of in regards to a horror movie. With good reason. There’s many iconic horror movies with haunted settings. From The Amityville Horror and The Shining to the Paranormal Activity and Conjuring franchise. It’s a sub-genre (or at least a setting for the supernatural/paranormal sub-genre) with a history worth exploring, consisting of many key films that pushed the genre and the haunted house setting to new heights.

Early Hauntings: 1896–1932

Like the history of any kind art there’s always debate of the “first of its kind” but that label truly could be given to what is often regarded as the first horror film, and that is pioneer French filmmaker Georges Méliès’ short film The House of the Devil (1896) (Le Manoir du diable in French, and also released in the United States as The Haunted Castle and in Britain as The Devil’s Castle). Title and length aside the film incorporates elements that would later become a staple for the haunted house genre — bats, a demon/devil, skeletons and spectres.

Ten years later the story of The Ghost Breaker was brought to Broadway and adapted into films in 1914, 1922 (both of which are now considered lost) and a third in 1940, titled The Ghost Breakers starring Bob Hope. The stories vary in characters and specifics but all center around an heiress of a supposed haunted mansion and the play is described as “farcical” with the second film labeled as horror-comedy; this and the Bob Hope version were likely played for laughs. This type of story, unlikely characters finding themselves in an unlikely place, comedic actors in a serious setting has become a frequent combination for the genre.

The 20s (1928 specifically) also saw two haunted house movies take on setting with a more serious tone. The first of which being the French adaption The Fall of the House of Usher released in October of 1928.

With slight alteration to the original Poe story and characters, filmmaker Jean Epstein (along with co-writer Luis Buñuel who later became known for his avant-garde surrealist films such as The Exterminating Angel (1962) and The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972)) took a surrealistic approach by providing details and characteristics to create a spacious, familiar yet otherworldly setting as noted in film critic Gary Morris’ review,

“…most of the action occurs in a vast, gloomy central space that dwarfs its pathetic human inhabitants. Leaves blow ominously across the floor, and curtains…flutter menacingly, as if the house is under constant, quiet, insidious siege by a vengeful nature.”

The setting doesn’t just stop at the interior, “…the land surrounding the mansion” Morris continues, “is a convincing “blasted heath” of the kind familiar to Poe fans.” One of the more memorable scenes shows a funeral procession making its way across the land with thin spectral like candles superimposed. They slowly but rhythmically carry a coffin underneath gnarled towering trees captured with chaotic camera movements to give the feeling they’re being watched. In addition experimental elements such as ghostly superimposed shots (like that of the candles) are interlaced with the mundane and morbid images. Through its style the film allows the setting to feel alive but simultaneously showcases the decaying state of both it and its occupants.

A film that was just as serious in regards to its setting, but less on the artistic and surreal side of things was The Haunted House released less than a month later. Like The Ghost Breaker it was also based on a stage play of the same name and tells a similar story of a group of heirs who arrive at an old house for the reading of a will. Strange happenings occur leading to the belief the house is haunted as characters uncover sliding panels, hidden rooms, odd attendants and even a mad scientist. It may sound slightly silly but a contemporary review from Variety, appearing in Thrills Untapped: Neglected Horror, Science Fiction and Fantasy Films, 1928–1936 (2018) by Micahel R. Pitts, states the film “played legitimately and with no attempt to get a tongue-in-the cheek laugh. It holds every form of sliding panel and rainstorm mystery material, as did the play, but holds it all with deadly seriousness.” It’s a funhouse of frights and terrors; a story that uses its setting to set up and create scares — something we’ve seen with more recent haunted house movies.

Just four years later a very different type of haunted house film was released. Director James Whale (having made Frankenstein the year prior and helming The Invisible Man the year after) had a distinct style, influenced by German Expressionists cinema, and because of this his vision likely clashed with the studios attempt to make a marketable product out of the sister and gothic The Old Dark House.

The Pre-code film is based on the 1927 novel Benighted and consists of what are now familiar elements of the haunted house story — a stormy night, a group of weary travelers who find themselves invited into a house with odd occupants and a dark secret. Cliche by today’s standards but for its time it felt like one of the first haunted house movies to truly explore its characters and environment of the setting.

The owners of the home are the Femm family. The neurotic Horace (Ernest Thesiger), his prudish sister Rebecca (Eva Moore) and their deformed, mute, alcoholic butler — Morgan (Boris Karloff); all of whom seem even more weird when compared with the ordinary Philip Waverton (Raymond Massey), his wife Margaret (Gloria Stuart) and their friend Roger Penderel (Melvyn Douglas), later joined by the eccentric and talkative Sir William Porterhouse (Charles Laughton) and chorus girl Gladys DuCane Perkins (Lilian Bond).

The absurdity of the situation, the setting and characters is a perfect recipe for a darkly comedic tone. It’s unsure if Whale was aiming for this specific tone as it’s nowhere to be seen in Frankenstein or Invisible Man and a characteristic not present in the novel. In addition to the tone the gathering of a (at the time) recognizable cast was likely the studios input. It’s also likely that American produced horror of wasn’t taken as seriously as European horror (The Fall of the House of Usher, Cabinet of Dr. Caligary, Häxan, Nosferatu) that is outside of the Universal’s Monster movies — the Studio responsible for producing this movie and that comes through with the comedic elements playing as relief. As influential film critic Andrew Sarris explains in his 1968 book The American Cinema: Directors and Directions 1929–1968, Whales’ career “reflects the stylistic ambitions and dramatic disappointments of an expressionist in the studio-controlled Hollywood of the thirties.” Yet Whale’s vision blends well with the material allowing for story and style to never clash.

The way Whale uses the setting to frame his subjects helps elevate the simple story; shots of characters wandering the house, shown to be minuscule against the houses’ large and seemingly endless interior, and strategic shadowy cinematography to not only create a creepy mood but to give the characters and the setting a more menacing appearance.

While it seemed like haunted house movies were beginning to breathe some fresh air into the genre after The Old Dark House, the only other 30s horror movies that could be categorized as haunted house movies were more horror mysteries featuring monsters that happened to be set in a single location. Then came the 40s and 50s and with the exception of the ghostly tale of the 1944 The Uninvited (a film I haven’t seen and don’t feel comfortable commenting on) receiving some praise from critics for its serious tone and dramatic elements (and seeing success at the box office) it was largely overshadowed and forgotten in favor of horror coming in the form of monster movies (a sub genre that I will likely explore further wi its own “horror history post”) — The Wolf Man (1941), Cat People (1942), Godzilla (1954) and Creature From the Black Lagoon the same year and once these started to trend downward around the mid-50s, weird Sci-fi mixed horror and Alien invasions (two other sub-genres worthy of their own post) took their place with films like The Fly (1958) Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1957), The Thing From Another World (1951), The Blob (1958) as well cheap B-horror like Attack of the 50 Foot Woman (1958). This era also saw the birth of Hammer Horror starting with The Curse of Frankenstein (1957). But in 1959 a very peculiar supernatural film by a very peculiar director/producer captured theater goers imaginations and, whether intentional or not, paved the way for new types of haunted house horror.

The Case of William Castle, Roger Corman’s Poe Cycle, and the Psychological Supernatural: 1959–1969

After being influenced by Bela Lugosi’s stage performance of Dracula, William Castle obtained a passion for the horror, writing in his autobiography Step Right Up! I’m Gonna Scare the Pants off America: “I knew then what I wanted to do with my life — I wanted to scare the pants off audiences.” After working various production jobs and directing numerous films of different genres, Castle found success in horror largely due to the use of outrageous gimmicks. Castle incorporated marketing stunts and practical gimmicks in his movies and the theaters they played in to turn his movies into an event, a spectacle, something that everyone would be talking about.

Long before Smile’s marketing campaign went viral, Castle, while employed at a theater in the early 1940s, had hired German actress Ellen Schwanneke. But upon learning of (at the time) theater guild regulations that forbid German-born actors from appearing in plays not originally performed in Germany, Castle, finding a loophole in the system, claimed her hiring was for the (completely fabricated) play Das ist nicht für Kinder (Not for Children), which he then spent a weekend writing and having it translated into German. After Nazi Germany sent Schwanneke an invitation to perform the play in Munich, Castle saw a chance for a shocking publicity stunt, rejection letter (debatably whether it was actually sent) that was released to the press, with the New York Times reporting, “Mr. Castle fired off a cable to Hitler telling him, in effect, to go climb a tree…” and portraying the actress as “the girl who said no to Hitler.” Adding to the shock and sensationalism he vandalized the theater, going as far as painting swastikas on the exterior and although he’d later regret these actions the play was a success.

While none of his other gimmicks quite reached these heights they were just as memorable to audiences. In in his book Crackpot, the Obsessions of John Waters, the cult filmmaker recounts his time seeing Castle’s film, like that of House On Haunted Hill (1959),

“A skeleton with red lighted eye sockets attached to wire floated over the audience in the final moments of some showings of the film to parallel the action on screen when a skeleton rises from a vat of acid and pursues the villainous wife of Vincent Price’s character.”

Once word spread about this spectacle, kids rushed to the theater in hopes of knocking down the skeleton with candy boxes, soda cups, or any other objects at their disposal.

The story itself is a gimmick in a way — a group of people invited to spend a night in a haunted mansion in hopes of winning a cash prize while serving as free entertainment for the wealthy and eccentric host of the evening, Frederick Loren (Vincent Price). Because of this set up the audience is in the same position as these characters — choosing to enter the theater but instead of money hoping to get the thrill that horror movies provide all of us becoming a victim (more or less) to Loren’s and Castle’s tricks. The film isn’t anything groundbreaking as far as cinematography and other technical elements, the acting is good but can be very of its time, although a memorable performance is given by Elisha Cooke Jr. as the homes’ troubled owner.

The production has a play-like quality (appropriate given Castle’s background), the primary setting is a standard haunted house environment, with a unique exterior architecture and spacious shadowy rooms for characters to wander around, and plenty of places for ghosts to hide. And like a lot of haunted house stories, there can be some down time between all the scares that isn’t exactly the most enthralling storytelling. Yet Castle finds other ways to hold audiences’ attention — with props and gimmicks of course.

A decapitated head in a box, a pistol for each character stored in miniature coffins, the aforementioned skeleton (credited as himself), and a witchy looking woman riding around on some contraption to give the appearance of her floating across the floor — each one adding to film’s strange charm. As cheesy it sounds the film delves into dark territory, with the depiction a suicide by hanging being its biggest turning point in the story. And, as I was hinting at before, there’s something self aware and self reflexive about the film. If the characters represent the audience, and vice versa, then that makes Castle Fredrick Loren. Horror fans want to be scared and Castle (and Loren) want to scare, and what better way than to invite audiences into the confines of a supposed haunted house with circus, jack-in-the-box-like tricks waiting for them around every corner.

With colorful and lively set designs, period accurate attire, higher production value, a deadly serious tone and atmosphere, and the collaboration and presence of the always captivating Price, Corman’s Poe adaptations transport us to a specific time and place. As Geoffrey O’Brien rush states in his article, “The House Is the Monster”: Roger Corman’s Poe Cycle:

“All the Poe films function as immersive experiences — you step inside, just like the unwary visitor advancing through swirls of mist toward a somber ancient dwelling on whose door he raps with its heavy knocker, to be drawn into a situation not merely menacing but beyond saving. Every object, every gesture, every phrase spoken, every creaking step and gust of wind, every mirror and artwork has a message, and the message is always the same: the disaster has already happened, the crimes are already committed, the land drained of life by “a plague of evil,” the inhabitants irretrievably traumatized. The horrors of the past cannot be undone; they can only happen again.”

And happen again they do. It’s in this moment the audience find themselves, watching as a pure yet unimaginable evil returns to torment the characters. Being based on short stories the films do occasional stretch the material as much as possible as O’Brien notes House of Usher’s runtime “consists almost entirely of atmosphere — mist, cobwebs, cracked walls, winding stairs, ominous oil paintings…” as the characters interact with each other and the supernatural.

But Corman’s directing, attention to detail and ability to capture an, at times, unseen evil manages to create an inescapable yet hypnotic nightmare like aura. Similar to O’Brien’s above quote, not only does each object or characteristic within the frame have a purpose but each shot, each subtle camera movement and composition perfectly emulates a gloomy air that perhaps Poe couldn’t even have imagined, or the producers.

As O’Brien writes, “When Corman proposed House of Usher to American International’s Samuel Z. Arkoff, Arkoff was troubled by the idea of a horror picture without a monster. Corman, by his own account, replied: “Sam, the house is the monster.” While House of Usher (like that of the original 1928 film) follows the premise of original story it takes artistic liberties (most notable of which is the inclusion of an additional character in of Philip Winthrop (Mark Damon), fiancé of Madeline Usher (Myrna Fahey). This setup gives gives Roderick Usher (Price) motive and urgency against the evil forces at work and it’s that simple idea — “the house is the monster” — that’s felt throughout the film.

The monstrous evil is evident from the very first look at the “House of Usher.” Dark knotted and misshapen trees, which, according to Daniel Eagan’s book America’s Film Legacy: The Authoritative Guide to the Landmark Movies in the National Film Registry (2009) were “trees which had burned in a fire in the Hollywood Hills…” surround the estate like hands jutting out of graves. The house itself, with the typical horror fashion fog lingering lowly, has the appearance of a neglected tombstone. However, an interesting parallel presents itself once we step inside.

The color palette and decor don’t align with the dreary exterior. Crimson and gold often appear and occasionally frame the subjects, fashion and style that symbolizes upper class. It has a warm and welcoming look to it and is occupied by the descents of a wealthy family; how could a place like this contain anything maleficent? An opposite approach was taken for the exterior of iconic and recognizable horror houses such as A Nightmare on Street or more relevant to the topic — Poltergeist; homes that represent a American suburban purity but because of its past, or pasts of its residences, are an open invitation for hauntings.

Similarly, once we become familiar with the house of Usher, the atmosphere of exterior — as its walls begin to crack, and facade falls apart — seems to seep into the interior, into the characters, revealing an evil truth. The house has its literal and metaphorical secrets — a curse, as Roderick sees it, that has plagued the family for generations. Corman takes us deep down into a cellar, shut off by rusted and creaky gates, where past family members line the walls in dusted, cobwebbed laced coffins. Like the original film, it’s evident the house is decaying and the characters trapped inside are decaying with it; both the setting and characters reach their breaking point of being haunted by a family history resulting in film’s tragic conclusion.

It’s clear Corman saw the potential of haunted house films, realized you don’t need a mutant monster to make a compelling horror movie, and saw the opportunity in a story that offered a little more material for a feature length film and was not only able to explore a haunted domain but the effect it has on the town and citizens surrounding it.

The Haunted Palace (1963) is somewhat of an outlier in the cycle as it is the only not based on the writings of Poe and only named after one of his poems. The story comes from H. P. Lovecraft’s The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, and although it shares some similarities to House of Usher (the troubles of a cursed descendant) Corman takes his style and approach (the house is the monster) by further expanding the setting and story beyond an old haunted house and the characters therein.

In 1765, the townsfolk of Arkham, Massachusetts suspect Joseph Curwen (once again Price) of being a Warlock due to unexplained phenomenons surrounding his palace overlooking the town. Captured for his alleged crimes, Joseph curses Arkham before being burned alive. 110 years later Curwen’s great-great grandson, Charles Ward (also Price) and his wife Anne (Debra Paget) inherent the palace. Having been met with some hostility upon their arrival, and learning of deformities that plague the town, the Ward’s nonetheless settling into their new home, only for War to learn of his resemblance of his great, great grandfather and uncover the palace’s past and Curwen’s curse.

As serious as they sound (and could be) Corman’s films naturally aren’t without slight campiness to them but have a balance of the two that give the films their charm. The same year The Haunted Palace was released a contrast of Corman’s style could be seen in the of Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House — The Haunting.

Slow, subtle, and character driven, the film focuses not so much on the house being the main threat but rather the psychological effect of supposed supernatural occurrences. It tells the story of an anthropologist with an interest in psychic phenomena, selecting women to spend time at the supposed haunted “Hill House.” The central character, Eleanor (“Nell” for short) is a lonely eccentric, carrying around the weight of a supernatural event of her past, who, joined by several other characters, witness strange sounds and sights as Eleanor becomes convinced the house is sentient and communicating with her.

The film asks the questions — Is this real, or is this all in her head? It’s all presented through the not so much the story but through the cinematography — with an variety of deep focus, askew and angular shots that expresses a sort of warped perspective of the claustrophobic setting and possible supernatural elements in their relation to the Eleanors’ psyche and emotional state.

The Innocents (also based on a novel) was a film that came out two years prior and took on a similar theme and stylistic approach and while a refreshing installment into the genre wasn’t without the “creepy kid” trope seen in so many horror movies.

The way these two films used their setting pointed at a direction that haunted house movies seemed to be heading — they had something to say and used the house a as means to convey their message. In the same vein of monsters being metaphors, haunted houses can be just the same.

But aside from a string of comedy-horror before The Ghost and Mr. Chicken (1966), Hillbillys in a Haunted House (1967) The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini (1966) starring Boris Karloff, not many horror is a haunted setting were seen during this era. The 70s, like the 50s, saw horror movies of a wide variety — proto-slashers, Giallo, Early body horror Cronenberg films, sci-fi such as the remake of of Invasion of Body Snatchers (1978), Alien (1979), and the blockbuster classic, Jaws (1975). However, during this decade a young man from Long Island murdered his entire family; a tragedy that would inspire a book and film adaptation released at the end of the decade. Through the 80s three more films would take a look at family’s haunted by something, each with their own unique spin.

Stayed tuned for part two.