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 Art of Being Unsure
I think of it as a skill, being unsure, for how can one ever be sure that they are unsure? As my mind trails off on to another tangent, my index finger weaves around the lace doily on my grandmother's oak dining table, tracing its delicate loops and floral patterns and for a moment I wish I could be a design, perhaps a character in a painting. Oozing beauty but lifelessness.
By Chelsei St Paul5 years ago in Horror
Defiant Haruspicy
I am liable, to view those trees whipping like blades of grass in the maelstrom that has found itself atop my lonely hill. If only, if only this lavish home was everything I've ever wanted. Though I live in luxury, every day is lost to me, as I speak with nature in an attempt to find myself. Rather, not find myself, but find the half of myself I so desperately need. I despise them as much as I love them, for they are trapped within a reprehensible maze of which I've never suffered. They had run through it every day for the past weeks, time and time again, screaming for my help. I never overcame that hurdle, walking through the inside of the walls at any junction. I'd simply climb over, as if it were no big deal. So, when I ran in blindly at their especially terrifying scream, it was jarring - harrowing even to move through the gilded stone and shrubbery. I knew now why they got trapped so often, why their blood curdling, awe-stricken cries flew into the night and morning sky with little left of sanity. It was exhilarating, horrifyingly so. It was horrifying, beyond anything I'd ever seen. The way that the branches of nimble shrubs cast shadows of lanky and inky black across a tapestry of possible demises at the hands of forces unseen made my skin crawl. So, I pushed onward, attempting to finally confront this beast I'd so often avoided. They told me the pattern hundreds of times, and I'd basically memorized it, but on the one day I can't remember it they're screaming during my entire search. What lackadaisical providence would allow such a thing, why would this be possible in my own backyard? It made the safety of my lovely home feel torn, feel conflicted. However, in this mired trench that I called a mind, the thoughts started to lose their footing as I heard the screams getting louder. Eventually, I heard them bouncing off of the two very walls behind me. It was like a valley of wind and wolf howls; it was a sauna of sound. It baked my skin so that it sizzled, it raked my ears so that they would shiver. It was a cacophony of evil dichotomy, suffering it for much longer would cause me worse than deafness. Plugging my ears with my fingers ended up more like clawing the flesh from within them. Then, it all stopped. This horrid haruspicy having written for my feeble mind only one answer; death. I began to run, dodging left and right. Was this a right turn or a left? Should I even turn, or should I head straight? Unique, was this terror, as it was only aided by a sound I'd never heard before. The sound of unwavering footsteps. The sound of an end close behind. I began to think about my life, the way that my lover placed their hands upon my shoulders after a long day. The way that I would hold them until my tears dried and heart calmed. My desperation grew, my own cries of absolute unbridled ailment congealing along the horizon as if there truly were a light in the darkness of fear. I began to appreciate everything I could amid these supposed final moments, only to plant my feet on open ground. Is it over? Have I escaped? Is that death that was so certain before.. Is it far now? No, for I feel cold and wretched hands upon my waist and mouth. My scream is muffled as I kick and shove. I escaped, I trampled obstacle after obstacle, and this is how the universe repays me? I almost feel the sensation of being dragged back in, only to have my cheek met with a tender kiss of familiar lips. I turn, shock enveloping me as it did just moments ago, and my face is distorted from raw fear to relieved ire. I slap them, as that's the only instinct I have, and tell them just how scared I was. All they could do, even after turning me white as a sheet with their games, was laugh. I couldn't resist to join in.
By Casey Castro5 years ago in Horror
Man Bites Dog
I read once that revenge was like biting a dog that bit you. Whoever said that failed to realise everyman must bite his dog. The secret is to bite the dog first. That is what happens in the wild. When a new litter of puppies is born into the pack, the alpha dog, on their first night, bites each puppy hard on the scruff of their necks. It is important. It is their initiation into the pack. That puppy knows pain for the first time; knows its source and respects and fears it. When you first take that new puppy home, for your family; you must also do the same. You must pick up that beautiful fragile animal and bite it on the scruff of the neck until it screams. Then gather them up and smother them with love, letting them kiss your face, telling you they are sorry. That new dog must know you are in control, you are the alpha, otherwise that dog is going to bite someone you love one day.
By Tom Brad5 years ago in Horror
Stairway to heaven
Ariana, a desperate young woman, trapped in an eternal hellish nightmare, knew that to get to heaven she had to prove her worth to the demon who held her captive. There was a reason for killing that man, Mike, her husband of 25 years; she did not mean to do it, it was in self-defence. Yes, she may have stabbed him twenty times or fifty with that kitchen knife, she lost count after plunge number five; but he had it coming. It was unfortunate that he had two of his friends with him, but they were easy to dispose of. Both drunk and sleeping. One on the armchair, with his legs, splayed over the wing, and his other mate who had previously vomited is sprawled out on the rug in front of a dead fireplace.
By Deborah5 years ago in Horror
Happy Wife Inc
The roses were sad. They had not been trimmed in weeks and the spent flower heads hung woefully, dried out. Carlisle’s new wife didn’t have an eye for that sort of thing. She had an eye for modern art, which now decorated their new living room, and she had an eye for expensive shoes, which lined the floors of their recently renovated closet.
By Kathryn Brown5 years ago in Horror
Shadow Fight
There it was again—the creaking sound of someone treading slowly out in the hallway. Pressing mute on the remote in my hand, the sound cut off from the television and I turned my ear toward the door behind me.
By Sweet Scarlet5 years ago in Horror
The Ship on the Horizon
Robert awoke adrift. Everything hurt: his head, his limbs, his spine. As he raised his head, something red dripped into his eyes. He touched the top of his head and looked down: blood.
By Catsidhe5 years ago in Horror
Isolation
My name is Isiah Fortsmith, and I am- or was- the captain of the USS Ishimura. A boarding ship with a crew of two hundred, engineers, scientists, and workers. Our last mission was the transportation of refugees from earth-1 to the Proxima Centauri system, where we would deliver them to eden transit. I kept daily logs of our journey up to the point of hyper sleep, as well as once we were awoken. Everything went smoothly, there were no hiccups in the system or flight path, and we estimated our arrival to be exactly within acceptable transitory limits.
By Joshua Morelli5 years ago in Horror
As I breathe
"I'm going to be ok." Kara threw her head between her knees, desperately trying to catch her breath. The walls of the small office began to warp and close in on her. She could hear the voices in her head getting louder.
By Anissa Marie5 years ago in Horror
White Knuckle Driver
I was on the phone with my latest best friend Etta. She had recently asked me to take her to the airport. As well as my aversion to driving, I hated disappointing people and found it difficult to say no, especially when I thought someone needed me and had taken the opportunity to befriend me. Others who understand friendships much better than I do know there are two favors that will test any friendship, helping a friend move and taking a friend to the airport.
By Mindy Reed5 years ago in Horror
Mr. Threadbare
Before Mr Threadbare was named as such, he was a fastidious, one-time rather renown tailor with the given name of Ira Burrand. In tandem with his fellow tailor and on-off lover Jasper Munet, Ira ran the upmarket tailoring and altering shop Bespoke Bostonian in a side road off Newbury Street - the shopping area of choice for the wealthy and dapper citizens of Boston, Massachusetts.
By jamie harding5 years ago in Horror
Moll Pitcher
She stood facing the large window overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. She heard the rumbling of the auditorium behind her as people filled in the seats. She watched as the ship in the far horizon slowly slipped away into the sunset. She desperately wanted to be aboard that ship- but she had a job to do here, and she could not just leave. She summed a welcoming smile and turned to face the guest.
By Rose Loren Geer-Robbins5 years ago in Horror