#I feel like dropping certain horror novels in the bath

[gollancz]

Aside from number 9, this also applies to all good horror novels.

Top 10 things a good horror move can be:

1: Someones highly specific fetish but put in a different genre

2: An accurate depiction of fears someone has regarding an institution (medical, police, etc)

3-8: Wet

9: Predominantly practical effects

10: gay

[sserpente]

A/N: I’m back! Did you miss me? *Loki voice* I’ve had this prompt in mind for a while now… and given that “Avengers: Endgame” is coming out this bloody year… but don’t worry, Loki is alive in this one. Enjoy!

Words: 1408 Warnings: violence, blackmailing, blood

You gulped as you looked up, tearing your gaze away from the deadly weapon in your hand. It was a dagger, small and beautifully crafted—murderous and intimidating—and it represented everything you were not.

But you were not the only one Thanos had taken and compromised, had been not the only one to face cruel threats, be inflicted pain on in case of disobedience and promised death upon failure. The Black Order had taken a dozen other humans who he now had in his grasp, free to do with as he pleased. There were civilians, policemen who had been involved in the alien invasion in the first place, brave volunteers and even a child, no older than fifteen.

The fear that clung to their bodies was tangible, numbing even—knowing that resistance would bring them certain death. Only few of them realised their fate was sealed either way when Thanos revealed to you all his strategy. You were brainless lackeys, a mere distraction; and while the Avengers and their “brutes” were busy killing you all, the Black Order would retrieve the one Infinity Stone which had been stolen from them.

Here you were now, meeting your tormentor’s cold eyes. He moved on quickly. Defiance and the mad urge to challenge him had long ceased, you were of no interest to him. Thanos had broken you, as he had all of you. If the Grim Reaper was to greet you soon, you would welcome him with your arms open, bathing in the anxiety that came with the inevitable menace of pain.

You had expected Earth to be different when you returned at long last, breathing in fresh oxygen and swallowing thickly when you spotted the massive trees around you, stretching out their branches like claws, ready to disembowel you. Nothing had changed. Nothing but the debris, the dust, the blood… the destruction and the corpses drowning your home planet into a miserable pile of what was once considered the centre of the universe—how wrong you had all been.

Clutching your weapon tightly, you breathed in audibly to chase away your nausea from travelling by Tesseract, anything but ready to follow the Black Order’s commands and plunge yourself into a battle you knew you would lose.

If staying with Thanos against your will had taught you one thing, however, … it was that it was not your decision to make, not your choice to elect what would end your life. You only knew this—today, you were going to die either way.

Before your capture, you had admired the Avengers for their strength, their bravery and fierceness to fight evil beings but now you were terrified, knowing they would bring about your own demise. Neither Thanos nor the Black Order had properly trained you, the expendable distraction. Your heart was in your mouth when you spotted them drawing their weapons, ready for a bloody fight—and it was then something inside you snapped. Panic overwhelmed your mind and body as you turned on your heel and fled, following your instincts. Cruel enough, you did not realise until something sliced your calf open that escaping was futile.

Crying out in pain, you fell to the dirty ground to your feet. There was hardly enough time for you to turn around to face your attacker, helplessly raising the dagger in your hand. Your attacker, crude, vicious and merciless, knocked the weapon from your grasp and straddled you so effortlessly you gasped for air, suppressing a heart-breaking sob. He hadn’t even tried. When you glanced up in fear… you looked straight into a pair of stunning blue eyes. Loki’s.

You had believed him dead. Now, with his nostrils flaring, the ice cold expression on his face and the determination to kill glistening in his gaze, you squeezed your own eyes shut the moment he raised his dagger—the very weapon he must have used to stop you from fleeing—and aimed directly at your heart, having you turn your head to the side in the process desperately.

You did not want to witness this. Perhaps Loki would be kind enough to grant you a quick end without making you suffer, perhaps he would be merciful and let you perish without forcing you to watch yourself bleed to death…

But then, when several heartbeats later, you had still not felt the painful blow of a sharp blade invading your skin and stabbing your heart, your eyes flattered open again, terror washing over you. Almost confused, you peeked up at him only to be met with a thoughtful frown.

He was hesitating.

“Do it. Do it, please. Just do it. If y-you won’t, then he will.” You pleaded out of breath, not daring to look the God of Mischief in the eye. And yet, Loki narrowed his eyes at you and eventually… lowered his dagger again. When you finally brought yourself to look at him, he appeared like he was dwelling in the past—and at the very same time, sparing your life.

Your injured calf was throbbing, the adrenaline cursing through your body doing little to soothe your pain. You had no idea how much time had passed—not until the faint battle cries and the sounds of metal and bones crushing against one another stopped gradually, replaced by Proxima Midnight’s cold and relentless voice.

Your eyes widened in pure horror, hips bucking in a desperate attempt to escape yet again but Loki would not move an inch. Alarmed, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the ground, leaving you wailing defencelessly.

“L-Loki… let me go, please. Please let me go, let me go, please!” Hysterically, you suddenly began thrashing around in his iron grip, trying anything to escape as hot tears streamed down your cheeks. You were trembling like leaves in the wind, unable to grasp a single rational thought.

You had missed your chance of a quick death… and you now dreaded just how many body parts of yours Proxima was going to shatter and pierce before she would finally grant you eternal sleep. You knew that if you had not died already to distract the Avengers long enough for them to strike, you would be maimed now.

The God of Mischief understood immediately. Tilting his head mutely, he suddenly wrapped his arms around your weak body, mere moments later you could feel the numbing sensation of his magic flowing through your veins, causing you to close your eyes, devastated. Was he killing you? Were you dying already?

But the quiet bleeping in the background did not at all sound like heaven, nor did the roaring and vibrating of strong engines underneath your feet. Still shaking uncontrollably, you swallowed courageously and looked around you.

You were on a ship, no… a massive quinjet. Had Loki… teleported you?

There was only one other person aboard. You recognised her as Black Widow, the master assassin with the gorgeous black suit complimenting every single curve of her body.

“Who is she?” Natasha Romanoff exclaimed suspiciously, leaning forward in the co-pilot’s seat to take a proper look at your dishevelled form. You were still bleeding, not realising you were holding onto Loki for dear life so you would not drop to the ground pathetically.

“Call the others back at once. She was a captive of Thanos’, forced to attack us just like the rest my brother and your companions have already slaughtered so we would be occupied for a while. We have to go after the Black Order right now.”

Glancing up at him with your lips parted, you admired your saviour. You had not uttered a single word and still, Loki had figured out part of their ruthless strategy within a mere matter of seconds. Natasha nodded absentmindedly, quickly mumbling something into her earpiece. In the meantime, Loki sat you down carefully on one of the cushioned seats. You shivered when his fingers glided over your bare arms.

“You will have to hold on for me, dear. As soon as I return, I shall heal your calf.”

Loki had saved your life. It hit you like a painful blow in the face, eternal gratefulness spreading in your guts. You nodded mutely in response, unable to speak yourself despite the newfound energy charging your entire being from head to toe with a start. It was the God of Mischief who had, smirking down at you promisingly and unknowingly, now breathed new life into you.

A/N: Guys, if you liked this story, I would appreciate so much if you could support me on KoFi! YOU can help me publish my first novel! It’s easy, it’s anonymous, you can do it from all over the world and it’s just 3€! Your help counts too, I’d appreciate it so much if you helped me fulfil my dream! ♥ ko-fi.com/sserpente

[lovemesomesurveys]

Do you have anyone you fully trust? Yes. I just don’t confide a lot to anyone for some reason. It’s not because I don’t trust them, I just... I have a hard time expressing myself and opening up. I know, shocking right? I ramble on and overshare on these surveys, but it’s not easy for me to do in person. I don’t like talking about myself (again, despite how it seems in these surveys) and having the attention on me. I don’t like burdening people with my problems. I also always feel like my problems are so insignificant and stupid that I feel no one wants to hear about. Which I know I could go to my mom with anything and tell her anything and she’d listen to me, but I still feel that way. I like that in these surveys I can just vent into the void.  What kind of pants did you wear today? Leggings, duh. How old is your television? I don’t know how old the TV itself is, but I think I’ve had it for almost 4 years. Do you have a laptop or desktop? Laptop. When did you last talk on the phone with someone? Yesterday when my mom called me on her lunch break. 

Are you currently sleepy? Of course I am. Have you ever deleted Facebook friends for a significant other? No. Have you ever had bad trust issues with someone? Yes. What accent do you think is the most attractive? Some southern and some British accents. Do you own any television series box sets? Yes. I have I Love Lucy and The Dick Van Dyke Show. Have you ever been in a fight with your best friend? Yeah. When did you last receive a hug and who was it from? Yesterday from my mom. Do you take any advanced classes? I’m not taking any classes, I’m done with school. What is your lucky number? I don’t have a ���lucky” number, but my favorite number is 8. Was the last movie you watched a horror film? No, the last movie I watched was Freaky Friday yesterday. I watched 2 really good and creepy shows yesterday, though: AHS 1984 and Two Sentence Horror Story. Do you own a lot of tee shirts? Yes. I love graphic Ts and I’ve got myself a pretty good collection going.  Do you plan your outfits ahead of time? Only certain times like now cause I have a few Halloween shirts and sweatshirts, so I got those out.  Have you ever spent the night in jail? No Would you say you’re a bad influence on others? Definitely don’t look to me as an example right now. Describe your favorite jacket? I love all my hoodies, sweatshirts, and peacoats. List one word to describe your significant other? Non-existent.  Do you handle pain well? It’s something I’ve dealt with all my life. I used to be able to handle that and other health stuff better, but that’s changed these past few years. I’ve gotten so weak. :/ Have you ever been so nervous you threw up? No, but I’ve definitely felt sick. Where is your favorite place to go when you’re depressed? I spend most of my time in bed.  Do you remember the first survey you took? No, that was like back in 2005, I think. I’m sure it was your basic survey, though i.e name, age, location, birthday, etc. I wish I could access my Myspace survey posts and my Xanga account (RIP Xanga). Oh man, the memories.  How many friends do you have on Facebook? 100 and something.  Have you ever watched fight videos for amusement? No. I don’t find that stuff amusing at all. In high school, were you in trouble a lot? No, I never got in trouble in school. Do you enjoy your hairstyle? No. I badly need to get it dyed, trimmed, and styled. Do you have long hair or short hair? Long. How much make up do you wear on a daily basis? I haven’t worn makeup in quite awhile. I don’t think I’ve worn any this year... What is your favorite television show? I have several. Do you have a leather jacket? I have 2 pleather ones. Do you think anyone dislikes you for no reason? I’m sure if anyone dislikes me they have good reason. Do you have any children? Noooo. Have you ever been interviewed on television before? Yes. Do you have weak upper body strength? Now I do. :/ I use to have really great upper body strength. I’m a paraplegic, so it’s all upper body for me and I used to be active when I was going to school and had a social life. These past few years due to health stuff, I’ve become quite inactive and spend majority of my time in bed. I lost the muscle mass I used to have. 

What is the worst insult someone can call you? I don’t know, man. I put myself down enough. Do you write on your hands a lot? No. I used to sometimes when I was in high school. Are you good at sketching? Nope. I suck at drawing.  Do you think hugs are awkward? They definitely can be, yeah. Depends who I’m hugging. Do you think facial hair is gross? I wouldn’t say it’s gross, but I personally don’t like a lot of facial hair. I like some scruff on a guy, but that’s it. Would you ever dye your hair an unnatural color? I’ve dyed it red for the past few years.  What color was the last cup you drank from? It’s a clear glass with Disney characters and facts on it. Ever play Angry Birds? Nah, I never got into that. I remember when it seemed like everyone was playing that. That, and Farmland. Omg the game invites on Facebook used to get on my nerves until Facebook finally made the option to block those.  Have you ever been to the zoo before? Yeah, several times. What instruments do you know how to play? I used to play some piano. I regret not taking it more seriously. I wish I had kept up with it. :/ The last time I played was over 10 years ago. How late did you stay up last night? I went to bed around like 230. How late do you plan on staying up tonight? It’s almost 230 now and I probably should try to sleep after this. Whose wall did you post on last? It was a birthday post for someone. Have you ever done hard drugs before? The only drug I’ve done is weed.  Has anyone ever been weirdly obsessed with you? It kind of felt that way with my first boyfriend. Do you own a Snuggie? I do. What is your favorite band of all time? One of them will always be Linkin Park. Would you consider getting a tattoo any time soon? I’ve wanted one for several years, but I’m a big scardy cat. I can’t see myself actually getting one. Are you afraid someone might steal your identity someday? No. Are there any paintings on your wall? Speaking of which, what color are your walls painted? Yes, there’s a few. My walls are white. Do you have any talents that come naturally? I don’t feel like I have any talents. What is your favorite piece of jewelry? I have a few favorites. Is there a place you’d rather live right now? Yes. My family and I want to move. We’ve wanted to for a long time, but we just haven’t been able to yet, unfortunately.  What movie did you last watch with someone? The live-action Aladdin with my mom and aunt a few weeks ago. Do you go out often? No.  Are you afraid of airplane rides? Yes, but I’ve been wanting to travel via plane for awhile now. I’ve had this weird urge. I think probably because I’ve gone with my mom to drop off and pick up a family friend several times at the airport and just recently my dad did. It’s been 13 years since the last time I’ve flown and I’m like, okay it’s my turn to go somewhere now. How many times a day do you brush your teeth? Once. Do you consider yourself a sensitive person? I know I am.  Is there anyone who is overly nice to you? Uhh I don’t know about overly nice. What do you think is the best smell in the world? I have a lot of favorite scents that I love. If you’re reading a book, what page are you currently on? I’m not.  Do you think people are intimidated by you? Uh, no. Do you have a job you like? I don’t have a job. Have you ever lived with a roommate before? No. What song is your favorite right now? I have numerous favorite songs, but I don’t have a current particular favorite. Have you ever had a surprise at your doorstep? Well, like packages. Obviously I know what it is since I ordered it, but it’s still always exciting to get them. Ooh, but during Christmastime my family and I are all ordering stuff and the stuff they order for me is a surprise.  Do you like candles? * Ehhhh. I like them more in theory <<< Lol, same. I love many candle scents and Bath & Body Works has a lot I like that smell good and look cute, but I don’t actually light any candles. I have like 4 in my room that I never light lol. Would you prefer internet or television? The internet if I could only have one since I could watch my shows online as well. What is something you lose often? My patience and temper. Well, I don’t get angry very often, but I get frustrated and irritated all the time. :/ Do you enter a lot of sweepstakes? No. It’s been a long time since I’ve entered anything. What is your favorite possession in your room? Everything. I have it because I want and love it. What will you be doing in the next ten minutes? I should try and sleep. How old is your oldest sibling? He’ll be 36 next month. Do you consider yourself physically active? Nope. I’ve explained this already. How many scarves do you own, if any at all? Zero. It doesn’t get cold enough to where I’d need a scarf. Plus, I don’t like things around my neck. As it is I’m always pulling down my shirt cause they ride up. Do you have any cuts or scratches as of now? Yes. Where did you last sleep? My bed. Do you have Netflix? Yeah. Are you colorblind? Nope. Do you know anyone personally who is colorblind? Not anymore, but like I said in a previous survey recently I had a science teacher in high school that was. Do you enjoy dancing? My “dancing” is just me bobbing my head along to the music and maybe moving my arms/hands a bit. Have you ever considered writing a novel? Yeah, actually. I used to like writing short stories when I was younger, and I thought about writing novels.

[fanforfanatic]

a bend in the wind

1.5k // ao3

Cas is back from purgatory. And Dean breathes again.

For weeks he held his breath the way he did hope, firmly and with both hands. Kept it tucked in his chest’s cage, the one made of bone and grief, because it was all he could do. But Cas is back now.

The first night they’re together again is like a first time. What theirs would have been if it wasn’t quick and quiet on a bed of dirt with Benny guarding the perimeter. There was always urgency there, a crackle in the air to remind them that staying put would get them dead and going slow would have to wait.

Dean forgets, pulling at belt buckles and zippers with frenzy as soon as Sam leaves the motel room. Cas catches his rough hands, stills them in his warm ones, skin dry and reassuring against Dean’s.

“We can take our time,” Cas murmurs like a promise. He presses Dean’s hands to his chest and cups his face instead. “Let me,” he says, lips so close they share air, “take my time.”

Dean twists his fingers into that damn trench coat, shuts his eyes tight against the tenderness, and nods, giving into Cas.

-

Cas gets his own room in the bunker but it’s for him to have, not use. He and Dean share a bed. Dean picks it out—memory foam with down pillows—but Cas is the one who never wants to leave it especially loose limbed and post-orgasm. Especially with Dean pressed to his bare back. With strong arms bracketing his sides and soft touches at his hips. With the cold tip of Dean’s nose running up his spine, chased by wet lips along the edge of his hairline.

“You don’t even need sleep,” Dean calls him out once, all smiles and tease, heart lighter than it could ever be outside this safe space.

Cas laughs and puts Dean on his back. But he looks tired.

-

They nest, filling the bunker’s shelves with books that aren’t all lore, novels they love and plan to love given the time, buying decorative pillows in plaid and thick throw blankets in fleece and an entertainment system in XL for the full cinematic experience. Cas keeps jars of peanut butter in the cupboard like he’s hoarding for the next apocalypse, and goes through honey drop candies by the bag. It’s nice for Cas that not everything tastes like, what was it? Mud? Whatever it was, Dean makes him a peanut butter pie.

On Charlie’s first visit, she asks what this place is, and Sam tells her about Henry, and the Men of Letters, and how they’re legacies . Dean calls it home.

“Well in that case…” Charlie swings her backpack to the front, unzips it, and pulls out one of many liquor bottles with a clink. “Time for a homewarming.”

It’s a good time. The best time. They drink, and they argue about Star Wars, and Dean performs Eye of the Tiger , and Sam forces water bottles into everyone’s hands, and Cas laughs all night and giggles once, face flushed like he’s feeling the booze.

-

He and Cas are archiving storage room F on a lower level when he finds the glasses, large and thick rimmed and coated with a layer of dust as dense as the lense.

He snorts. “Hey, check it out. Old timey glasses.” He wipes them clean with the sleeve of the flannel tied around his hips, and finds the frame beneath the grime charred. “Oh,” he says. “These were doused in holy fire, Cas. Mark that.”

Cas hums from his stool by the door where he’s digitizing the shitty catalogue the Moles kept, and noting Dean’s findings. Dean slips on the glasses, soot leaving his fingertips stained, and looks over.

He misses them at first.

The ring of light suspended above Cas buzzes and blinds, and as soon as his eyes adjust it glows brighter. It drowns Cas’ body, until Dean realises it’s all Cas’ body. Cas is lustre and gold and radiance.

And then he sees them.

Like a terrible backdrop, a looming shadow. Wings large and spread wide, majestic in the way of a collapsed kingdom. They’re threadbare where Dean always imagined them full, dark plumes missing in bunches, worn thin enough that Dean can trace bone with his eyes.

“Cas,” Dean doesn’t say, the name dead on his tongue.

Cas looks up anyway, and yanks his wings close, tucks them behind his back like shame.

“It’s nothing,” Cas blurts.

“Cas.” It’s below a whisper, lost in a borrowed breath.

“Take them off,” Cas says. He jumps to his feet and says it again, sounding just as broken as his wings look. “Take them off!”

Dean flings them off his face, and they skitter across the concrete.

What was he supposed to do? How’s Dean supposed to make up for another loss? He expects the hits to keep coming, but he never considered there might be a world of ‘em he had no clue of. Ones he can’t even fucking see.

“It’s alright,” Cas says when it can’t be. And then, “I promise.”

Dean hears him. Hears please . Hears let this go .

He moves closer, tentative in a way he hasn’t had to be around Cas in a long time. He kisses him, holds him close, pulls them down to their knees, then to their sides where they warm the ground. Dean imagines Cas’ light bathing the both of them.

-

Cas is naked and snoring when Dean slips the glasses back on. It’s wrong but Dean’s been a far cry from good for a long time. The halo’s dimmer now, and it flickers like the worst omen, appearing as a dull metal ring between bursts of light. Cas rolls over with a sleepy grunt, and his wings follow clumsily like too many limbs. They leave a handful of feathers behind, scattered horrors, and Dean picks up each one.

They’re soft, more fragile than they have the right to be, so Dean’s careful not to crush them in his tense hands.

“I shouldn’t have shouted.” Cas’ eyes are open, and so blue, even down here, even beneath his halo, but Dean’s never noticed the wrinkles that edge them. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t want them to alarm you. There’s no need for that.”

Dean shakes his head. “Why are more falling?” He sounds like purgatory, raw with fear.

Cas’ smile is soft. He’s calmer than before. “Dean, you’re not to worry yourself about this.” Bullshit.

“I thought it happened in hell. When you saved me.”

With a sigh Cas moves to his knees, mirroring Dean, and brings one wing forward. It curls jaggedly into the space between them. “This did.”

Dean’s heart drops so low it might as well be back in the pit. The tip is scorched, and even a light graze from Dean’s sandpaper hands would turn it to ash.

“Hellfire caught it on the way up.” It. A manifestation of grace, Cas told him once.

Dean says, “And the rest?”

“Over time.” Cas draws his wing back so it joins its twin. It looks like a reflex, like Cas has made a habit out of hiding them, even from himself.

“It’s an ongoing thing?” And then, choking on the truth, “It’s an ongoing thing.”

Cas nods. This isn’t something they can fix.

“This whole time… But why—”

Oh.

“It’s me. Being on earth, not being in heaven, whichever. That’s what’s doing this to you.” The divine is ebbing out of him and Dean’s been letting it. Cas has been eating and sleeping, because he has to. Drinking because he can.

Dean frees the feathers from his grasp like they’ve burned him instead of the other way around, and their slow fall is a long taunt. He shuffles back. He needs to put space between them, needs to never touch Cas again, needs to stop poisoning everything.

“Dean—”

“No.” He’s shaking, bones trembling. “No.”

Cas crawls close, and their knees touch. He takes Dean’s hands in his, and then he takes them again when Dean rips them away. “Look at me.”

Dean’s going to be sick.

“Look at me,” he says even gentler, as though Dean isn’t the one clawing and plucking parts of him away. He tilts Dean’s face up and keeps a hand there, cradling his jaw. “You’re not to blame for this...change.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean croaks, and Cas swipes his thumb over silent tears.

“It’s not because of you. It’s us. Being together, the way I want us to be—it has a price.”

“Cas, you’re giving up too much.” This isn’t a big bad taking his grace away. This is Dean robbing him of it.

Cas shakes his head and smiles like he knows a secret. Like he’s certain. “I chose you a long time ago, Dean. Over everything else. And every day, I’ll choose you again.”

ao3 // @casloveshisfreckles @reallyelegantsharkfish i appreciate you(r help and support) <3

[katsitting]

Phantom Limb

My contribution to Tomione Day. Enjoy! You can find here on AO3!

Tags: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Unreliable Narrator, Psychological Horror, Creepy, Psychotic break, Supernatural Elements, Ambiguous/Open Ending. Please don't ask me what this is because I wouldn't be able to tell you, honestly.

The first time she heard the voice, she hadn’t given it much thought. She’d come up with several different excuses, attributed it to the long hours of studying and poorly brewed coffee.

It had felt like a dream--the voice so soft that it could have been anything, really. It could have been the purr of her cat, pawing at her arm for food. It could have been the hiss of her tea kettle, alerting her that the water had boiled.

The voice had been innocuous. Perfectly innocent and utterly forgettable.

She worked hard hours, rarely slept in between classes and her tough job at the office. It was a hard life, but one that she would never give up. Her education was more valuable than all the lost sleep, than all the time she spent away from her parents back in Australia. 

It had been everything.

She wanted a future. She wanted to study the mind, burrow deep into one’s psyche for the kernels of truth lying inside. People had always fascinated her, even when the worst aspects of themselves drowned out the good. 

Her interest was what had brought her to America. It was what had her abandoning her life with her parents in Australia; her education completely paid for in America so long as she maintained her perfect scores and published papers on her groundbreaking research.

So the voice, as alarming as it should have been, had been nothing more than a blip in her relatively hectic life. It had been inconsequential. And even if she had addressed it then, the voice had disappeared as quickly as it had come.

No trace, no evidence that it had even been real.

It had been unimportant; barely registered when her mind had been so preoccupied with more pressing matters. 

It hadn’t lingered on her mind for longer than a moment before she had been swept away by a new passage in her text book. Her mind had wrangled the unease into submission, and she returned to the focus of all her hard work.

The pages held secrets that she had needed to unravel. So what if she had heard a voice? 

And that had been her first mistake.

The second time the voice had come, she had been seated in her tub, a novel in hand. The suds around her had kept the clear water murky and mysterious; her luminous skin masked by the soap and bath bomb she had used that evening.

The room had smelled intensely of eucalyptus and lavender. Her two favorite scents, not because she genuinely liked them, but because they helped take the edge of final exams from her mind. It had soothed her tired muscles, chased away the ache in the soles of her feet from walking from her apartment to the university ten blocks away.

It had been a moment where her guard had been lowered, her attention entirely engrossed by her novel.

So when the voice came, even when it had been soft, gentle; even when the syllables bled into her mind, crept into her thoughts without so much as a warning; the sound more powerful than the words on the pages she tried to absorb, she had reacted.

She had jumped in the water when it had come, her hands nearly dropping her tattered paperback with her surprise. She’d looked in every direction, sought out the source of where the voice could have possible come, but she had never found it. 

The voice had come as quickly as it had left. The only evidence that it had happened at all, the gooseflesh that had prickled her skin and the droplets of water on the forty-third page of her novel.

She had dismissed the event just as quickly as the last. 

But she never quite managed to get comfortable in her tub after that.

When the third time came, Hermione’s reaction had been instant.

She jolted, suddenly no longer tired enough to ooze into the comforting warmth of her sheets and soft bed.

It had come unbidden. As it always had. 

Except this time, the words had been clearer than they had ever been before. It had slid across her psyche, settled deep into the comforting lull of slumber and awareness.

Let me in, Hermione...

It was like running water. The droplets cascading down her cheeks, her chest, and her legs. It was warm, so hot and unexpected that she wondered idly if she’d left her tea kettle on and, in her carelessness, the kettle had exploded from the pressure, the boiling liquid splattering her with its intensity.

Even if such a thing was impossible. She had been on her bed, and her kitchen was on the other side of her apartment...

It had been a silly thought. One that should have alerted her to the wrongness of the whole affair. 

But rather than flee, rather than suspect something more insidious, she had waved this event away as well.

And why shouldn’t she have? What reason at that time did she have to suspect it?

She hadn’t understood what the words meant. She had been certain that she had  fallen asleep, that her mind had been playing tricks on her as it often did after two consecutive all-nighters.

The words had sounded real, the tenor of that deep voice so clear that there was no mistaking just what it had said. Where it had come from, she hadn’t known then. 

Now, she only wished that she had addressed it before it had turned into a nightmare.

The fourth time she had heard the voice, everything came apart at the seams.

She had been sitting idly at her desk, the end of her pen between her lips as she tried to come up with the perfect answer for her physics with calculus homework.

The sound of her name, whispered into her ear, had shaken her from her thoughts. It had bled through the algorithms, the calculations she had followed to arrive to her answer.

And like a cancerous disease, it had eaten away at her. Rotted her from the inside, the voice thoroughly ripping her away from her studies. 

She had been certain the voice would fade then, as it had the previous times before. She had fully expected it, in fact. But the voice, rather than fade into the dull thrum of her laptop as it often did, had grown worse.

Suddenly, rather than that singular voice speaking into her ear, there was a breath on her neck. Like tendrils of hair that curled around the nape of her neck, soft and tender. 

The breath had traveled from the nape of her neck, down to the carotid artery at the side of her throat, pulsing wildly with distress. 

It had lingered there, like a finger on flushed skin. Each second where it remained, like the loving caress of a lover waiting for their partner to turn and meet their touches with one of their own.

The situation had been anything but.

It had made her stomach drop with dread. It had frozen her veins, made her toes curl with fear because she lived alone. She didn’t have roommates. Unless one counted her pet, Crookshanks, into that equation. There shouldn’t have been warmth where there had only been cold air.

Let me in, Hermione... 

The voice had whispered those words into her neck, as if a real person had been standing behind where she reclined against her desk chair. Her fingers had curled into fists, her teeth had caught her bottom lip in a tight vice, and she had tried her best to not make a sound.

If she had acknowledged it, then it would have become real. This ghost, this thing, would somehow become emboldened by her reactions. 

So she had done what she had done all the times before. She had ignored it even when her instincts screamed for her to leave. All of them had shouted for her to get up and leave, but hesitation left her rooted in place.

She couldn’t leave. 

Not when she couldn’t afford to move elsewhere. Not when she was a long way from home and her final exams were two weeks away.

She had been terrified, the prospect of a psychiatric break like acid eroding the hard lines of her bones. It had atrophied her because no, she wasn’t something that happened to her. 

And how wrong she had been. How terrified she was at that time by the revelation that her mind had not been her own. It had split her at the seams, cut her down with a swiftness that couldn’t be repelled.

A something she hadn’t been able to banish, to wrangle even when she had wished that she could. 

It wasn’t normal to hear voices in one’s own head. It wasn’t normal to feel a breath on her neck when there was no one there.

One thing was to study the mind, but to experience of the likes she had experienced, had been another thing entirely. 

It had made her question her sanity, made her wonder if she, since she had come to America, had been dangling near the edge of this precipice from the very beginning. 

On fifth day,  the voice was all she would hear.

It was all that she dreamed, it was all that she thought while struggling to meet her deadlines.

The voice would whisper to her to pursue different ideas. It would twist her theories into pretzels, force her down a long-winded path that she had no way of getting out of.

She tried to ignore it at first, just as she always had. She tried to forget what the touch along the nape of her neck felt like, driven to madness when the touches became more solid. More real.

Nothing could explain it. 

The touches were everywhere and nowhere. They straddled the nudges of her spine, they curled around the back of her neck, slid between the joints of her elbows, and along the curves of her knees. 

It was endless, and Hermione wanted to scream herself hoarse. To make it stop because it was impossible to focus when heat lapped at her flesh, dribbled down her arms like hot water from her bath.

And then, she erred. 

She had committed her second and final mistake. 

“I-I don’t know who you are, what this is, but you will stop this now.”

Hermione had acknowledged it.

If she had known that the monster would have come wearing the face of a human man, she never would have let herself fall the way she had. She never would have brushed it aside, never would have fallen asleep knowing that there was a presence just hiding beyond her periphery.

She would have fought him tooth and nail. She would have packed her bags and left. It wouldn’t have saved her indefinitely, she doubted she could escape his shadow for long.

But it would have been better than the life she lived now. 

If one could even call this a life. 

“Hermione...”

The voice came from a short distance behind her, and it took everything within her not to flinch. He had already invaded every corner of her life, ingrained himself into every crack and crevice of her soul.

There was nothing his presence hadn’t stained--hadn’t branded with his name. Everything reminded her of him. Even the air she breathed, the clothes she wore, was filled with him.

There was nothing of her left. He had taken it all from her.

“Sweetheart...” 

She bristled at the endearment, but did not move. She refused to. It was his aim, his goal.

What fun is a prisoner if he couldn’t get her to react?

"How long do you plan to ignore me? It will not change the fact that you have lost.”

She wanted to tell him to fuck off. To shove his smug tone so far up his arse that he’d be tasting it for weeks. 

She didn’t, even when everything within her wanted to. It would be a mistake, she knew this. It would simply repeat the same set of events all over again--the memory of her stupidity, of her ignorance one that she could barely stand.

A short pause followed before he spoke again, tone silky. The voice so much closer than it had been before--perhaps, a couple centimeters away if she had to guess.

“Your peers know nothing...can hardly tell the difference between who you were and who you are now. They don’t see you as I do.”

Hermione bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, the taste of iron hot and heavy on her tongue. She didn’t want to listen anymore. It was the same conversation, the same stupid struggle between keeping herself from responding and showing him just how much she despised him.

But he lived for this. His pathetic existence thrived off the misery of others, latched onto one’s loneliness and refused to let go. It was how he had found her...how he had snuck into her life without her knowing he was there...waiting. 

“Your are nothing to them...but not to me, dearest Hermione...”

It was a lie. A honeyed poison that intoxicated its victims before snuffing their lives out. It was how he worked. It was the name of the game.

He preyed off the weakness of others...learned all that he could about his victims before squeezing his hands around their necks and strangling what little air they managed to drink through their throats.

It was a slow descent, but once he was in, there would be no coming out of it alive.

“No, you’re more than a vessel...”

Hermione trembled when a warm hand clasped around her shoulders, when his lips came so close to her ear that his lips brushed against the shell.

“And that’s what you’re afraid of...not this mental prison you’ve crafted for yourself in the hopes of keeping me out.”

She wanted to deny it, and she almost did. Her lips had parted, but she caught herself right before she did. 

Don’t let him get under your skin...don’t let him take more than he already has.

“You’re afraid of how good it feels to have me burrowed in your bones...to feel my power...my mind linked to your own.”

He squeezed her tightly, blunt nails digging into the thin fabric of her night shirt--the very same one she had worn when he had first possessed her. 

The memories of that day were hazy at best...her screams and his laughter the only thing that she recalled with vivid clarity. 

She wished she didn’t remember even that small fact. That instead of the insidious sound of his voice echoing in her head that all she had was silence. That it was black, unknowable and lost. 

Just as she was now, counting the days before her body finally breathed its last breath.

The days couldn’t come faster.

“You’re terrified of yourself...of what this could mean for you should you acknowledge my existence, just as you had once before...”

He leaned in until his cheek was pressed against her own, and Hermione could not stop herself from clenching her hands into fists, nails cutting into her palms.

Don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t--

“Let me in...” he breathed, and Hermione shuddered, unable to quell the tremors that racked through her. She felt his voice through the very marrow of her bones, how another hand--the one that he had not pressed against her shoulder--played with a lock of her curly hair.

It was an intimacy that shouldn’t have existed between them, but god, there was no escaping it. No running from the press of his hands upon her skin, of his voice in her head, whispering ceaselessly to give in, to submit.

It was the same, every time. The parasite couldn’t get enough of her...didn’t want to let her go even after he had drained her to the very last drop. There was nothing left for him to take, nothing more that she had to offer. 

So why he lingered, why he didn’t just let her die, she didn’t understand. Couldn’t, for all the thought she’d given this enigma.

Then, his nose suddenly nudged her throat. Followed by a moist tongue that licked against her skin, as if tasting her for the very first time.

Hermione’s self-control splintered.

“No!” She spat, stomach in knots when the hand gripping her shoulder twisted her around. She had no time to fight it, no way to stop it when struggling against him was like going against a hurricane.

Hermione stopped breathing.

Tom towered above her, like an ominous shadow. His hair was just as dark as she remembered, his skin just as pale, his features just as beautiful. He was like a fallen angel, perhaps, even Lucifer himself for all the power he possessed.

But that had not been what made her heart stop, not what made her skin crawl, and her breath catch.

Tom had always been terrifying, had always been more than a monster that had stripped her of her agency, of her identity.

It was the smile that lit up his face like dazzling lights in endless darkness. It was the sharp edge of his teeth, the sly gleam in his gaze.

He pressed a soft touch to her cheek, and Hermione didn’t notice it all, too terrified of what his expression could mean to spare the innocuous gesture a thought. Her dread was like an anchor in the pit of her stomach, the rusted metal poking inside her ribcage from the panic.

“Oh sweetheart, you already have…” 

[warriorqueen1991]

Razorblades And Lemon juice (pt. 3)

Characters: Vampire Negan X Reader

Warnings: gore, blood and violence

Notes: thank you guys so much, I’m seriously blown away by how much you guys are enjoying this one… please do not hesitate to let me know if there’s a certain vamp Negan situation you would love to see or if you have any ideas :)

—————————————

The sun was setting lazily over the horizon, it’s remaining glow painting the sky in brilliant pinks and oranges.

The courtyard Negan had set you loose in had an old picnic table pushed off to the side.

After he had left he had returned shortly after with a basket of fruit and a loaf of bread, which had made your stomach cry out in happiness.

The creature was gonna win your heart with food alone if you weren’t careful.

Taking the basket to the table you had spent the day eating, humming to yourself and watching the ghouls patrol the fence.

You noticed there eyes would flash gold every hour making you wonder if maybe he was checking up on you.

Moving from the table you decided to do some stretches and jog around so you wouldn’t feel sluggish on the journey.

****

Having finished up with a set of thirty jumping Jacks you took a deep breath touching your toes before taking a seat on the steps by the door.

A deep sigh passed your lips as you began idly drawing in the dry dirt, letting your mind wonder.

You once again let your mind wonder to what your jailer was doing.

“Looks just like me”

Letting out an almost inhuman squeal you jumped to your feet at the sound of his deep voice.

Looking down you felt your heart leap into your throat.

You had drawn a crude stick figure with large fangs and long stick claws chasing four other stick figures with ridiculously squiggly arms.

Gasping, you quickly shoved your booted foot into the dirt, dusting the drawing in hopes of maybe salvaging the situation.

Jesus you were so dead.

Negan stared at you in amusement, his nose wrinkling as he chuckled, shaking his head. You felt like you were gonna throw up, swallowing thickly you rubbed your hands on your jeans.

“It…I…look..”

He laughed taking a seat on the step you had occupied “take a fucking breath sweetheart, I’m not gonna fucking hurt’cha”.

You continued to stare at him with a weary expression.

Licking his lip he smiled gesturing between the two of you “I like this…ya know, busting each other’s balls” his smile slowly faded as you continued to remain silent.

Dropping his glowing eyes to the ground, he sighed getting to his feet with a grunt.

“Alright princess, you ready to hit the fucking road?”.

You nodded holding your arm to your chest “sorry about the…” he rolled his eyes leaning back with a dramatic groan.

“Fuck darlin it’s fine”

Smiling slightly you watched him swat the dirt off his backside “I never did ask if you had any questions about what will be required of you here”.

Your smile quickly faded “required?”

He looked at you with a raised brow “yeah, your not fucking feeding me so I gotta find something for you to fucking do”.

You nodded “oh…ok…so uh…what do you want me to do?”

He shrugged with snort “fuck if I know”.

Noticing your confused expression he leaned forward with a wheezing laugh, gently smacking your arm.

“Fucking burn that bridge when we get to it aye dollface?”.

You couldn’t figure him out.

His emotions were all over the place.

What kind of monster threatens someone to keep them company?

But then again, it was obvious he had been alone for awhile.

The possibility that all he wanted was a friend made your heart ache, nothing about the stories you had been told as a child were adding up.

Ware was the monster that had slaughtered a whole community, then set fire to the homes because they refused to pay him tribute?

He had a temper… that much was obvious, but he really didn’t seem monstrous to you.

You smiled gently, “thank you for the food earlier” his bright smile made yours grow.

He had gorgeous dimples.

“Don’t be ridiculous princess…” he chuckled showcasing his bright white teeth and sharp incisors bumping you with his shoulder playfully “…thank you”.

You couldn’t help but giggle softly at his almost childlike energy.

He was so odd.

“Well, holy smokes!!” his voice boomed obnoxiously as he leaned back in shock “shit, you can smile”.

You blushed pulling away from him, he continued to chuckle, moving back to the door holding his hand out behind him.

“Come on gorgeous”.

It almost scared you how quickly you took his hand, he could be playing you, luring you into a false sense of security before he drained you dry.

But he seemed to be just as surprised as you.

looking back at you, he eyed your hands before smiling gently.

“Don’t let go”

You gave him a quick nod before closing your eyes.

Your body felt weird as the sound of wings thundered around you, drowning out all other noise.

In a matter of seconds the sound faded and you were met with the soft sound of crickets and a light breeze rustling through the trees.

You sighed still gripping his hand like a lifeline, a warm puff of air bathing your hand as your eyes fluttered open as he lifted your hand to his lips, kissing it softly “ok?”

You gasped, covering your uncontrollable blush and soft smile with your free hand as he released the other with a smile of his own.

Who the hell does that?

He was like something out of a romance novel, a perfect, poorly wired circuit.

“lead the way darlin”

****

The walk through the dark forest was quiet, Negan was sauntering silently by your side his soft purrs adding an odd sense of comfort to your eerie surroundings.

The soft glow of his eyes caught your attention as he gave you a sideways glance.

He looked like he wanted to say something but the sound of rustling leaves and low murmurs had him moving ahead of you. Taking cover behind a tree he motioned for you to follow.

“Ok princess, wait here until this shit’s done”.

Giving him a displeased noise he quickly silenced you with a glare.

“Don’t fucking come looking me, I’ll come to you”.

You frowned before give him before nodding.

Moving away from you, he quickly slipped into the darkness.

Leaning back against the tree you stared up at the sky, the stars were absolutely gorgeous.

Letting a smile grace your lips you closed your eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the cool breeze.

Snapping your eyes open you quickly hid behind the tree as the woods erupted in screams of death and the chaos of battle.

Gasping, you flung your hand over your lips as the sound of ripping flesh found your ears.

Mother of god, what had you done?

Panting in fear you quickly took off in the direction Negan had gone.

Pushing through the forest the small flickering of a nearby campfire lead you to a large clearing. Tumbling through the brush you tripped over something large, falling to your knees.

Your eyes widening as you took in the carnage that lay before you. Bodies were strewn everywhere, blood splattered over every inch of grass and dirt.

“Hel…help..m…me”

You lifted your gaze at the failing voice, your eyes running up the leather clad back of Negan as he drained the life from a mutilated Whisperer.

The man was staring at you with wide eyes as his lips fought to cry for help.

Letting out a soft whimper you quickly scooted back in the bloody dirt, bumping into what you had previously tripped over.

Looking down, you Screamed as your hand landed in the ripped open jaw of another corpse.

Jerking in your direction Negan let out a low growl, his jaws never leaving the flesh of the finally deceased man.

You couldn’t speak, you could hardly breath.

Dropping the corpse at his feet he stepped over it, his golden eyes flaring in anger.

“I told you to fucking stay put” he growled, his mouth and neck covered in blood.

His once white shirt now a deep crimson.

Taking three long strides he grasped your throat lifting you in the air.

“You just couldn’t fucking listen” he roared. Your eyes welled up with tears as you grasped his arm, clawing at the leather.

“Pl…please” you choked out, your face turning red as he bared his long fangs at you.

So this is how you die?

Letting out a deep breath he frowned, blinking his eyes rapidly as he furrowed his brow dropping you to the ground.

Clawing away from him you curled up at the base of a nearby tree placing your hands over your head in protection.

“I…I’m so…sorry…please don’t kill me” you gasped.

Negan’s frown deepened before he turned back to one of the small tents.

Ripping the thin fabric from the earth his golden eyes pulsed as he stared down at the four small children.

Staring up at him in fear there eyes began to glow the same soft gold as they followed him back to you.

The cold leather of his now sticky glove grasped your chin “eyes up sweetheart”.

Your lips were trembling as you lifted your head to look at him, his face was emotionless as his golden eyes bore into you.

“Take em fuckin home” he rasped rising from his crouched position.

You were shaking all over as your eyes darted to the children. They were all holding hands, their eyes distant and glowing.

You looked at him in horror “wha…what did you do?”

He grimaced “I held up my end of the fucking deal”.

Bringing himself to tower over you, he leaned down “and I expect you to do the fucking same” his voice a venomous hiss.

“Now get fucking moving” he snarled jerking you to your feet by your arm.

You nodded grasping the nearest child’s small hand, leading them into the forest. Glancing back at Negan you could’ve sworn he almost looked sad.

“You have until tomorrow night to return, don’t make me have to fucking come get you”.

His voice had lost the warm comforting drawl you had begun to enjoy.

Returned had the calloused, cold growl of the night before.

You had been a fool to fall under his spell.

You had to get away.

And to hell with the consequences.

—————————————

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[101percentindia]

A Real Life Incident With A Witch Became The Inspiration For A Cult Horror Film

Tracing the roots of Classic Indian Horror.

It was 1983. The entire crew had packed up after shooting for Purana Mandir and was ready to leave for Mumbai. Shyam Ramsay decided to stay back and relax in Mahabaleshwar. On his return to Mumbai he was driving down the serpentine roads of the highway, alone in the dark of the night. En route he spotted a woman waiting for a lift. He offered to drop her and she got in and sat on the front seat beside him. He tried talking to her but she didn’t respond. He found her beautiful but strange.

“This was not a movie, this happened to me. I began feeling weird so I looked down at her feet and noticed they were turned inward like a witch. I gasped and braked so hard, the car came to a screeching halt. She got down calmly and walked off into the darkness, while I raced back to the city.”

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A poster from the famous film ‘Veerana’. Image source: stopimage.com

This became the inspiration for his film Veerana, which was released five years after the incident and bombed the theatres. He ran his palms over his arms, explaining that the memory still gives him goose bumps. I had them too.

We were inside Art House, a treasure trove of antiques and props. It looked like one of Shyam Ramsay’s movie sets, which was natural, since so much from his films was right there.  He spoke carefully, punctuating and intonating, a mix of twinkle and fear in his eyes as he cradled the arching of an old gold polished throne.

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Shyam and Sasha 4ing out props

The Ramsay brothers stumbled upon films by a chance decision made by their father Fatehchand Ramsingh, who migrated to India post partition. He had chosen films only because his electronics business went south, but had probably never imagined that his progeny would build a cult around the Anglicized version of his name - Ramsay. They became so famous that the name became synonymous with horror, and they launched the genre Indian classic pulp horror in the country.

A lover of hammer horror films, the brothers would binge watch movies like Dracula, Omen, Evil Dead and others, when it dawned on them that despite a large audience no one in India was making horror films. Their story began with the movie ‘Do Gaz Zameen Ke Neeche’, India’s first zombie film. They were also the first ones to work with all things that appear after the witching hour.

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Shyam holding the mask of one of his famous ghosts. Image source: shyamramsay.weebly.com

At a time when filmmakers were spending lavishly on their films, the Ramsay Brothers made films at one-fourth that price. Shyam Ramsay says, “That was the beauty of our films. I made sure we never crossed the budget which in those days was nothing more than 25 lacs. We never cast stars, mostly shot on location, saved on sets and depended wholly on storytelling. My main aim was to create the element of fear and we concentrated entirely on that”. Clever, because it worked!

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What also set them apart was their production, coming almost entirely from within the family, with each brother handling a different department - Shyam and Tulsi direction, Kumar writing, etc. And the rest slipped into roles best suited for them. Like the women who handled food and make-up in the initial days. He says ideation was mostly the combination of team work and inspiration from foreign films. It was this reason that their father often called them ‘Tiffin Box Production’, though it was in reality nothing like a picnic. The shoots were hectic as they completed each film in an average of 45-50 days of shoot. Most of these were night shots, which made the process even more tedious because lighting and setting up took much longer. Yet, it was this blueprint that made their films low budget and high entertainment.

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THE Purani Haveli. Image source: YouTube.com

Having made over 35 films, Shyam Ramsay sometimes mixes up the names and corrects them just as quickly. He looks forlorn and distant as his hand lingers on each prop for a moment longer and begins talking about the most iconic set which was ‘Haveli’. Located in Murud and originally known as the Murud Zanjira Palace, this beautiful mansion was turned into a terrifying dungeon, and scared people after it featured in ‘Purana Mandir’ and later ‘Purani Haveli’. Many of their films were shot in Mahabaleshwar as its deep dense jungles provided an apt and natural setting for many sequences. Added to that was its old graveyard which was the shrine spot for their first film. Even today Shyam always stays at Hotel Anarkali, which was interestingly turned into the set for a film called ‘Guest House’.

Perhaps the greatest contribution to their stardom was the classic formula they devised for their films -  sex, gore, sleaze and horror. Sultry shower bathing scenes, lascivious dream sequences, low neck blouses and tight retro clothes had become a symbol for their films. And despite the criticisms, they connected with millions. It was also daring and novel for an era where actresses were still wearing skin colored leotards under their bathing suits, while the Ramsay Brothers’ films had women with their vitals covered in nothing more than a paltry amount of hay. “It gave people a break from the horror,” he said.

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Sex + Horror = perfect Ramsay formula

Shyam Ramsay shares jokes as passionately as he shares stories about the dead. There were parallel thoughts going on in his mind and that was clear - answering my questions and reminiscing about the past. He broke into a laugh and patted the upholstery of the sofa sending a gush of dust my way and said, “Bahut hua horror, main aapko ek maazedaar kahani sunata hoon,” (enough of horror, let me tell you a fun story).

Samri had become the most landmark characters of all their films. People have been known to drop dead in theatres while watching Purana Mandir. Played by Anirudh Agarwal, Samri had become India’s own Dracula. But his off screen point of humiliation goes like this - For one scene Samri was supposed to pop out of a coffin and scare the living daylights out of the crowd. Samri lay inside the coffin and the lock was shut from outside. Call it misfortune or a sheer technical problem, but the lock went bump. Shyam repeated the word ‘action’ several times with no Samri appearing, which is when they realized he had been locked in. He lay there for an hour as the crew struggled to unlock the coffin, all the while hurling abuses and profanity from inside. When he finally came out an hour later, the deathly Samri was wailing like a child refusing to do the scene. Shyam Ramsay continued giggling and said, “Can you imagine? Everyone was scared of him and he was crying like a baby. I still tease him about that day.”

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An excerpt from what’s coming back

The budgets, the formula and the novelty were not all they accomplished. They also achieved something that was considered impossible at that time. In `Darwaza’ a scene shows a man transforming into a beast. The scene was shot in continuity with the camera on roll and the make-up being done bit by bit. While cinematic arguments make their rounds, it’s important to understand that there is a certain kind of quality that nostalgia adds to films, which no amount of modernistic polish can outdo. That is what Ramsay horror means to many viewers.

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Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are independent views solely of the author(s) expressed in their private capacity and do not in any way represent or reflect the views of 101India.com.

By Suman Quazi Cover photo credit: YouTube.com