Good Psychological Horror Books Novels & Stories

The red-clad female ghost had once slaughtered an entire room of players in three seconds, then hung their corpses upside down from tree branches with red silk, creating a forest of dangling bodies. The Scissorhands monster had skewered more than a dozen people together, stirring their organs with his blades until they dissolved into a pile of flesh. As for the warden, he locked each team inside separate rooms and released over a dozen ghosts among them, forcing them to betray one another in desperate attempts to survive. In the end, every single one of the players was torn to pieces. All the players knew was that the bosses' methods were monstrously cruel. What they didn't know was that tho

Because he had just been ripped apart. I turned around slowly and stared at the “pet” who had done the ripping. He still had blood on his face, but somehow looked… innocent. “I was hungry,” he murmured. Maybe it was my imagination, but his pupils looked a little sharper than before. [Wow. Trying to slut-shame someone in a horror dungeon? He had it coming.] [Pop the champagne. Ding-dong, the jerk is dead.] [Lol the stans are out. She can sleep with monsters but nobody can call her out?]

PATHETIC DRAMATIC melted and re‑formed. SCARED CREATIVE “I made horror because I was scared,” I said. “Not because I was weak. I wrote bad things happening because bad things *were* happening, and it was the only way I could stand to look at them without going numb.” Memory flickered behind my eyes unbidden: me at thirteen, hunched over a spiral notebook while my parents argued in the next room. Me at sixteen, typing frantically after my sister had rolled her eyes at something that had gutted me. I'm hiding in horror books because at least *there is fear that had shape and rules and endings.

“IT’S JUST I HAD a different book in mind when ink spilled on this one, plus what’s left to do in a finished book?” They, of course, ignored me Completely probably deciding if I would not explain, they were just going to proceed. One of the three waved their hand above the inky darkness we were standing on, and instantly a book on a pedestal was in front of them on the floor. It showed off my title, ‘1001 Dark Tales’. I instantly held my breath, hoping they didn’t realize what that meant. But if they had, they said nothing. Instead, they just started flipping through the pages of the book, looking for which store to choose.

The hairs on my arms stand taut on my skin, and I turn to my feet with the utmost caution. The black figure that is sitting on my bed has in his hands my Machiavellian Little Red Hood book, a version that a psychopathic writer wrote a few years ago, they are the same characters from the children's story but with a more disturbing look. Little Red Riding Hood is a teenager with dissociative disorder, she heads through a dark forest to the house of her old and wrinkled grandmother. This girl who has two faces, one is mom's little angel and the other a nocturnal monster that fucked travelers and campers in the forest, ripping off their private parts when they finished. The development of the st

The next day was better than I wanted it to be. Moira made me tea strong enough to wake the dead. Finn spent an hour convincing a grad student that her dissertation would be stronger if she stopped citing men who hated women. I shelved, dusted, learned where the cat preferred to nap (on top of Greek tragedies, appropriately). I found three books tucked in the back: a horror novel with a cover torn clean off, a psychology text full of annotations that read like confessions, and a slim volume of ghost stories. I brought them home with the excuse of “inventory check,” but really, I just wanted them near me. “You’re nesting,” Travis teased as I stacked them on the table. “Careful, Princess, you’

Thane dragged, “you mean everything, right?” I could see his point. Everything here gave me the creeps and made me feel uncomfortable—everything down to the creepy fur rug that covered the floor of this study, or whatever she might have chosen to call this place. “How about these?” Thane asked, drawing my attention to a shelf full of creepy books and tomes. “Not that. Creepy, but not creepy enough,” I said. “I smell blood and death all over them,” he said. “Fun, but not what I’m looking for,” I replied.

Come pick a bouquet from these Flowers in a Dumpster. Eidolon Avenue: The First Feast by Jonathan Winn—where the secretly guilty go to die. All thrown into their own private hell as every cruel choice, every deadly mistake, every drop of spilled blood is remembered, resurrected and relived to feed the ancient evil that lives on Eidolon Avenue. Through a Mirror, Darkly by Kevin Lucia—Are there truths within the books we read? What if the book delves into the lives of the very town you live in? People you know? Or thought you knew. These are the questions a bookstore owner face when a mysterious book shows up.

Damon nodded I flew to the library the following day to return 'kidnapped' I decided I wanted another book, this time I chose a different author and a different genre, I chose horror, which wasnt far from thriller, like the first book, but horror was my favourite, I loved how ghosts were scary, and there were demons, and scary witches that cursed you, it made me laugh, for some reason this had always made me laugh, even before I knew I was a witch, now I knew why. The librarian was amazed to see me so quickly, but nodded in greeting, I nodded back. I chose a book called second nature, and blinked home, yes I could've flown but decided to blink. As soon as I got home I felt danger, not exactl

They or we? The other party that threw our world into chaos was the self-proclaimed animal welfare organization Live for Animals. In an act of charity they broke into Doctor Christopher Krynick's research laboratory to bring the animals to safety. Unfortunately they had no idea what was going on and a well-meaning rescue operation turned into a global catastrophe. The proles first killed their rescuers and then escaped from the research facility to bring a plague of unprecedented proportions to the world. When a hand came to rest on my shoulder and slowly brushed the back of my neck, I tried to ignore the tingling sensation. "You can leave that nice. I'm still mad at you. "