Why Small Towns Make the Best Settings for Dark Fiction

When writing  the wholesome small towns in my novels, I think hard about the kind of towns where community is bedded into their very culture. You know the types of places,  grounded in neat gardens (without feeling Stepford Wives-esque), familiar faces, a pub where the landlord knows what you drink and neighbours who notice when your curtains remain closed long after your usual routine.

It sounds pretty comforting, right? But, on the flip side, I then find myself wondering exactly how much those neighbours know about each other. Then it gets a bit… dark.

I've always been fascinated by that contradiction. Small towns and villages feel safe because people know each other, but put that same idea into a psychological thriller and it becomes super unsettling. If everyone knows everyone, who gets to keep a secret? And what happens when an entire community has agreed to turn a blind eye on something that’s a little sinister?

This is why I love writing about small towns as they aren't simply atmospheric settings for dark fiction; they become an integral part of the story itself. Not quite a “character”, but with qualities (and quirks) that give the town a personality.

Why are small towns so effective in psychological thrillers?

I think there’s a particular promise attached to small-town life: belonging. Even if you didn’t grow up there, you’re quickly recognised and become part of the fabric of that town. The coffee shop has your brew ready almost before you walk through the door and your stroll through the town is peppered with short conversations and cheery hellos. It is the place where, if something goes wrong, somebody will probably notice.

But being known comes with complications.

When people know your history, your family and perhaps several previous versions of you, you become aware of what they think they know. That creates wonderful territory for psychological fiction and domestic suspense because characters aren't hiding from strangers. They're hiding from people who already have an opinion about them.

There is a default mindset that someone can be trusted simply because they've lived in the same village for 30 years and, in these communities, people can easily hide the truth behind an assumed persona.

The question for a thriller writer like me is irresistible: what if everybody is wrong?

When everyone is watching, what do they miss?

Small communities also come with their own form of surveillance – usually in the form of a chat over the garden fence or at the school gate. And let’s not forget the social stalking! Anyone who has ever ventured into a local Facebook group will know how quickly a missing parcel, suspicious van, badly parked car or even the culprit who didn’t clean up after their dog can become everybody's business.

You might think that would make keeping a serious secret impossible, but I’m not convinced it does.

People rarely observe each other objectively. We notice what confirms the version of somebody we already have in our heads. The lovely neighbour is being helpful. The difficult woman is causing trouble again. The perfect father couldn't possibly have done that.

Once a community has settled on its story about someone, evidence that doesn't fit can be surprisingly easy to dismiss.

That's where community secrets become interesting in dark fiction. Everybody can be watching and still fail to see what’s happening right in front of them.

A small town never really forgets

There's another reason I keep returning to close-knit communities in my writing: history.

In a city, disappearing into a new life can at least feel possible. Move house, change jobs, find different friends and you can imagine leaving an old version of yourself behind. That anonymity simply isn’t available when you return to the town where you grew up.

By contrast, small town communities carry history. Old grudges, old alliances, things that happened 20 years ago that everyone pretends to have forgotten. That accumulated weight gives dark fiction its texture and the sense that whatever’s happening now has deep roots.

For a character, that shared memory can create pressure and, for a writer, it also means the present never has to exist entirely on its own. Something happening now might have roots stretching back decades, with different people remembering the same event very differently.

Family secrets thrillers often work in a similar way. Secrets rarely belong neatly to one person. They pass between generations and relationships, changing slightly depending on who's telling the story.

Why I keep returning to small communities in my books

It is this friction and contradiction that inspires many of the towns in my novels, and I love getting under the perception of a town and its community to unlock the dark secrets lurking beneath.

Forest Grove, the setting for Wall of Silence, Circle of Doubt and Trail of Destruction, gave me the chance to explore a seemingly idyllic community where watchfulness can both hide the truth and eventually help expose it.

I had particular fun with this in Trail of Destruction, where Ellie takes over the Forest Grove Facebook group. What begins with the familiar complaints and squabbles of a local community page becomes increasingly sinister as someone starts retaliating against residents and events escalate. Suddenly, the place where everyone goes to discuss what everyone else is doing becomes part of the threat itself.

That fascinated me because it feels so recognisable. The modern village grapevine hasn't disappeared. We've simply given it notifications and a forum for people to be a little more opinionated than they would be in person.

Secrets Between Friends explores another side of small-town life: the impossibility of completely escaping your past.

Liz left the fishing village of Easthaven twenty years earlier after a tragic night at Lakewell Manor, the clifftop home of her best friend Tamsin. After a difficult divorce, she returns with her daughters and finds herself surrounded by reminders of the night she tried to leave behind. Then Tamsin returns too.

The setting gives their shared history nowhere to disappear, with people remembering (and refining) events that the characters would rather forget.

And although Venom in the Blood takes me into forensic crime, I found myself returning to that same pull of the hometown.

Forensic entomologist Vanessa Marwood is preparing to leave for her dream job in New York when four murders draw her back to Greensands, the hometown she had sworn never to return to. The investigation is tangled with the dark secrets of Vanessa's own childhood, so going home means confronting far more than a crime scene.

The darkness feels closer when it happens at home

A remote mansion or abandoned building can be frightening because we already expect danger there. The cosy village is different. By default, we anticipate the school run, a friendly dog walker waving hello, neighbours sharing bin duties and a good old catch-up over a drink in the pub. When something terrible intrudes on that ordinary world, it feels closer because we recognise the world around it.

These stories are not purely read for entertainment. We’re drawn in because they reflect something true. We know, on some level, that the places we feel most at home are also the places where we are most exposed.

The small town in dark fiction isn't a warning. It's a mirror! So, if you’re in a small town and have something to hide, you’d better be good at it.