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 Last Man
Demons, Zombies, Ghosts. Monsters we make up in the middle of the night are likely more real than the imagination, though we would never see them as they truly are, for we haven’t begun to open our eyes. Would you know the devil if you saw him? What about an alien? How about a mutant? But then, aren’t we all just mutations in the same gene pool? Question human nature, and the stories we tell about our evolution! The truth can be neither created nor destroyed.
By Dionte West5 years ago in Horror
Conquered
I placed a handful of wildflowers in Grandmother’s hands as two burly men in black suits approached to close her casket. “WAIT,” I cried out. The men stopped, as I reached down and carefully removed the silver, heart-shaped locket from around her neck, and placed it around my own. I locked eyes with the men and nodded my approval, and they closed the casket. I began choking on the lump in my throat, overwhelmed with the grief that I would never see her again. Not only was Grandmother the only parental figure I ever knew; she was also one of the few ties left to the old world.
By Samine Khadem5 years ago in Horror
The Robber Bridegroom
I grew up most often the only child with a single father in the military. Sometimes, usually for a few weeks during the summer, my younger sister would visit, and I would have a playmate. My father frequently deployed, and I remember one time staying with my grandma. She gave me an old book of fairy tales that used to be my father’s, and holding it would make me feel close to him when he was away. It was a small, red, leatherbound copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, with gold inlay and wording. The pages were old and worn, and the binding was starting to fall apart. I wore it down more by frequently reading it, or having my grandma read it to me. Eventually she gave me the book to keep, and I still have it on my shelf today, over 25 years later. The book was published in 1973, so it is now nearly fifty years old. Copies of this book run between $8-$50, depending on condition of the text and where you are buying from.
By DarkRandall5 years ago in Horror
Stranger
“So, Stranger, what happened to you?” The words crest against the misshapen lumps of what might have once been ears atop her head. She raised bleary, half scarred over eyes to look across the oily, foul-smelling fire pit, at the vagrant who shared her camp. Taking her time to reply, the woman slowly raised herself up, before speaking in a voice reminiscent of screeching metal and twisted flesh.
By Thomas Drews5 years ago in Horror
Doomsday Diary
The house stood dark and cold, as it always was. There was a candle in the middle of the room, but a strange candle. It glowed with sliver fire, the undertone of power and love. There were no windows or doors open, as it always was. There wasn’t a sound in the house, as it always was. But the one thing out of place was there were people in it. They didn’t make a sound. They didn’t breathe. Their hearts didn’t beat. Because these people weren’t alive. Then again, they weren’t dead either. Not really. The door banged open with a sudden jolt, enough to scare away even the nonexistent rats and termites. Even such animals were wise enough to stay away from that house. Humans, however, are not so wise. Standing in the doorway were three people. A young girl with a long face and red hair, an even younger boy who’s face was so unimportant it would be a waste of time to try and describe, and a hook-nosed man with very white teeth. The hook-nosed man looked inside the house with an air of disappointment and irritation at his own disgust. The hook-nosed man had perfected the art of looking down his hook nose at small people, which he did now at the young things. He wanted to say something, but there was an oppression of aggravation that imposed upon him to stay silent. The children wanted him to venture first into the house, and he wished the same of the children. Yet after several moments of cold silence, the hook-nosed man placed his foot among the icy boards. They did not creak, nor make an effort to sound and fill the silence of the dim residence. He put another foot upon the primordial wood, and the children followed in nervous suit. As they neared the center of the house, where the little grey light the open doors had shed grew thin, the hook-nosed man stopped, unable to bear the frozen silence. He did the worst thing he possibly could have done in a house such as that. He opened his mouth. Before the first notes of sound had erupted from it, the doors shut as if they had never been opened. A dusty blue light lit a circle on the floor around the hook-nosed man. The children were nowhere to be seen. He whirled around and around, unable to find his way out of the circle, or escape the horror unfolding. He turned a last time, and came to face a young girl. He leapt backwards, unable to scream. It was then he saw it was the little girl with the long face, and near her was the unimportant boy. They looked strangely grey in the cyan light, their skin almost alabaster. He grew closer to them when they did not move, and reached out and touched them. Stone. Cold, hard stone. Statues of the children he had once knew, as if the house had known they were coming. Or…perhaps…the children themselves… the realization came too late, and the dark ended it.
By And I am Nightmare5 years ago in Horror
