psychological
Mind games taken way too far; explore the disturbing genre of psychological thrillers that make us question our perception of sanity and reality.
Bait
A man tied his shoes. The sky was bright. Cloudless with only a beaming sun shining down. The path before him swiveled for miles between trees of all varieties. He began to jog through the path. The occasional stone catching his eye. A few minutes later, a fallen tree blocked the path. The music in his ears driving him as he jogged faded for a moment as he climbed over the decaying beech tree in his path. He continued to run, no jog. At a steady pace, at a steady speed along the dirt path swirling like a maze.
By Joshua Curnew5 years ago in Horror
Can I Trust My Husband?
Today is my husband, Richard, and I's eight year anniversary. When you come to be in a relationship this long, those special days begin to just be a cute day date or dinner and drinks. We decided on the latter, but with all of our closest friends.
By Alyssa Sills5 years ago in Horror
A Constant Tug
A Constant Tug I’ve always had this rope tied around me; everyone else has one too. Some people think that the rope restricts us, but I have always had plenty of slack on mine and ample freedom to go all the way up to my knees in the ocean. Every once and awhile I see some little kid swimming, but that’s pretty rare. Most people can stand or sit on the beach, just a few feet away from the water’s edge. My parents and all the other adults cannot though. They can only get to a few streets away from the ocean, and occasionally ask me to tell them about it so they do not forget what it was like. I often wonder why their rope is shorter than mine or the other kids, but they don’t seem to mind all that much. It’s just the way things are.
By Tyler Hall5 years ago in Horror
Any Time
I’m in a bunker, on my own. It’s dark and damp, no more than the bare basics, even by 1915 trench-warfare standards. The outside world is a wasteland. As far as the eye can see is no man’s land, including the trenches themselves. None of this is a place for any man. Crows are the only inhabitants of the rancid cesspit between us and them - a world of dead trees, dead horses, dead land and dead men. The broken souls and tattered sanity of so many lay as thick as the mud under the fog which seems to seldom lift. Perhaps this is for the best, for what use is it to witness such a menagerie of lost life at every waking moment. From my cell in the trenches the most I see is the changing shades of grey light beyond the wooden door.
By Jamie Allen5 years ago in Horror
Across the Shattered Sea
Three generations. The birthdates, names, and deaths of three generations were logged into the black leather-bound notebook resting on the nightstand of Founder Kimble’s private chambers. Kimble, before embarking on this mission, could not have imagined that he would be here…. still on board the Guay. He struggled turning through the pages of the book, reading the few dozen names of the current crew members, looking for an answer. While he strained to see the names in the candlelight, other more poisonous questions, bubbled to the surface of his mind. Why couldn’t he hear the voice? That loud booming voice, clear as day, back when he was a young boy. The voice that had shown him the location of $20,000 hidden deep within the pines. The voice that told him to use the money to build a ship to carry a select few to a better world. The voice that promised Kimble he would find a new kingdom. Where was this voice? Surely, it would have spoken by now. If nothing more than to reassure Kimble that he was on the right path.He thought of himself as Moses. Instead of leading his people through the unforgiving desert, Kimble was leading them through the sea. He had been a good shepherd. Kimble had done everything the voice commanded of him. Certainly, this deafening silence was not punishment for his own doing. Kimble surmised that it undoubtably was a member of his flock to blame for their forsaking. “Greatest esteemed Gyias – voice of all wisdom and time, please grant me your ear” He whispered, his face buried into the book. “I now understand your silence. I beg of you to reveal the name of the one who has disowned their cloak and deafened their ears. Give me their name and I shall bring righteous judgment upon their head”. He sat up with his eyes still closed, his fingers vigorously moved through the pages. When they stopped, Kimble read the name his finger landed on “Abraham Russell”.
By Brittany Bates5 years ago in Horror
