People want a story - and my horror films have never been about

“People want a story – and my horror films have never been about only ghosts and spirits. They have their share of love, hatred, jealousy and complexity of relationships involved.” So spoke Vikram Bhatt, the weaver of shadows and light, whose craft lies not merely in conjuring fear, but in binding it with the deeper truths of the human heart. His words remind us of a truth as old as storytelling itself: that no tale endures unless it carries within it the pulse of human emotion. The phantom may startle, the spirit may terrify, but it is love, hatred, jealousy, and the complexity of relationships that bind the audience to the tale, as iron binds the sword.

For man does not live on fear alone. The thrill of the unknown fades, the terror of the dark passes, but what remains etched upon the soul is the drama of human hearts entangled. The ancients knew this well. The tragedies of Sophocles were not remembered because of the plague upon Thebes, but because of the anguish of Oedipus discovering his own fate. The epics of Valmiki and Homer endure not for their battles with demons alone, but for the eternal struggles of love, loyalty, betrayal, and hope. Thus Bhatt, though a maker of modern horror, stands in the long lineage of storytellers who understand that the true ghost that haunts us is the human soul itself.

The essence of Bhatt’s insight is that story is the vessel of truth. A tale empty of human struggle is but a shell, soon forgotten. But when ghosts and spirits walk alongside lovers torn apart, families broken by envy, or friends betrayed by jealousy, the tale pierces deeper. Fear becomes more than a scream—it becomes a mirror. In horror, we confront not only the supernatural but the shadows within ourselves. This is why people hunger for stories, and why a horror film filled with human emotions lingers far longer than one filled with apparitions alone.

Consider the story of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. At its surface, it is a tale of a monster stitched together from the dead. But its enduring power lies not in the grotesque image of the creature, but in the loneliness that burns within him, the arrogance of the creator, the rejection, the longing for love, and the vengeance born of pain. It is not merely horror, but the complexity of relationships that gives the tale its immortal force. Had it been only a story of terror, it would have vanished like smoke. But because it was woven with love, jealousy, and the ache of the human heart, it stands eternal.

Bhatt’s words, then, remind us that in every art, whether film, literature, or music, the audience seeks the story. Fear may capture attention, spectacle may dazzle the eyes, but it is the inner truth—the struggles of love and hatred, the bonds of friendship and betrayal—that truly capture the soul. The artist who forgets this creates works that fade; the one who remembers builds works that endure. For at the core of every human heart is the hunger to see itself reflected, even in the darkest of tales.

What lesson, then, shall we draw? It is this: whether you tell stories, raise children, lead people, or live your own life, do not be content with surfaces. Go deeper. Do not speak only of shadows, but of the souls that cast them. Do not live only for spectacle, but for truth. When you create, weave into it the fabric of human struggle; when you live, remember that fear and joy are but threads in the greater tapestry of relationships and love.

So let us carry Vikram Bhatt’s wisdom as a guiding light: “People want a story... not only ghosts and spirits, but love, hatred, jealousy, and complexity of relationships.” For in truth, all of life is such a story—woven of fear and hope, pain and love, weakness and greatness. And those who embrace this complexity will not only tell better stories, but live fuller lives, lives that echo in the hearts of those who come after.