The Horror of Losing Control: Why Loss of Agency Terrifies Us More Than Death

If death frightens the body, loss of agency frightens the soul. It asks a question no one asks: if something takes over your voice, your choices, your memories, are you still you?

Every scream in horror is a protest against that silence, a last attempt to reassert the self. We’re not afraid of dying. We’re afraid of being erased while still breathing.

The Horror of Losing Control: Why Loss of Agency Terrifies Us More Than Death by Alex Hunter

In The Exorcist, the most chilling moment for me isn’t the spinning head or the bit with the crucifix, it’s when Regan’s mother realises she can’t reach her daughter anymore. In Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of The Shining, Jack Torrance doesn’t die when he freezes in the maze; he’s already gone, replaced by whatever’s steering the axe. Death ends the story. The horror comes from loss of control. 

That’s a fear that crawls under the skin. The idea of being awake and aware while something else starts making the choices for us. 

As a child I was sent to boarding school. Any agency I might have had was stripped away. We were told when to get up, what to eat, when to take a shower. And I’ve never forgotten cross-country runs at 07:00 on Sundays.  I was trapped in a permanent state of fear. 

Horror understands that what we dread isn’t non-existence but loss of the self. We build our identities on the belief that our thoughts are our own, our bodies our own, our voices our own. Take away that autonomy and we’re just passengers trapped in our own skulls.

Real life feeds this fear. 

Anyone who’s watched a loved one slip into dementia or addiction knows the helpless horror of seeing agency erode. Technology offers its own version: algorithms predicting our desires, phones buzzing with impulses we didn’t choose. Horror doesn’t create these anxieties; it mirrors them back at us and forces us to look.

The genre has found endless metaphors for that erasure. Possession stories externalise it: the demon, parasite, or puppet master taking the wheel. Body horror pushes it into flesh. In The Thing or The Fly, identity literally tears itself apart. Haunted-house fiction traps characters in spaces that feed on emotion, twisting their agency until they’re acting out the building’s will. Slashers give us control inverted: one figure of absolute will cutting through victims who don’t have a choice.

When I write, I keep circling that same moment: the point where reason collapses and something older and hungrier moves in. My characters often believe that intellect or procedure will save them. A solicitor catalogues a cursed estate, a podcaster dissects a haunting, a teacher analyses folklore. They try to master the unknown until it masters them. 

Why is this worse than dying? Because death provides closure. Loss of agency blurs every line between victim and monster, will and compulsion, love and possession. It’s what makes Hereditary scary: the recognition that grief can hollow us out until something else wears our faces. It’s why folk horror thrives; surrender to nature, or a cult, destroys individuality far more than the grave.

If death frightens the body, loss of agency frightens the soul. It asks a question no one asks: if something takes over your voice, your choices, your memories, are you still you?

Every scream in horror is a protest against that silence, a last attempt to reassert the self. We’re not afraid of dying. We’re afraid of being erased while still breathing.

Further reading

A Word About Trauma by Alex Hunter

The Harvest by Alex Hunter

Maxy Awards 2025 Runner-Up: Horror & Suspense

“Hunter weaves a tale that has the “modern horror fairytale” feel of books like Coraline or IT, while weaving in mature topics that add weight to the narrative. His exploration of grief, found family, and the search for purpose create some truly hard-hitting moments. I was thoroughly rapt by this novel.” -Carlos E. Rivera, author of The Local Truth, Blackout, and A Hole in the World

Something is coming for the children.

Tim Waverly, a young teacher, escapes London’s spiralling housing costs by becoming a live-in caretaker at an abandoned orphanage. But his arrival triggers a series of frightening events.

An ancient evil has awakened. A new Harvest has begun.

As Tim and those around him become engulfed in a dark nightmare, he is forced to confront his deepest fears in order to save countless innocent lives.

The Harvest is a work of terrifying imagination from a new voice in horror. Both frightening and deeply moving, Alex Hunter’s debut novel will linger long after you turn the final page.

Alex Hunter

Alex Hunter was the first child in his school year to be given an adult library card. He borrowed ‘The Rats’ by James Herbert and began to dream of giving other people nightmares. 

His debut novel, ‘The Harvest’, was published in January 2025 (Black Rose Writing), a producer and screenwriter are currently working on a potential adaptation. His second novel is due for publication in 2026.

His short stories have been published in numerous anthologies. 

Alex is a member of the Horror Writers Association and lives in the UK with his husband.

http://www.alexhunterhorror.com

Insta: alexhunterwrites

Horror Features on Ginger Nuts of Horror

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