#psychological horror short story

[w0rld0fbeauty]

[whereserpentswalk]

You were born to be a sacrifice. When you first exited your mothers womb the oracles decided that would be your fate. They tattooed your hands and forehead so everyone would know.

When you turn twenty, they'll take you to the church, and they'll set you on fire. And then when your body is burned they'll give your ashes for the angels, and the angels and saints will be proud, and bless your community and family with great riches. Or at least that's what they say.

When you were young it didn't seem to mean anything that you were born to die young. Nobody cared, they just saw you as another kid. But it was always there. Adults would ask other kids what they wanted to be when they grew up, but they'd ask you what you would do once you were a ruler in the court of heaven. They'd tell other kids about marriage and sex and having children, but for you that would just be for other people, you'd die a virgin.

And at a certain age, you were removed from school. Because they said you wouldn't need it. That you shouldn't be wasting your time on such things. And you didn't understand, but you understood that all your freinds were upset that they wouldn't see you anymore. Not as much at least. And people talked about you so much differently from then on. You weren't complimented as strong, or as smart, or as ambitious, you were pretty, and pure, and brave, and dutiful. And everyone talked about how proud they were of you, how wonderful it was that you were going to die for them.

They were so nice to you. They gave you so many gifts and jewelry. You got to spend all day inside playing video games, and you got the best toys and got to go to movies and plays when you wanted to. Soldiers in power armor would bow when they saw you, and robots and cyborgs would turn off their lights. And you sat at a special place in church, and the clothing you wore was diffrent then everyone else's. And people talked about how wonderful you were, and how pretty you were, and how much they loved having you when they knew you wouldn't be on this world for long. And they were so proud of you when they showed you the platinum clothing you would wear on the day of your sacrifice. And you didn't understand why but all of the compliments sounded sad.

As you grew older things changed. The other children went through puberty, but you didn't, they gave you surgery to prevent it, ans told you how pure you were for not producing blood or seed. And you were old enough to understand that you would die, that you would burn, and it would hurt, and that nobody really knew for sure what happened after peopled died. And you saw a sacrifice, and saw the pain they were in, and there weren't any angels, there were only priests watching and chanting, and the smell of burning skin.

Your parents and family started to care much more how you behave. To make sure you're polite. To make sure you're a good sacrifice, who the angels will like. And meanwhile while all your other freinds are going to college, and talking about becoming artists, or starship pilots, or scientists, you know you'll only ever have one ending. But still, everyone loves you, and you don't have responsibilities, but still sometimes you think about how much diffrent life would be if you were born differently.

You've started meeting people who've left the faith, or people who didn't grow up in it, people who believe in diffrent religions or in no religion at all. And your heaven seems less and less certain every day. According to imperial law you're allowed to be sacrificed, but if you choose not to they can't force you. But if you choose not to you can never be a part of your faith again, and your family will be disappointed in you forever. All your family and community, everyone who you ever knew, will consider you a failure, a coward doomed to hell for not going through with what the cosmos planned for you. And all that pride and joy they felt about your fate would be replaced with anger that you never became what they were so happy and proud about you being. You don't think you believe in heaven anymore, but you still might choose to die, if it means they're proud... it's what you're raised to do, you don't know who you'll be if you choose to leave.

Better choose fast darling, it's only a few months away now. You don't want them to be upset.

[creepyclothdoll]

I set Angel Free

All of this is gonna sound pretty mean but let me preface this by saying that this girl, Angel, thought she was God’s gift. And I mean that in the most literal sense. Like she’d literally introduce herself by saying, 

“My name is Angel, because I’m a gift from Heaven.”

She’d say it with this smile that was so fake and sickly-sweet you could taste your teeth rotting just looking at it. All her mannerisms were stolen from disney movies, like how she’d talk in this high-pitched little girl voice that she thought made her seem so cute. Like, yeah, yeah, you’re supposed to be nice to people like that, but it was so hard to tolerate her. 

So we messed with her. It wasn’t because she was in a wheelchair, I wanna make that clear. I don’t have a problem with people in wheelchairs. Just Angel. You’d feel the same way if you knew her. Honestly everyone did. 

She literally didn’t know where babies came from. Like one time my friends were joking about having Nick Jonas’s babies and Angel was like “how would you make the baby his?” And we had to literally explain to her where babies come from and ask where she thought they came from. She said, and I quote,

“When a mommy makes a very special wish, and gives it a special kiss and sends it to God, God cuts a piece of Heaven in the shape of a baby and wraps it in the wish and sends it back to the mommy, to grow up and be loved and kept safe on the earth forever.”

This was, by far, the stupidest thing I ever heard in my entire life. So of course I responded by telling her her mommy was lying to her, most likely because she was a whore. 

This made everyone at lunch laugh really hard because her mom, Ms CJ, was the school’s frumpiest old cat lady, and she literally had those 80’s coke-bottle glasses like that guy from Trailer Park Boys and the idea of her getting sexed up for dollar bills was enough to make you piss yourself laughing. 

Angel started crying and doing that annoying pouting thing. Frankly I doubt she even knew what a whore was, just that it was bad. I think she wanted to storm off, but it’s not like she could go very far. Which I pointed out as well, to uproarious laughter. 

Okay again, I don’t have an issue with people in wheelchairs. It was just really easy to mess with her. But this was the incident that, for some reason, made everyone think of me as the Designated Angel Watchman. Like, any time Angel did anything weird and cringey, everyone would look at me like they were Jim from the Office and I was the camera. And then if I didn’t say something funny about it, they’d get all disappointed. But when I did say something funny, it became the new Angel Thing Of The Week that everyone would be saying in the halls between classes, and I’d feel like a genius. Did it go too far sometimes? Sure. But that’s not my fault. All Angel ever had to do was act like a normal person for once and it all would have stopped. 

Angel was homeschooled her whole life until seventh grade, which is probably why she was so weird. 

I wanna be clear– she wasn’t like, mentally disabled or anything like that. That would make me look pretty bad. She was just weird. She was always singing by herself– pop songs, disney princess songs, sometimes songs in japanese from anime. She was convinced she had the best voice in the class, and flaunted it all the time like she thought we were gonna be impressed. She wore these huge ugly cat sweaters with glitter and frills every single day. 

And any time we watched a movie in class, she’d laugh this awful snickering long laugh at ANY joke and then bawl her goddamn eyes out if there was even a little bit of a sad part. It was so annoying!

She refused to do anything outside her comfort zone– no scary stories, no new foods, no games she’d never played before. She turned her nose up at anything unfamiliar.

So let me be clear: Angel deserved most of what we did to her. 

But she didn’t deserve what I did that last day.

Before I met Angel, I thought Ms CJ was okay. After, though, I realized she was batshit. She only let Angel come to our school for seventh grade because she knew she’d be Angel’s homeroom teacher and that she’d be able to flit in and coddle her throughout the day. Ms CJ was Angel’s constant guardian, which should be humiliating for anyone who has shame, but Angel loved the attention. She’d beg Ms CJ to stay with her longer every time she popped in during class. And that sucked, because I couldn’t say shit about anything cringe Angel did when Ms CJ was around, so I missed a lot of really good opportunities to mess with her. 

Ms CJ always sat with her daughter at lunch, which was honestly bad parenting because there was no way Angel would ever be able to make any friends like that. Ms CJ never let Angel join the rest of us for recess. Or for field trips. Once during a group project in French class, as a joke, I invited Angel to a made-up party in the woods. Angel replied by saying,

“I can’t go if it’s in the woods, silly! My mommy doesn’t let me outside!”

She said this like it was the most normal thing in the world for her, so I asked some clarifying questions. She explained, in her girly sing-song voice, that she’s not ever allowed to be outside for more than a few seconds at a time, and only when her mommy is there to hold her hand. 

“My mommy doesn’t want me to get lost,” she said.

“It’s not like you can run away,” I joked.

“I can run,” Angel replied, pouting. “Look.” She kicked her legs slightly. I heard the clack of chains. 

That was the first time I ever noticed that Angel was shackled around her ankles. 

“I run all the time at home,” Angel bragged. “I run alllll over, over all the rooms. I wish I could run here too, but it’s too dangerous. The windows,” she added, like that would clarify it. I was baffled. So she didn’t even need the wheelchair.

“Um, why are you chained? Are you like, under house arrest or something?” I asked.

“No. My mommy just doesn’t want me to get lost. She’s the only one with the key.”

“Your mommy sounds like a psycho. You should call the cops,” I replied.

The French teacher overheard her crying and she got me sent to the principal’s office again. But I swear this time I wasn’t being smart or anything, I was genuinely freaked out for her. I told my friends, who all agreed with me that it was weird. But I guess I hadn’t been the first one to notice the chains. The others who had assumed it was because Angel was like, prone to fits or something. That made sense for Angel, but it still made me feel weird and didn’t sit right.

My mommy doesn’t want me to get lost.

I started to feel sorry for her. She was still weird and annoying, but she was weird and annoying because her mom was out of her mind and wouldn’t let her be a normal kid. How was she supposed to learn to be normal if she couldn’t even go outside, for god’s sake? 

I still messed with Angel when she did weird stuff like quote anime characters in class and bring stuffed animals to school. But if it was ever just her and me, I was nice to her and asked her stuff about her life. 

Her favorite movie was The Little Mermaid. No, she had never been to summer camp. Her favorite time of the week was church. She disliked onions and wanted to be a vegetarian except that her mom was very insistent about her getting enough protein in her diet. She loved those Warrior cat books and wanted to be a veterinarian someday. She didn’t have a dad. Ms CJ took the shackles off her ankles only once they were inside their house and all the doors and windows were closed and locked. That was also when Ms CJ took the locked metal bar off of her chair so she could get up. The bar went over her waist and prevented her from standing. She wore those big ugly cat sweaters every day so we wouldn’t see it. Her mom didn’t want people to know about her special condition, which, as far as I could tell, was all made-up. Any time I asked about her “condition,” she’d just say some stuff about being a very special heaven baby or whatever.

“Do you ever think about running away?” I asked finally. “Why don’t you just… leave?”

She looked shocked.

“Of course not!” she said. “I love my mommy. Where would I even go?” She shuddered visibly. 

The shudder pissed me off. I blew up at her and called her a whiny scaredy baby until she cried, and I got sent to the principal again. 

 She didn’t even want to be normal. That’s what pissed me off the most. 

It was springtime, and the snow was finally mostly gone. I’d been in Mr Bevends’ science class before, so I knew what to expect that day– first real nice day of spring was always a “class outside” day. We’d go out and look at moss and leaf buds and stuff and he’d talk about natural changes during the season. It was all a big excuse for us to get outside– no one liked it more than Mr Bevends himself. He was so excited to announce we were taking class outside, he didn’t even notice Angel’s face go stark white as he led the rest of the class out the doors.

“I– I can’t–” she stuttered, but I interrupted her.

“It’s the most beautiful day in months,” I said. “It’s a perfect day. You’ll love it.”

“I’m not allowed,” she whispered, embarrassed. 

“You wanna be a baby forever?” I said. “Come on. You’ve never broken a single rule in your life. Live a little.”

After a long moment, Angel nodded. She followed me out the back doors of the school, onto the sidewalk. I walked next to her for awhile. She looked scared, but also fascinated by the dripping icicles from the roof gutter above us, and the ice-blue sky above, and the rows of black trees stretching up into the air. 

“It’s cold,” she said. 

“Yeah, that happens when you’re outside for more than a few seconds.”

“I think… I like the cold.”

We caught up to the rest of the science class, and listened to Mr Bevends talk about leaves and crap. Angel oscilated between this vibrating excitement and a frightened, hunted look, like her mom was gonna show up at any second and punish her for disobeying and doing one normal thing in her life. Angel touched the trees reverently. My friends made fun of her for “fondling the foliage.” I didn’t join in this time. I had bigger things planned.

When we broke off into groups of two, I went with Angel. My friends knew I was up to something great then, so they followed us, chuckling eagerly. I grinned back at them when Angel wasn’t looking.

We were supposed to identify different types of trees in the woods behind the school. I helped push Angel’s chair up the hill– it was insanely heavy. The wheels snagged on the muddy grass, but it didn’t matter. It’s not like she actually needed the thing.

“What are you doing?” Angel asked with rising terror as I leaned over her and produced the key. 

Everyone knew Mr Bevends always had class outside the first nice day of spring. It was really easy to slip the key from Ms CJ’s lanyard when she always left it out on her desk during homeroom. It was the one with little white wings on the chain. 

“I’m setting you free,” I said. I unlocked the shackles around her feet first, then the bar around her waist. She screamed at me to stop the entire time, but I knew I was doing the right thing. Someone had to teach her to be independent. Someone had to throw her out of her comfort zone. 

And that’s what I did. I set Angel free.

Angel rose from the chair. 

And rose. And rose.

Her shoes went over her head. She kicked her legs wildly as they drifted rapidly upwards. Angel shrieked and tried to grab onto the top of the chair– the handles, even trying to clutch a handful of my hair– desperate to stay anchored to the ground. But it was too late. She was already six feet in the air. 

Then twelve. 

Then thirty.

I couldn’t do anything other than watch on in shock as Angel shot up into the sky like a helium balloon. She twisted and clawed at the open air. 

It happened in seconds. One second, we were watching Angel make frantic grabbing motions at the ground, howling with terror, and the next second all we could see of her was the glint of the sunlight on her glittery pink cat sweater as she disappeared up into the vast emptiness above.

When Mr Bevends came to see what was the matter, all any of us could do was to point up. But by then, she was just a pinprick against the deep, endless blue sky. 

Then there was nothing.

[the-wandering-astronautt]

Accles

A photo by The Wandering Astronaut

Medium: Photography, photo editing

In the star system Gegdahl, a brown ringed planet called Accles can be found surrounded by a beautiful pink sea of cosmic clouds. Although enshrouded in a magnificent glow, this planet hides secrets unimaginably dark. It's safe to observe from a distance, but travel beyond its rings and you'll face a fate worse than death. The pink mist turns to dust, the twinkling stars to tears. The curiosity that once consumed you turns into unbearable terror as your vessel's walls cave in. Time slows, yet you feel yourself sucked into the planet's atmosphere at a quickening rate. Panicked efforts to escape prove futile as the air grows thicker and thicker. Breaths quicken, vision blurs, hope dwindles. While you gasp for what little air is left, you feel yourself grabbed by a hooded figure. "This is your last stop", it says. Your skin turns red. Your soul has been claimed, and the sky glows a little brighter.

[kymanitaylorsversion]

My attempt at a short horror story <3

Elizabeth bought this house years ago. Ever since she has the feeling she’s being watched. Watched by the house itself. Like the house is an entity. No, an organism. Like a boa constrictor staring at its owner, sizing up for the perfect moment to coil and swallow whole and head first. She isn’t safe. She needs to leave. She needs to escape. She needs a new house. She needs to leave the confines and see the world. She knows one day she won’t make it out of the house alive and no one will miss her. Not her family, they’re all dead. Her husband is off to war and her friends are the rays of sun that flitter through the window and the house that watches. But the house isn’t really a friend, more of a silent threat. She goes to work at the factory every day. Least the women at home can do for the war, they say. Elizabeth hates the factory but needs the money. So she works day in and day out and returns to her house, the entity she lives in. The organism she resides in. Today she comes home and she knows this is it. She picks up her phone, but to call who? She doesn’t know. Certainly not her sister, right? She doesn’t know. She dials and that was the last thing she remembers before the house, the Watcher, the entity, the organism, the boa constrictor swallows her. Whole and head first as she imagined, as she knew from the start. She sinks to- through the floorboards into the house’s underbelly to be gone forever.

Elizabeth Benson was found dead at 7:03 P.M. on January 5, 2024 by her sister Sandra Benson. She was 23 at time of death and died from a rare case of dementia, which typically does not occur in young people. “I knew she was on the way out,” Sandra reported in an interview, “But she was my sister, and now she’s not.”

[cxndiedvi0lets]

Taissa Farmiga as Violet Harmon in American Horror Story Murder House Season 1

[ardenla]

The puddle

A short horror story I just finished writing:)

Word count: 469

While waiting outside, I spot something strange.

A puddle lighted by a street lantern moving in a rather strange manner.

It doesn’t take long for me to notice that it’s probably just the wind playing with it, just as the wind is playing with my hair.

Blowing it in and out of my face continuously, almost like a small child that just got its hands on a new toy. Tirelessly as if to signal that it will never bore.

Again my gaze wanders back to the puddle.

It ripples in a strange manner, almost as if something alive is in it.

But I know for certain that it can’t be anything, since it should be as shallow as any other small puddle on the neatly tiled streets.

Perhaps an inch deep at most, but most likely even more shallow.

The water starts to move around quicker and more wild, making me almost believe there to be a fish flopping about.

Perhaps it is a bird, who knows.

As I start to feel the slightest bit of guilt, of possibly letting some small animal die, I get up.

I slowly stand up from the cold bench and walk over to it… slowly… very slow.

Now the water seems to almost be dancing, dancing inside the small puddle.

Up and down it goes, now I’m sure the wind doesn’t have the power to do something like that.

As I gaze into the dark puddle, I can’t seem to find the bottom of it.

Is it just too dark outside already for me to spot this?

No, I can see inside the other puddles perfectly fine, the many lines of them neatly in rows.

Before I know it the darkness inside it seems to grow, the puddle has gotten larger and larger..

It can’t be!

I try to take a step back, but it’s as if the puddle itself has taken me within its cold gaze, staring back into my very core.

Nothing I can do about it, I stare back, into the cold wetness of its never-ending insides.

Something deep and dark is within it.

Would I seem possessed to those around me?

Well, I’m sure I’m alone though. It’s too late for someone to see me, for someone to stop this staring contest.

The water has calmed down again, as if seeing me has made it sink deep into thought.

Calmly it ripples again at the rules of the wind.

Then rapidly something comes out of the puddle.

An arm.

A human arm.

Grasping in the air for some unknown reason.

Perhaps for help.

Without thought or perhaps still possessed by the water I take it, trying to take it out of there.

It’s coldness seeps deep into my body as it grabs my arm with full strength.

For a moment nothing else happens, just me staring at the body part clenching me.

With a quick yank it suddenly pulls me closer.

Closer and closer.

Until I too am taken into the darkness of the puddle

[sunlighthroughthe-ashes]

book of the week: su cuerpo y otras fiestas by carmen mariá machado ~~

notes on the text: the female body as a site of conflict. death, hunger, desire. men in unwanted places; the brunt of belonging to someone else's fantasy. madness as cool and sharp as frozen candlesticks. the blunt edges of longing, beaten down. true horror is looking at one's own unvarnished self. abuse is one breath away from all bonds. skin is just another surface wound. women's stories weave between this world and the next.

favorite quote: "i believe in a world where impossible things happen. where love can outstrip brutality, can neutralize it, as though it never was, or transform it into something new and more beautiful. where love can outdo nature."

[s3znl-gr3znl]

I finally got around to listening to the audio version of "I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream" and i think the story is the perfect length. Harlan gives you just enough to know what's going on and leaves plenty to the darkness of your own imagination.

To this day, i dont think I've seen or heard anything quite like it. Harlan delivers such a magnificent and maniacal performance that holds up so well with the rest of production.

Something I like in particular is how unreliable all the narrators are, perfectly formed into the predictable, subservient slabs of meat to be prodded for the pleasure of a world-ending machine.

Nobody gets away.

The constant highs of genuine hope constantly dangled like a carrot of respite only for it to turn to ash before their eyes.

Nobody gets away.

I've never played the game, but it's next on my list.

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

An excerpt from the horror story series I’ll be posting tomorrow morning!

The Retreat

8 months ago…

It was supposed to be a celebratory hike. David had just landed a major distributor for his athleisure wear brand, and they decided to mark the occasion with a challenging trail they had been meaning to try. The weather in Maryland was perfect this time of year—cool and crisp, with a median level heat ideal for a long excursion.

They set out early, with the morning mist still clinging to the mountains. Monique felt on top of the world, hand in hand with David, their laughter echoing through the trees.

About two hours in, they reached a fork in the trail. The left path was well-maintained and led to a popular viewpoint. The right fork was overgrown and marked with a faded sign warning of unstable terrain.

"Let's take the next right," Monique suggested eagerly.

She began to stretch and lifted the back of her coily red-brown hair, which shimmered in the sunlight and tied it into a messy bun, preparing for the next segment of the trail. Her husband's face was filled with nothing, but apprehension.

David gazed skeptically at the ominous path ahead and asked, “Are you sure about this?”

“Oh, c'mon! Where's your sense of adventure, baby?” she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

David hesitated. “I don't know, Momo. That sign looks pretty serious.”

But Monique was insistent. “Trust me, it'll be fine. We're experienced hikers. Plus, imagine the view without all the tourists.”

Reluctantly, David agreed, knowing it would make Monique happy. And for the first mile, everything seemed fine; the path was rough but manageable. Then—they reached the cliffside portion...

The trail narrowed dramatically, hugging a sheer rock face with a dizzying drop to the right. Monique led the way with steady, confident strides, her resolve unwavering despite the precarious path. She glanced back periodically to check on David, noticing his forehead crinkle in that way she found endearingly adorable. It always amused her that this 6’2” muscular Italian, so strong and charismatic, could be unnerved by heights.

A twinge of remorse washed over her as she remembered how she had convinced him to come along on this adventure, despite his apprehension. She hoped the stunning views and sense of victory would eventually outrank his current anxiety.

“Momo, we seriously should turn back,” David called out, lagging behind his enthusiastic wife.

“Don’t worry, babe, we’re almost through,” Monique replied, seeing the clearing just a few steps ahead. “Just a little further.”

Those four words would haunt her forever.

A few steps later, she heard a sickening crumble, a sound that now echoes in her mind whenever she closes her eyes or feels anxious. The next thirty seconds shattered her world; the path beneath David's feet gave way. As Monique spun around in horror, she couldn’t even process the scene before her.

“David!” she shouted, reaching out desperately, but she was too far ahead. Their fingertips brushed, and their eyes locked for a split second before her husband plummeted into the abyss. It was the last time she touched or saw her college sweetheart.

The world seemed to slow down as Monique watched David disappear into the void. Her scream echoed through the mountains, a sound of pure anguish that was swallowed by the vast, indifferent wilderness. She fell to her knees, the weight of what had just happened crashing down on her. She could barely breathe, her chest tightening with a mix of shock and terror.

Minutes felt like hours as she scrambled to the edge, hoping against hope to see David clinging to something, anything. But there was nothing—just the sheer drop and the distant sound of rocks tumbling into the chasm below. The reality of the situation began to sink in, and with it came a flood of guilt and regret.

“Why had I convinced him to take this path? How could I have been so careless?!”

The next hours were a blur of frantic calls for help, rescue helicopters, and devastating news. Monique sat there, feeling detached from her body as they asked her all their typical questions; all she could hear was static. Despite the best efforts of the rescue teams, the news came that David hadn't survived the fall. Friends and family were notified, and the reality of the loss began to sink in as everyone tried to come to terms with the sudden tragedy.

In the days and weeks following the funeral, Monique was overwhelmed not only by all-consuming grief but also by a crippling sense of guilt. She found herself trapped in a storm of emotions, unable to escape the constant reminders of his loss and the nagging voice in her head that kept repeating, “If only I had listened to David, if only I had been more cautious, if only I could have saved him.”

Every moment without him felt like a lifetime, and the burden of her guilt grew heavier with each passing day. She often found herself either lost in a bottle of whatever she could find in their extensive stash to avoid leaving the house or endlessly, hopelessly, scrolling through ten years of memories in the darkness of their shared apartment in downtown Maryland. Her photos app mocked her every time she picked up her phone, thanks to the new and taunting 'Featured' section that adorns our technology today. She hadn’t worked or touched her art in months. Unless her twin brother Marcus, or her best friend Ashleigh brought her food—she wouldn’t even eat. She was constantly surrounded by the hall of fame of their love. The awards he won for the prosperity of his athleisure wear business, which she signed over to his family out of respect, still adorned the shelves. His clothes hung in the closet, and his shoes sat by the door as if waiting for him to come home.

It took Ashleigh planning this trip to wake her from her grief-ridden daze; she owed her friend her entire future.

Now, lying in bed in the dark cabin, Monique felt the weight of her actions more acutely than ever. She had come here seeking healing but was now confronting her deepest regrets in the most terrifying way possible. The shadows of the room seemed to press in around her, and the sounds of the forest outside took on an eerie, almost whispering quality.

She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. The image of David’s fall played over and over in her mind, a relentless loop of her greatest nightmare. She clutched the blanket tightly, as if it could shield her from the torment within her own mind.

As dawn began to break, the faint light filtering through the curtains, Monique made a decision. She would confront whatever was taunting her—whether it was the memory of David, her own guilt, or something more sinister lurking in the woods. She needed to face it, to find some semblance of peace.

She owed David that much.

Monique opened her eyes with a deep breath and stared at the ceiling, feeling the first rays of sunlight touch her face. The journey ahead was still uncertain, but she felt a spark of determination for the first time in a long while. The path to healing would be painfully difficult, but she was finally ready to take the first step.

@drchenquill @illarian-rambling @kaylinalexanderbooks @leahpardo-pa-potato @slenders1ckn3ss @somethingclevermahogony @inky-duchess @sassystyl @rotting-moon-writes @highlycosmic @avaseofpeonies @oc-atelier @ceph-the-ghost-writer @paeliae-occasionally @davycoquette @unforgettable-sensations @hissorrow22 @boredwritergirl @scorpiothesaint @thewrathoffemaleragem @spookyceph @enne-uni if interested in joining or being removed, just let me know! :)

[yaniasogames]

the first chapter of my horror story is here! it’s called emma and hannah’s best party ever. it is pretty heavy so trigger warnings are in the works tags.

please let me know what you think and make sure to leave kudos ^_^

[whereserpentswalk]

Every starship always has a few ice people on board. It's just standard safety protocol. The minimum number is three, one ice person for defense, one ice person for repairs, and one ice person for medical.

Ice people are people who are put into suspended animation for the duration of a trip, only to be taken out in emergencies. They're useful because a ship won't have to deal with another passenger just for something that won't useally happen. It also makes it so that the ice person is the least likely to be harmed in emergencies. They used to use robots for these sorts of things but now that the robots have unionized biological life is cheaper for that kind of labor.

It's a pretty nice job. Nine times out of ten it's falling asleep and waking up a few months later. Doing it once or twice can pay off your college debts pretty quickly. Compared to the other jobs you'll get with that kind of skillset it's a pretty good deal. Most medical students are encouraged to take it as their first job to pay off their student loans.

Of course, there is a weirdness to it, not existing for such a long time. Even a few months will make the way things change weird. You'll come back to your home planet and things will be diffrent. A freind will have gotten married. A child that you're used to being a baby will be a toddler. Someone will have moved away. It's not all bad, hype for movies or video games, arguments that need time to calm down, skipping out on a bad time in politics. But still, it always makes you a bit separate from everything else.

Of course, there is always the fear suspended animation won't work as intended, and your mind will be trapped dreaming, or worse, conscious, during the entire affair. Perhaps things will that lurk in hyperspace will begin to speak to you. Or worse you'll just be alone, with nothing but your thoughts, and no way to cry out.

But that's not the worst of it, at least not for most people. For most people it's the much more mundane reality of needing to be an ice person for more than just one or two trips. You'll fall asleep and wake up months later, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred times. And you'll find yourself only seeing the world through snapshots, really only having your other ice people to relate to. You'll be from a diffrent time as everyone the same age as you. It's better pay then any alternative, but there is a greater cost. Soon enough you'll be walking through your homeworld and it'll be alien to you, decades in the future from what you were raised to be in, you'll be wearing a diffrent eras clothing, speaking in a dead dialect, like a ghost from the past.

There was a young engineer who recently returned from being an ice person. Poor thing, she was sent out on an ambassador ship to an alien system thinking it would be about six months, but it turned out she was gone for decades as a war between that ship's nation and the alien homeworld broke out. When she came back all three of her spouses had died of old age, and her son who was an infant when she left was older than her when she returned, and her grandchildren she had never met were her peers.

[pianokantzart]

I know Edgar Allan Poe wrote a lot of bangers but I have no idea why Berenice isn't nearly as popular as The Black Cat or something.

[oddityartz]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!! ODDPASTA, 3 SHORTSTORIES, READ IT https://ifeelodd.itch.io/oddpasta

[ectobabble]

Sketch of Proxy finding acorns, already stuck in the "void".

Once I get a visual idea of what things look like I can start writing beyond the outline. Going to work on a little animatic about the mechanics of how things only exist in the light, things stop existing without light - but if it's lit up again then it exists again.

[ardenla]

Iris Coldon

My most recent short horror story:)

Word count: 761

TW: psychological horror

From the moment I closed my eyes to the accident I had gotten myself into I knew that it would never be the same ever again.

Never would I have guessed though, that I would survive pretty much unharmed.

Well… that’s still a bit of an understatement.

My arms and legs work the way they’re supposed to.

But my mind… not so much anymore.

I’ve started to see things.

The world and the people have changed since the moment I woke up.

It’s almost as if I’ve entered another world entirely.

But I know better now… or at least I believe I do.

It’s the same world, I’m just wrong.

It has been told to me over and over and over again.

The world hasn’t changed, just the way I perceive it.

The memories from back then are still all so fresh in my mind.

The people who walk this earth have all become eerily distorted to me.

Mouths gaping, eyes bulging.

Some had been reduced to mere shadows, others to grotesque monsters.

The world around me, the city, has turned to look in a worse state than it actually is. Houses broken down, abandoned by humanity.

Then there are these things I see happen.

Accidents like the one I had been in and even worse.

And yet all of it only happened in my head.

Life after the accident had been terribly difficult, I had to stay in the hospital even though I believed whole-heartedly that I was fine.

Monsters in stained lab coats came in and out of the room instilling me with the worst of fears.

I was soon after placed in an asylum, due to not being able to take care of myself anymore.

That’s where I met her.

A young woman who worked there, her name, Iris, Iris Coldon.

The first time I met her I was quite shocked to see her and felt quite dizzy.

Unlike the rest of humanity, she still looks human.

She spoke to me softly and kindly, it was like… whenever I am around her the world turns to the way it is supposed to be.

No monsters.

No abandoned buildings.

No more horrible accidents.

When she went away again I had a hard time sleeping and felt terrible.

Why couldn’t she just stay here?

Why couldn’t I go with her?

I know, I know… It’s just… to suddenly be thrown back into the world I was slowly getting used to was just really difficult.

Luckily she came back again the next day and the day after that. Well many days, almost visiting me every day, I found it to be very difficult when she didn’t.

Quickly I found it difficult to focus, always reacting to every sound hoping that it was her. I couldn’t, still can’t, concentrate on what the fellow patients here are telling me.

Those monsters won’t understand me anyway.

Today I made a decision.

I am going to tell her that I love her.

Because that must be it… right?

I love her and that’s what makes the world normal again… right?

Carefully I listen to everything going on outside of my room.

A doctor shuffles past my room.

A couple of patients wander past my door.

And then finally I recognize her footsteps.

With the usual smile, Iris opens the door.

“Iris! G-good morning.” I start rambling.

“Good morning.” She answers without paying attention to my stuttering: “Everything alright in here?”

I nod and she gives me another bright smile.

I look down and start fidgeting: “Actually… I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” She asks, clearly interested in what I have to say.

Does she feel the same way about me?

For a moment I hesitate, but then gather my strength: “Iris… I… I think I like you. Like, like you… Love you.”

I’m too scared to look up at her.

I’m too scared of rejection.

For some strange reason she remains quiet.

Is she contemplating my confession?

I look up at her and smile worried: “Is something wrong?”

She smiles at me and I feel shadows returning to my world.

“Please don’t go!” I call out to her as I take her hand.

Somehow her hand feels strange.

Not warm, not cold either.

I can feel my body turn cold as I see her disappearing into thin air.

The hand in which I held her is now a small bottle.

For some reason I feel like she will never return to me again.

Dammit, there’s still so much I had wanted to ask her.

Before looking at it, I let the small bottle go from left to right in my hand.

Something feels terrible.

Then I finally decide to look at it.

It’s a bottle for medication.

The label says Cisordinol.

I stare vaguely at it for a moment, until the terrible truth finally hits me.

C I S O R D I N O L

I R I S C O L D O N