psychological
Mind games taken way too far; explore the disturbing genre of psychological thrillers that make us question our perception of sanity and reality.
The Cottage
The thick smell of sulfur in the air mixed with the already constant damp of her grandmother's cottage had Briony longing for the dry heat she was used to. The house sat on top of a natural spring, and after all these years the egg-smelling water seemed to overtake everything else. She’d only arrived that morning and already, she was desperate to leave.
By Jade Lewis5 years ago in Horror
Bad Trip
It was dark outside, dark and cold. I had just gotten out of work. God, I hate my job. Mr. Pardo was busting my balls all day for not restocking the movies last night. Maximum Overdrive had just come out a couple of weeks ago, and it was flying off the shelves. Or it would be if I had put them on the shelves, but I didn’t. But that’s in the past, it was time to go home. I started my walk to my car, a 1969 Maserati Spyder. It was a gift from my father for my 16th birthday. It was kind of old by the time I got it, but man did I love it. It was pretty chilly out, but that’s nothing new for Chicago. I just pulled my jacket closer to me and continued walking.
By Damian A. Landon5 years ago in Horror
The Carmine house
The Carmine house wasn’t something they talked about. Throughout the entire village, not a word was whispered about it. Not since that fateful day in early January, not since the old man died. Not since the last time the pond had frozen over. It had stayed normal even in the coldest of winters after that. They had both died, the man and the daughter, but no one would say anything about her. Selina Carmine was the murderer, they said. Or thought. No one talked about the Carmine house. So when Derby Micheal Stout saw the ad in the paper, he was surprised. An unfortunate name, indeed. Especially seeming as it applied to him more than he might’ve liked. He was a short, somewhat heavyset young man, who had strong morals he never mentioned. He would never turned down a challenge, or eat shortcake, or hit a lady. He was courteous and quiet, but when he got angry, it was funny to watch. He was somewhat handsome, but his weight threw him off, and every female in the village ran when he tried to approach them, for he was very awkward to have a conversation with. He had a little sister, Mary Angelica, who was constantly drowning in the creek, or cutting her foot on rock, or tripping over something or another. This made it very difficult to live with her. So he spent as much time out of the house as he could, leaving his mother at the mercy of Mary and her other six children. But, he told himself, it was her choice to have so many children in the first place. He worked at a very boring job, carrying meal back and forth from the mill to the town. He was not married, or in any romance at all, but he had a good friend named Derrick, and a good enemy named Dan. He hated Dan for taking his first job at the mill, and he liked Derrick for numerous things that are far too long to go into. He often stubbed his toes on rocks, and his shoes were beaten down and dirty, but he always kept a respectful appearance from the ankles up. He was usually very conserved and hardly would ever show his emotions, so his surprised at the paper must have been great, for he gave a full blown gasp.
By And I am Nightmare5 years ago in Horror
The Alleyway
As I walked through the labyrinth that was my neighbourhood, I adjusted my headphones and lowered the volume of my music to focus on the sounds that I could hear around me. The sounds of dogs barking on the terraces of moulding flats...Pounding of footballs on the fences of back gardens...The static of the radio blasting reggae music on a Thursday afternoon. I was almost home, I just needed to turn this corner safely and it was a short 3 minute walk from there, but then I heard the scuffling and grunting of teenagers play fighting in the alley way. Calmly, I thought 'Okay, maybe I should just turn back and go the long way home. After all, I was not that late home...right?'. As I started to turn around slowly a familiar voice called my name from the corner, and the sounds of scuffling stopped. 'How had anyone seen me?' I thought. My older brother's friend came jogging around the corner and proceeded to greet me with a fist bump. Nervously I replied "Hey what's going on?", and he of course assured me that he and his friends were 'just playing around'. Soon his friends joined the conversation and they all seemed so cool, I felt my shoulders loosening and my posture became more relaxed as I was sure that these people were...safe.
By Claudia Baffour-Ansah5 years ago in Horror
The Dungeons of Numnige
The bastards that lowered me into this place at least had the courtesy of removing my shackles. I suppose that was done so that they could keep their irons. I'd be a bloody fool to believe that they did it for my sake. I turned my gaze upward at the small man-sized hole in the ceiling. It was so far from my reach that it appeared like the sun, though it was dwindling; setting. Gentle light flickered in from above as a grate was sat atop it. I heard the sound echo through this chamber as the door above creaked shut. And then. Silence.
By RedemptionVA5 years ago in Horror
Crawl Space
Most people live a hard life. Or a good life depending on how you look at it. You have children without shoes, food, or water on one side of the globe. And on the other, you have people addicted to drugs and self misery; although living a “comfortable” life of easy essentials and commodities.
By Serena Hardy5 years ago in Horror
The Boys with the Boxes
Moving into the old cabin my grandfather owned was the worst choice I ever made. With his presence permanently in a hospital, he’d asked for me to maintain the residence. Swayed by the picturesque scenery and tranquil forest right outside, I quickly made arrangements and humored the 70-something-year-old man. Maybe if I’d just waited a few more months, I could’ve avoided the entire thing. What my grandfather hadn’t updated me on was the fact that, in the time that passed since I’d stayed over as a child, the closest town had developed a strange superstition. Sightings of ghosts, particularly seven young boys who’d gone missing within a single week during late July fifty years ago, were now commonplace. Their bodies had never been found despite countless search parties that scoured the nearby woods. Of course, they eventually had to be pronounced legally dead, but I thought those claims were quite disrespectful to the families.
By Casey Blett5 years ago in Horror
Not one of us has a face.
I saw a man on the subway yesterday. It was rather peculiar. He looked at me from under his hood. He looked at me without eyes and saw not my skin, nor height, nor appendages, nor any of my features. He only saw me. My soul. What if all of us were like that? Non judgmental. Not concerned about race, gender, sexuality or nationality. What if we only saw each other for who we really were? I must find a way to replicate this man. So I went back to my house and sold everything. My television, my chairs, my couch, my bed, my lights, everything. I then had my house renovated with that money, and I made a lab. My own little secret laboratory. But that was only half of the equation. I needed volunteers. So I went into the streets and found a man screaming at people in the street. He was saying that people with other skin, and race, and nationality are cretins. If people weren’t carbon copies of him then they didn’t matter. I waited, patiently of course, for him to leave. When he went to the restroom I asked him to be my test subject. He was, as I thought he would be, difficult. But difficult wouldn't do. I took a syringe out of my pocket and jabbed it into his neck, instantly incapacitating him. I struggled, but I was eventually able to stuff his body in the trunk of my automobile. Once at my laboratory I strapped him down and drugged him. He was sleeping like a baby, and I started. First I carefully removed the skin around his face. With my scalpel I drew a line around his eyes, nose, and mouth and pulled gently. Peeled like a fresh orange. I then got to work on his eyes, and his lips, and his nostrils. Before I knew it he was perfect. I sewed the skin back onto the face. I unstrapped him and propped him up in the bed. He awoke, and saw me. For me, not for bodily form. For my soul. Yes, he was a perfect example. This will do nicely for me.
By Damian A. Landon5 years ago in Horror
