psychological
Mind games taken way too far; explore the disturbing genre of psychological thrillers that make us question our perception of sanity and reality.
I Was Forced to Work With Clowns — And No One Believed What I Saw
The moment the lights went out, I knew something was wrong, but when I told the others in the circus, they all laughed. They advised, "Don't be soft; it's just a little bit of darkness." I just felt it. That oppressive, thick fear. The kind that gets into your bones and under your skin. I ought to have left as soon as they gave me the red nose. --- Clowns were never my thing. Not even when I was a kid. My stomach always twisted because of the painted smile and the way their faces never revealed their true emotions. I almost said no when a traveling circus offered me a job after I lost my job. However, rent was past due. My refrigerator was empty. I was forced to act. They said I would sell tickets. Simple work. In no costume No clowns! They deceived. --- My first night was spent in Tent Nine, also known as the "Clown Wardrobe." It smelled like old face paint and sweat. The mirrors were stained by greasepaint. Wig stands lined the shelves like severed heads. Windows were not present. curtains made of thick velvet. Additionally, there was a smell that resembled rotten food and burned sugar. I tried to make light of it. I told myself that it was just work. But then the lights started to move around. I also heard it. Laughter. Not content. Not amusing. It was modest. Raspy. like something that tries to sound human but doesn't. --- I told Mark, the manager of the tent. He grinned. "Clowns enjoy tricking people. It will become second nature. However, I never did. I slept in the caravan behind the main tent that night. The windows were shook by the wind. The tin roof shook as the rain fell. I choked when I awoke at 3:12 a.m. Balloons. Numerous of them. Red, yellow, and blue are taking up space. One slowly deflated over my mouth. I screamed as I tore it away. Nobody arrived. The balloons were gone by morning. The caravan had no filth. Mark gave a head shake. "Yes, rough dream?" However, I wasn't dreaming. My throat continued to burn. --- Three nights later, the worst happened. We were in the vicinity of Sheffield. A chilly, muddy field No crowds. Only the crew I had been asked to assist them with the clown tent's late-night packing. I declined. They demanded it. I made my way inside. Alone. Overhead, only one dim light. The costumes were dangling like bodies. Metal, paint, and sweat all permeated the air. When I turned around, I saw it. a ghoul. Eight feet in height. Like cracked porcelain, pale skin. It had a mouth that was too big. Real teeth, yellow and razor-sharp. It remained still. However, its eyes were on me. I mumbled, "Who's there?" It laughed. Not joking. Giggled. I stepped back. It made one progress. The weight made the floor squeak. I veered off and ran. I collapsed outside, shaking. Mark was present. As I wept and pointed at the tent, I begged them to believe me. He showed up. walked out with a smile. "Love, there's nothing there. You require sleep. I was not believed. --- The following morning, I quit. I took a train, packed my bags, and never looked back. But I was followed by something. I occasionally hear it outside my apartment window. That guffaw. Slow and soft. I wake up sometimes to find balloons attached to my bedpost. Nobody else can see them. I'm stressed, according to my mom. I need to rest, my friends say. But I'm aware of the truth. The monster recognized me after I looked it in the eye. And I'm the only one still alive who can recall that night.
By Abdu ssamad6 months ago in Horror
The Song Only I Could Hear
The notification blinked: "Unlock your voice’s hidden archive." I almost deleted VoxScan—another AI vocal tool promising "revolutionary audio restoration." But as a failed musician drowning in hospital bills for my daughter’s leukemia treatment, desperation had a way of making miracles seem plausible. I plugged in my headphones and pressed *Scan*.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Horror
The Things We Leave at Stations. Content Warning.
They say every station keeps a little of what we leave behind: scarves forgotten on benches, umbrellas propped beside vending machines, suitcases with broken handles. But some say stations keep something far darker—fragments of us that we never meant to leave.
By Mati Henry 6 months ago in Horror
Lost in the Woods at Night
At Night, Lost in the Woods "When the lights went out, I knew something was wrong; however, when I told my family, they just laughed," It started as a normal weekend trip. Just a bit of time away from London, out in the country. My family booked a small cottage near the edge of a forest. Peaceful. Quiet. No phone signal. On Friday afternoon, we arrived. The air smelled of pine and damp earth. Birds chirped lazily. It appeared to be a dream. However, the dream changed into something else by nightfall. Around 10 PM, the power went out. When it happened, I was reading by the fireplace. The room became glowing and warm in a split second. The next, darkness swallowed everything. I blinked. Waited. Nothing. Just the sound of the wind scraping against the windows. I informed my dad. He shrugged. “Old place. Most likely, the breaker tripped. Mum laughed. “You’ll survive one night without your phone.” My younger brother made fun of me. “Watch out — the forest monsters are coming!” But I felt it. Something wasn't right. Like the darkness was heavier than normal. Like it was pressing against the windows, watching us. I decided to step outside. For a brief moment. To get some air. I saw it at that time. A figure appeared about twenty feet away from the trees. It wasn’t moving. Just standing there. Tall. Thin. No attributes. Only there. My chest tightened. I blinked again, hoping it was a trick of the shadows. However, it did not vanish. It stayed. I dashed inside again. The door was slammed. Locked it. “Told you,” I said. “There’s something out there.” They laughed once more. “It’s probably a tree.” “Don’t be silly.” “Too many scary movies, yeah?” I wanted to scream. I felt alone, like I was in a different world than them. A world full of dread. Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. Every creak of the wood, every howl of the wind felt like it was whispering to me. Calling. Around 2 AM, I heard footsteps. Not inside. Outside. Slow. Crunching the leaves. Through the curtain, I saw a glimpse. Nothing. Then — a flash of white. A face? A mask? I couldn’t tell. It also vanished very quickly. I jolted my brother to sleep. “Please. Wake up. There’s something out there.” He rolled over. “Go to bed, freak.” Tears stung my eyes. I was not believed. No one saw it but me. The night dragged on. From my window, I watched. Every now and then, I caught glimpses. It's unclear. Never clear. But there. always present. advancing closer. By dawn, I was shaking. Pale. Exhausted. Everyone else? They were unharmed. Eating breakfast. Laughing. Planning a walk in the woods. They refused to go, I begged. “Please. Stay close. Something’s out there. I promise. My dad sighed. “Enough, alright? Your brother is being scared by you. So I stayed behind. Alone. They left. I waited. Hours passed. The forest was quiet. Too silent. Then — screaming. Distant. Sharp. Cut off. I ran outside. To the edge of the trees. Nothing. No birds. No wind. merely that gloomy darkness. in the open air. They never returned. The police searched for days. No sign. No tracks. No clues. only me. And a story no one believed. Now, every night, I see the figure again. positioned just below the tree line. Waiting. Watching. I don’t go near the forest anymore. I don’t speak of that night. Because the moment I do — people disappear. Now, I’m the only one left who remembers that night. Start writing...
By Abdu ssamad6 months ago in Horror
Ava Smiles
Have you ever seen a smile so sinister, so disturbing that it sends a chill racing down your spine? A chill so cold only the bodies resting haplessly in the morgue would be familiar with. I'm sure if you've seen a smile like that, you'd certainly never forget it, or be here to tell us about it, for that matter.
By Devan Reed6 months ago in Horror
The Farmhouse Dog
The Farmhouse Dog A Paranormal Tale Emily had finally moved into her grandparents’ old farmhouse after years of it sitting empty. The final box of kitchen items landed on the counter with a tired thud. Spoons and plates clinked into place, finding their new homes. As dusk set in and a storm rolled over the hills, Emily curled up by the fire, soaking in the comforting silence—so unlike the days when chickens clucked and sheep bleated outside these very walls.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Horror
