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 Gingerbread Challenge
“Five. Four. Three. Two… One!” I felt the bang of the starting gun echo through every inch of my body, but I didn’t give myself a chance to feel afraid.
By Amy Rivers5 years ago in Horror
Crimson dreams
Chapter 1: White Walls ‘The echo of pure silence inside my head is deafening. I can’t stand the monotonous hum my brain creates to drown out the emptiness. I fear my sanity is being jeopardized at every imaginary tick of a second hand going around a clock. I begin to beg to the force that controls time, to make it tick faster until my consciousness awakes once again.’
By Brandon Baxter5 years ago in Horror
Laugh, Cry, Die: A Last Request Fulfilled
Laugh, Cry, Die: A last request fulfilled The last words I ever heard from my mom were "do nothing, don't call the cops or the ambulance, let me die." Based on true events.
By Cameron Smith5 years ago in Horror
Satans Bargain
"Where the FUCK did I put it?" Lucifer could be found on this particularly hot day tearing apart his hotel room, screaming about, in a bit of a panic. He could have sworn he tucked his black book into his jean pocket right after the deal he had just made with a fellow named Patrick, who was willing to sacrifice anything for the success of his restaurant.
By Belle Bordeaux5 years ago in Horror
Little Black Book Loop
Cassandra was sitting at a glass desk, frantically typing on a holo keyboard. She decided that, finally, she would write their stories. The sad smile on her lips unmasked powerful contradictory emotions—hope and resignation, love and hate, melancholy. There was no screen. Or rather, the whole room was one. Countless luminescent vines were shuddering around her, carrying a myriad of holographic pictures, videos, and blocks of text. It looked like Cassandra's desk had been overgrown and had found its place in the ramage of a colossal tree made of neon. On one singular branch, facing the girl, a blue rectangle was dangling. It appeared to be the text editor in which she was inputting. A few paragraphs were already written:
By Stéphane Lallée5 years ago in Horror
Little Miss Fortune
Four leaves clung to a discoloured clover as it swayed limply in a mound of shining sand. A coarse bed to awaken on, for sure, but it was an awakening none the less.
By Jack Robinson5 years ago in Horror
Sweet Dreams
It oozed from his body, seeping out like a thick slush; not quite solid but the consistency not so much like a liquid either. He touched the now open sores covering his body, unable to believe his eyes.
By Sam Vera5 years ago in Horror
Alice in Wonderland
By Rick Hartford The old Ford pickup creaked up the dirt road near the river and stopped. Two men got out and stood by the cab for a moment, the smoke from their cigarettes drifting into the air like souls departing the newly dead.
By Rick Hartford5 years ago in Horror
My Wilted Flower
Like the wind that howls at night, she would too. It was an eerie sound that always chilled me to the bone, and left me often very wary of my surroundings. I’d stop my work at these times, pressing my finger tight against my pen. The paper’s always marked with my nervous moves. Fear would fill my soul.
By Sam Vera5 years ago in Horror
Little Black Book
“Katie!” My mother shouts, “Could you come down here please!” I sigh but make my way down the stairs and find her in the kitchen leaning against the island that dominates the room, reading an official looking piece of paper.
By Mary Pappas5 years ago in Horror
The Climbing
The Climbing Grey stairs. Lucy is climbing. Walls on the first floor - yellow, lacquered and smooth. There are six doors in rounded hallway. Doubt increases in her. Where should she go? She only hears quiet whispering echo: ‘’Everything is simple…’’ She is pushing shadows in defiance, already tired. How much time has passed?
By Obrenija Novkovic5 years ago in Horror
An invoce from death
I reckon one of the gears needs to be changed. And all these disgusting and stenching grease, all over me; has left me estranged. Away and beyond from any kind of humane thinking. Though why do I ought to feel those humane traits, towards and out these diseased leeches? But what am I writing for God's sake? I have become blasphemous towards what I am ready to give more of it, in spite of spite—they'd honour me, despite. I remember as I try to write the suffocating grease away! That I wasn't like this... But there's no soap for this industrial stench. There is no way out of this dooming toil!! ... But to simply be part of it and—conform.
By Michele5 years ago in Horror