#psychologicalhorror

The shining bright light of a VTOL passing by illuminates his apartment for just an instant through his shutters, the pitter-patter of the downpouring rain thankfully drowning out the deafening hum of its rotors. Still, the LED lights casting a bright blue hue throughout his entire home stir him awake, despite his best wishes not to be.

Sara and Tom scrambled through the castle corridors, hoping to find Roy. They checked everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, Tom spotted Roy between two suits of armor-huddled, trembling, and paralyzed with fear. "Man, why are you shaking like that?" Tom asked. "I... I... I saw her..." "Who did you see?" "The Mourner... I mean, the ghost of the Mourner. She was gliding down the hallway, "Man, why are you shaking like that?" Tom asked. "I... I... I saw her..."

A few years ago, I had returned from Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida and I nostalgically wanted to watch some old Mickey Mouse shorts for VHS. Among all of the other Mickey Mouse tapes, I noticed an out-of-place Mickey Mouse tape labelled, "Mickey's Book". What was odd was that the tape's date was 01/29/1995, even though old, black and white Mickey Mouse shorts were being produced much earlier.

. The lullaby she sings isn't for me. It's to keep something else asleep. Based on the story of a terrified teen. — I don't know why I'm doing this. I just... I need someone to hear it. In case... In case something happens. . I stopped sleeping with the lights off when I was eight. That's when I first heard her talking to the hallway closet. Not angrily, not loudly. Just whispering, except the words weren't in any language I knew.

Part I

Fun fact: There was a time when I was, technically speaking, a “Twitter artist”. Not in the sense that I was controversial or “corny”, as some people put it, but I was an artist with a Twitter account, and I witnessed a lot of the petty drama and general fuss that came with being on art Twitter. I’ve long since deleted my account for a whole cocktail of reasons, but the incident I’m about to describe definitely helped me in making my decision to leave.

Feedback "This, too, shall pass." — Persian Proverb . . I woke up lying on the cold floor, my cheek pressed against splinters. No wind. No storm. No voices. Just quiet. Dry, suffocating quiet. Dust drifted in the shafts of pale light like falling ash. My mouth tasted like old rust. I stood slowly, my footfalls creaked loud in the emptiness, and wandered into the bedroom. There, resting on the bed, was my notebook.

My name is Michael, I'm 30 years old. I live alone in a rented apartment. The silence is maddening. The rare hammering of new neighbors is almost pleasing — you know that feeling. I turn on the TV just so I'm not bored and at least I can hear someone's voice. One day I decided to visit my aunt. The road was long, but what can you do? Anything to not be lonely. I packed a small bag — just some clothes and a phone charger. I didn't even check if she was home. I just needed to drive.

There was nothing special about that morning. The sun was warm, and the breeze was cool, one of the first hints that spring was here to stay. It started off as a simple thought, just an idea. But I never could have imagined what that idea was capable of causing.

Ed was a night watchman at Mr. Mitchell’s company, a firm that manufactured engines for motorboats. He was 54 years old—tall, thin, and never without his glasses. His night shift usually followed a set routine: he would circle the warehouse several times and then spend the rest of the night either napping or buried in a crime novel.

This is a story about the brave little tractor. Let's call him John. John is a small tractor, but he loves helping out on the farm! John plows across the field with his little plow. It takes a very long time, and afterward, John is very thirsty and hungry. His metal begs for oil, but John loves serving and helping others!

So I’m writing this as I go through this. I was sitting in my room reading creepy pasta’s and I’m not gonna make a sound right because I’m hearing moving at my window from the inside and it just so happened to be as I’m reading creepy pasta’s I don’t think so. The noises are crinkling kinda like paper and I haven’t open my certain yet but I will and if something happens I’ll try to wright it down but I’m hearing faint breathing now I’m like what the fuck I’m trying not to make noise but I’m…

"Skin touched skin." "Speak!" "Hands touched a pink patch of skin." "Speak! Please speak!" "Hands touched a pink patch of skin—a swarm of interjections poured out as a pink rash and loud holes, meaningless holes in space." "That was in the beginning, right? In the beginning?"

Mama was holding the goat by the horns while wearing garden gloves, still avoiding touching the horns with bare skin. “Untie those,” she said referring to the rope used to tie the goat to the column. I began to unfasten the rope from the goat’s neck. It started to jerk its head, uncomfortable with how she was being handled. “Don’t touch the horns,” her voice stern but low.

I. The House With No Sound It began with a hum.

USER_ID: XXXX XXXXXX THREAD: Strange Lights / Anomalies - General Discussion DATE: 2026-05-25 — 02:34 UTC SUBJECT: I can't sleep anymore. They are flashing. There are three of them above the city now. Three spheres, perfectly motionless in the night sky. The neighbors went out onto their balconies tonight. No one was really talking. We were just staring. As if we were waiting for something, without knowing what.

Call me tasteless but I enjoyed running Southern Fried Murder. Growing up, I loved horror movies, especially slashers, but as I got older I became more drawn to true crime… To the real life monsters walking among us. Like most people, I was initially drawn to the sensationalized Bundys and Dahmers of the world but the local cases scared me more. I became more intrigued by the murders and vicious crimes that happened in my neck of the woods here in the American South. These were also the crimes…

No, he wore that outfit last time and felt overdressed. Something more casual would be better. Just not too casual.

Dusk is just falling over the town of Evil Shade. The alleys are emptying, and the streets are becoming completely deserted. For some time now, the residents have been alarmed by strange, inexplicable events that usually occur late in the evening. Witnesses of these unsettling incidents report encounters with someone or something, after which they feel as though all their energy has been sucked out of them. They complain of muscle aches, headaches, and remembering very little of the…