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 FIVE DOORS THAT NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN OPENED
~By Caelum, Night Archivist of the Veil~ Most cops think the worst thing you can find at a crime scene is blood. They’re wrong... The worst thing is a question. A question with teeth. A question that refuses to let you sleep. Some cases don’t end when you file the report. They stay with you. They lean over your bed at night. They breathe behind you in empty rooms.
By Veil of Shadowsabout a month ago in Horror
A Stranger Outside My House Started Calling Me (True horror story). Content Warning.
The story you’re about to read is not fiction; it was shared anonymously with us, and we’ve chosen to share this message with everyone. While the content of the confession may be unsettling to some, it serves as a powerful testament to the experiences faced by individuals who choose to remain anonymous. We believe in providing a platform for diverse narratives, even those that may evoke strong emotions or discomfort. It is a reminder that everyone’s journey is unique, and sharing these stories fosters understanding and empathy within our community.
By 18 plus homeabout a month ago in Horror
The Room I Built. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I’ve avoided that room for years. Tonight, something inside knocks. The door creaks when I push it open. Dust drifts in pale beams of light, falling on objects I recognize but can’t place. The air is thick, almost tasting of mildew and old paper. The walls stretch higher than I remember, shadows pooling in the corners, curling like fingers. I feel a chill skitter along my spine, as if the room is breathing with me. The floorboards groan under my weight. A drawer slides open on its own, papers spilling across the floor. Scribbled notes, crumpled drawings, fragments of conversations I barely remember. And yet… they feel urgent, like they’ve been waiting. A figure crouches in the far corner, knees pulled up, head down. It wears my old school uniform. The whispers start, soft, low, almost drowned out by the sound of my own heartbeat but I recognize them immediately. Every mistake I’ve ever made, every word I wish I could take back. I should run. I know I should. But my legs refuse. The air tastes metallic, like blood. My throat is tight. And then it lifts its head. It’s my face. Swollen, twisted with all the years of anger, disappointment, and neglect I shoved away, pretending it didn’t matter. My own eyes glare at me with a fury I’ve long ignored. I lunge for the door. It doesn’t budge. The figure leans forward, voice soft, merciless: “You left me in here. Now it’s your turn.” The walls seem to pulse, closing in. My chest burns. The shadows press against me, heavier than air. And then I realize the truth: this room isn’t real. It never was. Every object, every shadow, every whispered mistake. I built it in my mind. I spent my life piling regrets here, thinking out of sight meant out of mind. And now… the room has me.
By Akuamoah Senior about a month ago in Horror
Episode IV – Apex Mammals: Kings of Teeth and Territory
On land, the food chain doesn’t end with claws. It ends with decisions. Apex mammals don’t just kill because they’re hungry. They kill to defend territory. To establish dominance. To teach and too send a message.
By Veil of Shadowsabout a month ago in Horror
Psych induced insomnia
The thought passes realms, crossing paths into this morning's dimension. It fades, pulling itself back as it leaves something behind—pieces, blurry and unclear visions, like staring into shattered glass. Was it only a dream? Prophecies like those of Nostradamus perhaps. Gather these thoughts and grasp the scenes, staring up at the ceiling, cold and drenched, shivering with no covers. Puzzled, deep in thought, I handle my cigarette, watching ghosts rise from the smoke.
By Jason Souzaabout a month ago in Horror
The Last Message
It was 2:14 a.m. when Ayan’s phone vibrated under his pillow. At first, he ignored it. Nights had become heavy for him—hours spent staring at the ceiling, trying to drown memories that refused to fade. Memories of her. The way she laughed with her whole face, the way she always warmed her hands on a cup of chai before drinking, the way she said his name as if it carried some hidden softness only she could hear.
By hamad khanabout a month ago in Horror
The Mystery of the Last Message
It was 12:47 a.m. The lights in the room were off, and Arian lay on his bed, staring at his phone. Outside, November’s cold wind tapped softly against the windowpane. Most people were asleep at this hour. But Arian couldn’t sleep.
By ABDULLAH AL LOKMANabout a month ago in Horror
