psychological
Mind games taken way too far; explore the disturbing genre of psychological thrillers that make us question our perception of sanity and reality.
Midnight Valley
This is what it is to die. Not from wounds nor plague nor parasitic infection. Not from torture nor accident nor exsanguination. This is death at a crawl. A burning, aching grip that loosens as the host succumbs. A plunge into madness. A shattered reality. A man is undone. Unwound and fragmented. Broken, his mind in pieces he wanders the frozen wasteland to heed a beckoning. What was it? A screaming whisper, a murmured shout. An undulating tear of tormenting tendrils. The call was shrill and bloodcurdling but angelic in its chorus. A cry of despondence and suffering that stunk of desperation. A call for action and of undying loyalty. Without warning it demanded. Unwavering, a man trudges through the snow-laden terrain. Expectancy is apparent as the brink is before him. It is around him and under him and throbbing in his mind's eye. An unknowable force which promises a unity of his scattered brain. A debt to pay for the small price of liberation. A man leaves deep footfalls in the snow. He drags a burden of 48 years and 250 pounds in his wake leaving two winding gaps in the unbroken white. Two sacks of dead weight. Dragged without thought or cognizance. Liberation for unity. The brink was closer. He felt it deeply within the two sacks. Their deed was complete and their subservience would not go without notice. Mercy was not lost in this place but rewarded in full. A man is undone, unwound and fragmented. But not lost. He understands the coming dawn and it’s promise. Bearing this mighty yoke would bring relief and with it another burden. A meaningful and worthwhile burden to bear. For himself and for eternity. No...not for himself. For the call. For the beckoning eyes and the distant scream that cracked his cochlea. Laying prostrate was not a choice but mandatory. The screaming persisted. A maddening mantra that whined and groaned with a deafening roar. Hums and shrieks which wracked the brain of any semblance of thought. It wanted him here. That is all to know. It wanted him here. But the dialect is lost. Twisted and confused with the ages of birth and death. Deformed into a confluence of shrieking chants. But it’s cadence understood, the alien inflections bent into a series of symbols and digits. A common tongue where the lexicon is dead but its meaning taken. It told him he was meant for this place. Before him was a lake. Solid was its surface but from it came a pulse. Dragging still his burden he deposited the sacks in the center of the lake. Mountains dwarfed the lake and wood, casting titanic shadows upon the gathering. Liberation. A unified will. From his pocket came a knife. He etched a thin circle into the ice 6 feet in diameter to surround himself and the sacks before carving an inhuman symbol upon it. Its meaning is beyond humanity. Its purpose is unclear and the design cryptic. Nonetheless, it was transcribed. Beneath the bags the symbol calls to the heavens in an inaudible tongue. It welcomes freedom. A man raises the knife once more and takes the blade to his finger, pricking to produce a small drop of blood. It pools and falls in steady drops onto the frozen ice. It seeps deep and spreads to fill every indention made by the symbol. A man is joyous. He is successful and sure to be noticed. Mercy is not lacking in this place. Distantly a slow whine builds in the rear of his brain. A faint scream that comes ever closer to the frozen lake. It is accompanied by a chorus of the same kind. Mounting, it cuts through this momentous achievement until it is upon the lake. A man is interrupted amidst his glorious ascension as an automobile of blue and white looks over the lake, its siren wailing.
By Adam W. Graham4 years ago in Horror
The Carmine House
He talked about everything there was, and more. He relayed to Elvira the entire history of the Carmine House, which she laughed at and asked him where on earth he got his information. She then continued to tell him the story the way she had heard it.
By And I am Nightmare4 years ago in Horror
Our Pond
The high beams fanned out into the darkness, illuminating the first tentative snowflakes of what the weather prognosticators were forecasting to be the worst storm Michigan had seen in more than half a century. Clay gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he turned off I-75 and towards his grandfather’s cabin.
By Brandon A Harrison4 years ago in Horror
Bury a friend
“This is your counselor, Mrs. Adams.” Even she flinched and looked away. I hated them all. I hated my parents for sending me away to stupid criminal school, even if I had done what I’d done. I hated the headmistress. The kid who was going to be assigned to show me around. This stupid school was built for kids who had serious problems. Most them were gang bosses, abusive siblings, kids who had hosted big heists. But none of them were anything like me. None of them had killed someone.
By And I am Nightmare4 years ago in Horror
Ice Breaker
After she had buried the body she brushed her hair, then put on her white gown and walked out to the backyard. She looked over to the mound of dirt and smiled. She made her way out on the pier over the lake and looked down at the frozen water. She carefully stepped down onto the hard surface. She walked slow and deliberate, step by step until she was far enough out to see the vast mountains around her. She knew this lake well, knew exactly where the thin spots of ice would be, she stood on one and waited. The weight of her and the warmth of her bare feet would soon do the work for her. She heard a small cracking sound and then another. There was no going back, she fell through.
By Raine Fielder4 years ago in Horror
Summer's End
BEEP! With a sudden jolt, I am brought back to reality. The light must have turned green. I look into my review mirror to see an angry man with an extended middle finger mouthing some curses my way. Lovely. Slowly, I draw a deep breath in and slowly release it. Lightly I press down on the gas pedal and begin to ease onward.
By Cassandra Grimes4 years ago in Horror
Black Hearts
Two bodies wash up on a sandy beach. It is the morning after a heavy storm and the air still smells of it. Their ship had been taken by the storm and these fortunate souls survived. One man coughs up seawater as he awakens. He is bald with unkempt, mangy mutton chops. Looking around he sees the other body beginning to stir. Their ragged clothes are waterlogged as they rise and approach one another.
By Tales from a Madman4 years ago in Horror
