psychological
Mind games taken way too far; explore the disturbing genre of psychological thrillers that make us question our perception of sanity and reality.
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
The Network
One morning, a man awoke, suddenly unprepared to execute a crowd. Thought and emotion writhed within his head as his hands pulled at previously limp fabric until it contorted and settled against his scarred tan skin. At a rational level, he knew what should occur. First, resistors, disbelievers, and other assorted Luddites would make some sort of last stand: valiant in theory, but pathetic in practice. Next, the survivors would be herded into a pen; he would recite a speech he had given dozens of times and would give the Subversives one last chance to be saved and Plug themselves Into the Network. A few would always abandon their principles when faced with death. But the fervency of most Subversives had confused and impressed him: they were so determined to hold on to anachronistic ways of being that they would willingly, even proudly, sacrifice themselves in a futile stand against the March of Progress. Didn’t they know how selfish they were being? Every single Subversive had been amply informed of the mechanics of the Network and every one of them had made a choice to stay on the wrong side of the End War and thus History. Just as economies required new investment to keep people employed, the Network could not sustain itself absent further participation. It was truly humanity’s ethical obligation to keep the Network alive until the world’s top scientists could discover new populations from which to extract more Thought. Without sufficient Thought power, the Network would collapse, ending the lives of everyone linked into it.
By Darl Bundren5 years ago in Horror
Four
Four Written by Shanna Hackett It was the fourth night. The fourth night of desolation. The fourth night of silence. The fourth night of uncertainty. It was the fourth night of this odyssey and Bailey was beginning to grow hungrier with each step. She had been walking since the car ran out of gas two days ago. “That was inevitable”, she thought to herself as she dragged her worn boots across the asphalt of the desert valley. US Route 50–what felt like the longest road in the country—seemed more dried out and barren than one would imagine. After Fallon fell apart, there was talk amongst a few survivors of something bigger. Someplace with walls, farmland, people working together and protecting each other: a community. Bailey knew she had to reach Delta but the 409 miles of land between the two cities—two states really—seemed to grow exponentially with every junction sign she passed.
By Shanna Hackett5 years ago in Horror
Parasite
The sound of loud footsteps, practically stomping, alerts the red one to his companion’s arrival. The front door is broken; it lies crooked on its hinges, and as such, the blue one can no longer use the slamming of the door to make his presence known. However, he’s always been adaptable, and the sound of his thick boots edging closer to the kitchen is as much as a warning as any.
By Heaven Anderson5 years ago in Horror
