psychological
Mind games taken way too far; explore the disturbing genre of psychological thrillers that make us question our perception of sanity and reality.
SEASON 2 : The Black Lung Communion: How a Surgeon’s Journal Sparked a Demonic Outbreak
CHAPTER 3: THE INTRAVENOUS CONFESSION The iron door to the old wing was cold, its surface pitted with rust and something darker that looked like old bloodstains. The master key felt alien in Liam’s hand, a sliver of cold metal that seemed to pulse with a malevolent life of its own.
By Tales That Breathe at Night5 months ago in Horror
The Whispering Key of Blackwood Manor
The telegram had an old-fashioned feel, with thick cream paper and black ink that ran through it. It was the sort of thing I would have found amusing if it had been delivered today. It conveyed in three sentences that my great-aunt Helena had passed away and had left Blackwood Manor to me. The envelope was secured with a key, an old-fashioned iron piece tied up with black thread. According to the courier, the house had been waiting....
By Osman Ahmed5 months ago in Horror
The Black Lung Communion: How a Surgeon’s Journal Sparked a Demonic Outbreak
CHAPTER 1: “THE BREATHING X-RAY” The air in St. Hedwig’s records room smelled of yellowing paper and regret. It was a scent Dr. Liam Evans had grown accustomed to over twenty years of service, but tonight, it felt different. Thicker. As if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
By Tales That Breathe at Night5 months ago in Horror
(True Story) My Neighbour Was Being Slaughtered and I Did Nothing. Content Warning.
I still remember the sound. It didn’t sound human. You know how when you’re cutting wood, there’s that rhythm? A thud, a pause, another thud, each one heavier than the last? That’s what it sounded like… coming from the apartment above mine. Except…it wasn’t wood.
By The Purple Olympian5 months ago in Horror
The Erasure Poet
The world had forgotten Arthur Vale, and in time, Arthur Vale had almost forgotten himself. He lived in a cramped apartment that smelled of damp paper and regret, a monument to a single, catastrophic failure: his first and only published poetry collection, *Silt and Ash*.
By Danyal Hashmi5 months ago in Horror
