Like all good stories, it has a basis in fact. When my mother was a little girl, her father rented a house in rural Ireland. She remembered vividly seeing the bedroom door handle turning most nights and how scared all the kids were. Her mother, who was quite a sensible, practical woman, was terrified after having seen something she'd never talk about. On certain nights, they heard the noise of a cart going past, faster and faster until it crashed on a bend in the road. Apparently, this was the ghost of a local farmer, whose horses used to get him home after a drinking session, until one night something spooked them into bolting. The cart crashed, killing him and both the horses.
I agree with you about the blood and gore not being as frightening as something unseen.