psychological
Mind games taken way too far; explore the disturbing genre of psychological thrillers that make us question our perception of sanity and reality.
Fehelølmot
Because of gradual disinterest and the oral stories dying down, the tale of Fehelølmot is nothing more than a memory of the past, a prime example of the profound disconnection between the truth and a silly hoax. Some say its a genuine lack of concern for such a moot manner in a time where civilization is on the brink of collapse, while others say they'd rather try and forget the creature for its actions and vile crimes against humanity at a futile attempt to ward Fehelølmot off from existence; but what nobody knows is: just how real he truly is.
By Onaga Lombardi 4 years ago in Horror
Reborn
The bushels of apples on the front steps meant fall was here; Mrs. Padley was adamant on having them on the steps the moment she saw her leaves begin to wither. When the apples themselves began to rot, she would have me replace them with fresh new ones, a waste I had to bear with for months. The children that lived on our street took them once and even managed to throw a few at her window. Needless to say, at the ripe age of 37, Mrs. Padley almost landed in a hospital bed from the blood-curdling anger. Her mood was unlike something you've ever imagined; she had a nasty attitude, one only her husband, Mr. Padley, could understand. The man stood taller than the front door frame, however tall that may be. He was a docile man and spent half his lifetime in the basement working on something we were never allowed to see. He loved his wife- but would only show it once every blue moon, and although he loved her, I cannot imagine it was easy for him to like her. Her unbearable demeanor made it difficult, and as a result, I would often catch home staring at her in awe and confusion by the kind of woman he married. They both lived in their own world, one where their designer clothes and monthly botox injections hide their seemingly dull lives. Their children, who are supposed to be their pride and joy, were only extra accessories to their lives. Judy and baby Matthew exist in another world, quiet with every fantasy a child could imagine. They were both delicate things; Judy was beautiful and looked exactly like her mother before the Botox and botched surgeries. Baby Mathew was far too young for me to notice any resemblance to his parents. When I came into their home, I felt like I was already a part of the family. I was given a room just below theirs and the jurisdiction of the children; they were to be kept amused, fed, and raised with proper manners. At that moment, I fell in love with the Padley family, and from then on, I worked hard to keep my place in our home. This particular day was a Monday, my most favorite day of the week. My first task is to wake the children and get them ready for school, but before them, I make myself presentable with clean shoes, a clean uniform, and a clean face. Judy is easier to wake up; she skitters around the hall for half a moment and then runs to the bathroom to wash her tiny teeth. As I walk to wake baby Mathew, I hear that dreadful noise again, a hissing noise that seems to come from the walls. I've tried to tell Mr. Padley, but to no avail; instead, he grunts and walks down to his basement. After breakfast, the noise disappears, and living in this house becomes more manageable again. Everything would have kept going like it has for the past five years, but Mr. Padley's obvious affair and the children's distress have gotten the best of me, and today I will make everything well again. Peace will be restored. After Judy is dropped off at school and Mrs. Padely has gone to work, I am left alone with Mr. Padley and baby Mathew. I chop my veggies and prepare to boil some water for tonight's surprise dinner. When that was done, I walked to the shed in the backyard and grabbed an ax; I admired the tool, thinking what a fantastic job I did sharpening it last week. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the basement door; I reached to turn the doorknob, but a rush of dizziness rushed to my head, and I almost fell backward, but I caught myself on the countertop before I hit the floor. Suddenly I felt giddy, and I laughed to myself, what a mess I am making of this situation, "if it's to be done, it is to be done right," I say out loud. I open the door and step in; there he is, what a ridiculous man. I made no attempt to hide my tool when I saw his face; I knew I was making the right decision, but for whatever reason, I began to cry, I cry, and I cry, and It made me full of consuming anger that makes the tips of my toes twitch. I launch towards him, and he screams; I stop. "Now, now, Mr. Padely, please do not be difficult. I see what you do when you are alone, unlike your wife, see everything you do, but please don't be scared; there is nothing to be worried about anymore. I will make sure you cause this family no more harm." I launch at him again, and this time it feels easier; this is the right thing to do. ———
By Cynthia Melchor4 years ago in Horror
Black Puddle
Her screams of excitement make my ears ring. She found some water in a puddle behind some random house. She drags me by my wrist while looking back at my eyes. Those damn green eyes; they get me every time. I follow closely behind her because, to be fair, she is an idiot. She sort of just runs towards whatever interests her without thinking about who, or what, could kill her. It was annoying, for sure, but she was hot so I dealt with it.
By Ayla Ahmed4 years ago in Horror
The Last Jam of Fat Foggy Waters & The Streetcar Band
It was a huge club, well over one hundred foot square. The air was humid, real heavy delta air. Cigarette smoke greyed and dulled the crimson lights. There was tremendous noise and chatter, booming voices calling out to old friends and locals across the room. The walls were wooden and disrepaired, like an old dying plantation house, slowly eaten away by the lethargy of the tropics. Perspiration was slick on everyone’s faces, the crowd rippled with white handkerchiefs mopping up brow sweat. I raised myself on the edge of the bar, peering over the throng to try and locate him. I could see the band setting up on stage, clarinet, guitar, drums, double-bass: Joe Miami, The Flannel, Triple Dixon, Cole Stanley. A few couples had got up to dance already and Joe Miami pulled a harmonica out of his pocket to oblige them with a few notes.
By Louis Allen4 years ago in Horror
Some Secrets Drown
Two gunshot sounds vibrated throughout the city. Fifteen minutes a later a body was found in the sacred lake Walena. As blood seeped its way to the floor of the clear blue water slowly turning it red, turmoil began to spread to anyone who laid eyes on the body. A funeral service wasn’t held for him, News of his death would cause an uproar too big too control. Instead a meeting was held between two of the most important figures in the Kingdom. A tall eerie man in a long hooded cloak steps forward.
By Austyn Dinkins 4 years ago in Horror
The Eyes
There were many summers, before the last, that were flush with happy moments. No one knows why the fateful summer of 68’ at Cedar Hill ended so badly. The world at that point was twisted in many ways. Martin Luther King was assassinated. As well as Bobby Kennedy. The food yield wasn't keeping up to the population boom and hunger was a growing concern. Permanent food stamps were placed after Nixon became president. It seemed as if the whole world was upside down. Cedar Hill was not an exemption from the haunting year of 1968.
By Megan Riches4 years ago in Horror
Blackout
Have you ever felt like you’ve fainted into reality? His tense voice whispering prayers to a god who surely could not hear him, or who perhaps refused to listen, was the first sound I heard upon regaining consciousness. I couldn’t make out, nor felt concern to listen to, what he mumbled behind me. He rowed the boat, creaking the oars in rhythm with the waves that lapped at its sides, in rhythm with my throbbing head. It was too dark to tell whether my head was moistened with sweat or blood–with that throbbing it could have been either. As I looked out in front of me at the darkened dunes of the ocean’s ebb and flow, a subtle breeze wafted the stench of dying sea life, and despite the moonless night, no stars could be seen other than those that hung in the darkness of the slumbering city from where we came.
By berick reims4 years ago in Horror
The Death of the Bird
It was an open casket funeral, and frankly the idea revolted her. The girl had drowned in a lake and it had taken them nearly forty-eight hours to fish her out. True, those two days had been from the middle of the very coldest month of the year, and everyone who was returning from their trip to the casket was saying things like “she could almost be asleep” and “she really was such a beautiful child.” But to Naomi the idea of actually going up to the front of the room and seeing the thing that had once been her cousin filled her with dread. As the cross-country train had carried her here, she could not shake the image from her mind: Madeline’s little body at the bottom of the lake, her hair drifting in the gloom, her blank eyes gazing upwards as those two days passed. Though, it had been so long since she’d visited that Naomi could not even picture her face.
By Tim Oslington4 years ago in Horror
Reconciliation
“Are you a good person?” The child’s voice is small but curious. Up until a few seconds before I was hugging my knees on this rocky beach, listening to the waves, alone in the dark but also relishing in the kind of loneliness that exists when you think everyone else is asleep. It’s easy to believe you are the only person awake at this moment in the entire universe.
By Cassidy Barker4 years ago in Horror
