psychological
Mind games taken way too far; explore the disturbing genre of psychological thrillers that make us question our perception of sanity and reality.
Reflect for a Lifetime
It was only a couple months before that Jenny had laughed in that supposed psychic’s face. Although now in retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have. But come on! He had really told her that her life was going to take a turn for the worst. She had laughed and told him he was two years too late for that prediction! She had after all overcome all the hurdles - her parents trying to convince her that she wouldn’t be successful working for a publishing company or William telling her he couldn’t be with a feminist woman! Despite her massive breakup, her move across state borders to New York City, she had managed to not only survive, but to be successful! She had already gotten a promotion in the 6 months that she had been working for Blaustenhouse Publishing Company. Jenny had also managed to secure a condo in Manhattan! The Upper West side! Her agent had told her it was a steal…rightfully so. Who sells a condo here for only 200K? Plus it was absolutely beautiful, with sunlight streaming through the glass to ceiling windows, the marble countertop, the bedroom that could easily fit a king sized bed…that psychic had to be faking! Everything was finally looking up. She had moved in within a month. Her plants were placed strategically throughout the corners to let in some nature and she had splurged a bit on her soft velvet white couch. Deciding to get rid of her old things, she had decided to furnish her new condo with expensive and tasteful things. Her kitchen drawers held expensive silver flatware, her bedroom housed a fluffy white rug and an ottoman she just had to buy. It had taken her a few weeks to get it just right and quite a bit of money! One thing she was really surprised by was that the condo came with this absolutely gorgeous mirror. It was right in the center of the fireplace and when she had asked her agent if the previous owner was going to be taking it with them, her agent shrugged and said they had left it. Jenny assumed the owner had loved how the mirror fit into this apartment. It was like it was made for it with the minimalist gold detailing and a shine that hadn’t disappeared despite the dust that had collected. Jenny was more than happy to accommodate her TV in her bedroom instead. Who doesn’t like to lie down while watching reruns? This place was absolutely perfect, a dream come true.
By Shweta Gupta5 years ago in Horror
The Singing Ice
I cried to the first responders to let me see them and officially say goodbye. Over the years, I've learned to imitate appropriate feelings rather than experiencing them for myself first hand. Not much has changed in my heart. I feel the exact same blank emotions I did when they were alive. My parents have always been cold. Now, as I gaze down upon them, they are a different kind of frozen. As they lay immobile, icy, and blue, their newly found solidified condition seems more true to form. Dead people are just more honest. They are what they are and nothing else.
By Alisa Daglio5 years ago in Horror
A Ribbon of Time
Think of the timeline like a piece of ribbon. Like the one a little girl ties into her braids in August, or maybe the large bow that keeps the Christmas present together. It’s flexible, it can twist and fold, but it still keeps a distinct shape. One twist and maybe someone likes tea more than coffee, fold the ribbon and then a war ended three months after it did originally, pull a thread and someone never even existed. Nevertheless time moves on, unforgiving yet dependable. But cut the ribbon, and everything changes. The future is no longer supported, everything after the cut is lost, crumbled, erased. Hopefully the ribbon can reweave itself, but still the injury never heals right; a scar, an ache that lingers, it just doesn’t work the same anymore. But then again, maybe that was the plan all along.
By Marissa Randall5 years ago in Horror
To Have Read and Bled
“Darling,” he says. It is the word that tethers me to this strange place. Darling. It quickens my pulse and hitches my breath. Darling he had called me across glasses of white wine and white tablecloth. Darling he called me when he produced the ring, the joint bank account, and the twenty-thousand-dollar weekly allowance. People talked—he had many previous wives after all. I didn’t care. They didn’t see the iridescent sparkle from their own left hand, couldn’t fathom the idea of their bank account expanding overnight, didn’t hear the timbre of his voice when he called me, Darling.
By Claudia Neaves5 years ago in Horror
