psychological
Mind games taken way too far; explore the disturbing genre of psychological thrillers that make us question our perception of sanity and reality.
Faces in the Mirror
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. The images are swirling amidst a deep fog that dances across the mirror’s circumference. Shapes form and reform never fully materializing. My face isn’t there. I watch in fascination as the swirling slows and an image begins to form. My pulse races and I feel a penetrating fear deep in my gut. I don’t want to see this. Ice cold horror pumps through my veins as a face begins to surface. I cover my eyes and briefly peak through my fingers, quickly slamming those slits into another reality closed. Backing slowly from the bathroom, I turn to run. My feet feel mired in quicksand sucking me down, down, down. Each step is painful and slow. My heart pounds in my ears as I struggle to gain traction.
By Cheryl Edwards3 years ago in Horror
Trapped
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. It was me, but there was subtle creeping difference that started with my eyes. A quick glance wouldn’t confirm that, but as I stopped to carefully apply lipstick I realised I was looking into the eyes of someone or something malevolent.
By Gillian Lesley Scott3 years ago in Horror
The Stranger
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. Their eyes looked like mine. Their face—vaguely shaped the same way. But in the heartbeat it took for my brain to take in the image, morphing the features back into my own, I knew, with a tight, sinking feeling, that I had witnessed someone other than myself.
By Kayla Maneen3 years ago in Horror
Reflecting Robin
The mirror showed a reflection that was not my own. “I remember the bitter-sweet taste of my own blood.” I yelled aloud as the drugs began to evacuate my system. My mind and body were awakening, to heights I had never felt before. Unsure of where I was and why, the only thing I knew for sure was that I never wanted to taste my blood again.
By Shawn Lowry3 years ago in Horror
Two sided, two faced
"The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own..." It was April 17th 2003, that morning, my alarm clock blared at me until, reluctently, I gave in. I stretched my tired body until it shook with energy, and quickly sprang from my bed before I had time to change my mind and fall back. I shuffled out of my room and into the bathroom to wash my face, shower, and start my day. That is how I always started my day, by cleaning up and washing myself. I noticed a crack in my bathroom mirror, it was peculiar; the mirror sits alone, there is no cabinet space behind it, where I would've accidently opened it a weird way; it's just a wall. The crack spread throughout the space like a spider's web, odd, certainly, for I had never bumped, nor hit the mirror; and I lived alone. I wanted to brush it off, and say it was nothing, but I am a woman of suspicion. So, when I got back from work that day I decided to inspect the mirror. I leaned in close to look at it and spotted the glass barely poking out at me from the enter of the crack. The glass had been punctured out toward me. But how? Spooked, and extremely confused, I grabbed a journal and began making a diary of my findings. “April 17th, 2003…” I recorded my discoveries and thoughts, and I went to bed. That night I dreamt of my hand being held by another hand, there was nothing else around, only darkness and the hands. One seemed more aggressive than the other, almost forceful. When I woke in the morning I recorded my dreams into the diary as well, I was utterly suspicious and came to the conclusion that I should write everyday as a journal entry just as precaution, against what, I did not know. I made my way hesitantly to the bathroom, weary of what I might see. Everything was just as it was last night: mirror still punctured, shelves organized, and, a piece of glass. I felt my heart drop below my stomach as I picked up the piece of broken glass from the floor; and slowly raising my head, saw a piece missing from the mirror. Behind it was nothing, complete darkness; an empty abyss leading somewhere I did not want to find. Shocked in fear, I grabbed my bad, threw on some clothes and left. I drove my car through a drive through to at least get some breakfast, and then drove to work. I pulled into the parking lot of the clinic and made my way up to the glass doors, eerily looking at my reflection. I was able to somewhat sort myself together before my clients began arriving for their appointments. First was Lana, I have been seeing her for a year now; she deals with severe depression and comes to my therapeutic practices twice a week. I was making my usual notes during the session, when something Lana said made me freeze. She said the word punctured, and broken; granted I know she could have been talking about herself. It was just the choice of words she used, were the same words I used to describe the broken mirror in my bathroom. As curious and a little freaked out as I was, I didn’t put effort into worrying about it now. Lana, to be fair, really was broken inside. However, when my next client Cole began speaking about his parents, and I heard the word reflection, I began to feel fear deep inside my soul. My breathing became off tempo, and I couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. All of a sudden I heard a road of thunder outside my window, turned my head see that a huge thunderhead just rolled in, and rain was pouring from all around the sky. After Cole’s session finished I began walking to my car, ready to go home. I caught a glimpse of myself walking over a puddle, but once I was over it, the picture in the puddle hadn’t moved. As if a snapshot had been taken, unable to free itself from the watery canvas. Fearfully, I slowly strode back over to the puddle, where the picture still lay, I stomped on the puddle, sending splashes all over my leg. And, the picture went away; I blinked mindlessly, and the crazed breathing returned. I didn’t even want to process or think about the conjuring event I just witnessed. I drove straight home, numbly passing through traffic, seemingly unaware that I was actually driving. I arrived at my house minutes later, went inside, led myself to the bathroom, and froze in horror as more broken pieces of glass lag on the floor. Shaking, I picked them up, and peered inside the abyss where the glass once lay. Staring inside for a minute, when I heard an exhale of breath. The glass dropped from my hands, shattering in the sink. I gasped harder than all my breath combine, fear painted my face, only being washed away by tears that began helplessly petruding from my eyes. I ran out of there and straight into my bed, where I curled up shaking, crying, under my cover for about a half hour, before eventually collapsing into my dreams.
By Makenna Bolton3 years ago in Horror
A World of Darkness and Desire
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. I stared at the image in front of me, feeling a shiver run down my spine. The person in the mirror had the same hair, the same eyes, and the same face as me, but there was something different about them. It was like looking at a version of myself that had been twisted and distorted by some unseen force. The longer I stared, the more I began to feel like I was looking at a stranger.
By Steffany Pope3 years ago in Horror
There's Something in the Wires
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. By that point, I expected it. We always imagined fire and brimstone. Hurricanes and floods. A nuclear apocalypse. But, when the end finally came, it arrived so quietly that few of us noticed.
By Michaela Peterson3 years ago in Horror
