Free Psychological Thriller Books Novels & Stories

Just like she read her horoscope every day and then later interpreted everything so that her day exactly matched it. All humbug. Shaking my head, I left the room, picked up a few more towels from the closet in the hallway and then disappeared into the bathroom with everything to just let this stressful day disappear with the water in the drain. Unfortunately that was easier said than done, because when I started to relax in complete calm under the hot water jet, the pictures of the day came back to me one more time. As soon as I closed my eyes for even a moment, I saw the gun of this handsome boy in front of my nose again and wondered if he had really shot. Was that the criminal Reese and hi

“The most recent edition. I’ll go check.” I slip past the scattered students and move toward the darker section of the library, the area reserved for psychology, criminology, and mental disorders. Dust hangs in the air, glinting faintly in the overhead fluorescent lights. The scent of old paper and polished wood fills my nose as I run my finger along the spines of the books. Some are new and pristine, others ancient, their leather cracked and pages yellowed, carrying the weight of decades of human obsession with crime and the mind.

My mouth opened in silent panic, my hands flailing, scratching at my throat, my chest, the sheets. Goosebumps flared on my skin, I could feel someone was here. Someone was killing me. There was a weight pressing against my chest, like hands I couldn’t see were holding me down, stealing every breath. My vision blurred. Stars danced at the edge of my sight. I thrashed, heart hammering, and my eyes landed on the book open on the desk. It was glowing again.

I am a Writer, I do not force the words, it comes to me, but for the past year I have been blank. Do you know what it is like to lose the one thing that made you important. I was a Writer, now I am just a used-to-be, overwhelmed by the person I was, confused by the person I am. For a long time, Writing used to be my Anchor, and now it is gone, just like this house used to be a gift, but now it is a prison. ______ I gulp as I stare round the room, feeling more alone than ever. Like it burns, I drop the book down. I am not a huge fan of Psychological Thrillers, but I picked one, and now, my paranoia is alive and raging.

, someone announced on the stage which made me concentrate back to stage to see that my friend was about to start her performance and as soon as she hit the first cord of her vocals, all sort of negative energy just vanished atleast that is what I felt and also by this time the entire book store was mesmerized by her soulful voice and the light music was complementing it the best way possible but now all I could think about was all the possible assumptions which could give me any logical reason for the extremely weird energy of that place. At the end of the performance I moved towards my right to nearest book shelf which was of fiction category and it has always been my favourite genre as i

If you enjoyed this book, I’m sure you’ll also like the following titles: Wind Chill by Patrick Rutigliano—What if you were held captive by your own family? Emma Rawlins has spent the last year a prisoner. The months following her mother’s death dragged her father into a paranoid spiral of conspiracy theories and doomsday premonitions. But there is a force far colder than the freezing drifts. Ancient, ravenous, it knows no mercy. And it’s already had a taste . . .

I quickly fell asleep as I was really very tired. Roxanne's pov: When I entered Elektra's room, the nurse was giving her the pills. I don't know why, but this nurse seemed familiar to me in a strange way. Her presence bothered me. I pushed the bad thoughts out of my mind. Recent events had made me very suspicious. I didn't want to come across as completely paranoid. I waited for the nurse to do her work and when she left I went to Electra's bed and covered her with the blanket and sat in the armchair reading a book. After half an hour of sleep he began to choke.

Perhaps that was why he had walked away when he pushed me into the water. *** The next day, I went to the library with Beta Miles to fetch some books since I was almost becoming furniture in my room and I was bored to death from doing the same routine of waking and staying in my bedroom. We went to the Pack's Library which surprisingly, had a lot of collections of different varieties. As we browsed the shelves, my eyes lit up when we found the thriller section. I hastily picked books that were about murder, suicide and blood. “There are other books Ma'am Roxanne, we could check them out,” Beta Miles said.

Silence had a different texture now. It felt tactical, purposeful — like the quiet before a tide that would sweep everything away. I sat at the kitchen table with a thin lamp casting a pool of yellow over the papers I’d spread out: names, dates, fragments of conversations, an ugly web that traced back in ugly, familiar lines. The ink on the paper looked small and sane, but the things written there were not. They were seeds of war.

What happens when the risk of discovery becomes the very thing you crave? Maya Rivers is not careless. She has been built from restraint, from routine, from the comfort of control. And yet the stranger who finds her in the stacks doesn’t follow her rules. He rewrites them, one by one, until she can’t tell where the boundaries end and the desire begins. He awakens the same part of her that lingered in those midnight chats, daring her to admit that she longs to be seen, watched, wanted. This book is for readers who understand that tension itself can be intimate. That the risk of being caught can tether you more tightly than any promise. That a name whispered can bind as surely as a vow. That a