Velvet Shadows and Candlelight: Why Darkness Belongs in the Classroom

I think there’s a reason we’re drawn to the dark.

There’s something about stories wrapped in shadows - the kind that linger like candle smoke or ache quietly beneath the surface. They feel heavier, yes, but also truer somehow. And when it comes to teens, I think it makes more sense than we realise.

We often ask why so many of them are pulled toward dystopias, murder mysteries, gothic settings, and poetry that feels like grief. But the truth is that darker stories offer something different. They’re not about the monsters under the bed, they’re about the ones in our minds, in the headlines, in the world around us. And for many teens, that feels familiar.

It’s the same reason true crime podcasts and heartbreak songs top the charts. Psychologically, we’re drawn to the morbid, the mysterious, and the melancholy - not because we want to suffer, but because these stories help us process big emotions in a safe, contained way. They let us feel fear, grief, and anger without losing ourselves to it, but because it’s just out of reach.

Writing as a Way Through

A few years ago, one of the students at the school I worked at passed away unexpectedly. Later, many of his close friends ended up in my English class.

Early in the year, during a creative writing unit, several of them wrote stories about the death of a teenager. The grief, though fictionalised, was still raw and you could feel it between the lines.

When it came to marking it, I didn’t correct their structure. I didn’t comment on sentence starters.Instead, I gave them verbal feedback - and space.

So, if they wanted to talk, they could. If not, I simply thanked them for sharing something so personal.

It reminded me that writing is more than a skill. Sometimes, it’s the only way we know how to say: “This still hurts.”

I’ve Been There, Too

When I was struggling with my mental health, books were my lifeline, my refuge, my escape. But not the bright, chirpy ones, those always felt distant. Foreign. Like they belonged to someone else.

Instead, I wanted stories that met me in the dark, that sat beside me in the storm. Stories that didn’t try to fix me, but just stayed long enough to make the dark feel less lonely.

And when I wrote? I poured everything into it. Journals. Characters. Fragments of scenes that probably made no sense to anyone but me.
Sometimes it was catharsis.
Sometimes it was chaos.
But it always helped.

That’s why I don’t tell students what they can’t write. I let them explore. I give them space. I guide them when they need it.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not about pushing them toward dark themes - it’s about not pulling them away if that’s where they already are.

The Classroom as a Safe Space

Along side English, I also have a pastoral care role, which mean I often see behnd the scenes. And more than once, the first sign a student was struggling came through their writing.

That’s why I always build in space for reflection and editing - not just for improving structure or style, but for processing whatever’s underneath.

I encourage self-assessment that leaves room to say more - even if it’s just “I was tired today,” or something deeper, like a quiet request to speak after class.

I don’t think that letting students explore heavier themes should feel dangerous. It should feel supported and should opening up an avenue for conversations.

So Why are Teens Drawn to Darker Stories?

Because they’re learning (often for the first time) that life isn’t always easy. And fiction helps them make sense of that.

They’re navigating loss, identity, fear, injustice. They’re testing boundaries, questioning everything, trying to understand a world that doesn’t always make sense.

And sometimes, the shadows offer more clarity than the light.

Darker stories hold more emotion. More space to explore character, setting, meaning - all the messy, but real parts of being human.

These stories tend to be meatier. They offer more to get their teeth into. And the best part?

They’re honest.

Final Thoughts

So, no. I don’t push my students to write about their trauma or their worries or their fears. But I don’t take it off the table either.

Outside the classroom, no one’s censoring what they create. So why should I be? Shouldn’t the classroom be preparing them for the real world?

And while not censoring them can feel scary, it’s worth remember some of the most powerful writing comes from broken places - not because pain is required for great art, but because honesty always finds its way to the page.

So yes - I let them write the heartbreak.
I let them write about loss. About horror. About the shadows.

And I’ll be right there beside them, candle in hand, helping them navigate it the best way I can.