Grotesque Novels & Stories

The flesh on their faces seemed to tighten, pulling back to reveal the sharp contours of bone. Their muscles, once taut and powerful, appeared to shrivel, leaving their bodies disturbingly gaunt, almost skeletal beneath their armor. A faint, sickening odor – like grave dust and decay – began to emanate from them. Their breathing grew shallow, raspy, their chests barely rising. They still stood, but their posture was stooped, their movements stiff, jerky, utterly unnatural. They no longer looked like men; they looked like husks, puppets of bone and withered flesh, animated by some perverse, dark magic. They were monsters.

The heavy curtains filtered the morning light into a blood-red hue. Everything in the room was black or crimson. The desk. The carpet. Even the towering shelves lined with ancient, dustless books. But it was the painting that made my breath catch. A monstrous figure loomed from its canvas, some grotesque creature, neither man nor beast, its form twisted with horns and wings. It stood atop a mound of broken bodies, its talons dug into golden-skinned figures that looked like gods. Their faces were frozen in agony, eyes wide, as if they'd never seen death coming.

The creature's body was slime-like, yet it seemed to have short limbs and a small mouth that produces a harsh hissing sound when it opens. "Don't call them junk," the elderly professor replied. Struggling to stand up from sitting on his chair, he gently placed the book he's reading on his desk, which was also filled with empty laboratory flasks, notebooks and pens. There was a stain of spilled ink covering the upper corner of his disorganized table. His hair and beard are almost white, with visible streaks of gray, and along with his crumpled and stained lab coat, they all seemed to have been unattended for a long while now.

It continually squirm and elongate out of the picture frames, extending themselves with full force until the entities simultaneously touched the floorboard or the space below it before their other hand squeezed its way out to reality. Lukas watched as the god of evil birthed life out of inanimate paintings, but the creations were flawed and disturbing. They took up a humanoid shape but their appearance, while possessing the faces of Don Calixto's ancestors, appeared to be grotesquely stretched and erased. They moved erratically, as if they are stretching their defective bones to great limits. They marshalled around Sitan, who lowered his hand as a signal for h

In a fraction of a second, I screamed and darted out of the room, my heart exploding with dreadful terror, as the possessed and ghastly figure of my daughter followed me, moving backwards on her hands and limbs with her back bent low and face twisted. It was a sight that could rip a person’s soul apart and pop the eyeballs. The creature cackled in the most repulsive manner, flaunting decayed ghostly teeth and a pitch-black hole. My eyes couldn’t spot anything in the umbra, and I stumbled on something that emerged as one of Selina’s mates’ repugnantly mutilated body, and I shrieked, which caught the creature’s attention as it spotted me. It marched towards me terrifyingly,

And, Debuk.. Ardina's body hit someone and fell to the ground. She lifted her head, her eyes began to see the figure from below to right in the face. There, before her now, was a creature more terrifying than Asmodeus. The creature was tall, large, and pointed ears upwards with a nose like a pig. Yes, he does look like a pig. Tiny tail, fat belly and flat nose. And one thing that made Ardina nauseous being close to him was that his body smelled like sewage. Not just one, but four other creatures behind him with different shapes.

Just one word as the title, as if it was enough to describe it. Curiosity drawn her to the grotesque face of the piece, noting how patient the artist was to build such creature. The face was godly but distorted, the body was intricately made and veins showing on both claws. It was posed as if to attack, eyes deep and cold and vengeful. “Prime,” a voice said, startling Chessa. “They were believed to be fruit of sins and wars, cursed to live under the dark, keeper of demons from the seven gates of hell.” It was Augustus.

A greedy, hungry sound. These things hiding in the smoke stood and reached, feasting on the body that lay trapped by age and sickness and sleep. Umbra waited, quiet as a mouse, as they kneeled and bent. Steps from her, Gran’s housecoat was lifted as they laid their hands on her body before more teeth bit and more tongues licked and more mouths sucked and more lips kissed. Her knees, her legs. The pale skin around her belly button. Her sagging boobies. Heads even pushing close to her super-duper secret private place. Lips spreading and jaws stretching and throats swallowing as her strength, her energy, her health was eaten. All she was, everything except her actual body, her life, being bit a

Crash! I stood over the fractured ice once more and swung the axe with every last ounce of strength. I hadn’t removed the camera from my helmet. Immediately realizing what I was doing, Luna screeched, "Sophie, are you crazy?!" I ignored her, continuing to raise my numb arms and swing them down, mechanically repeating the motions until… Crack! With a sharp crack, the ice split completely apart, exposing the heating pipe underneath. Taking aim, I lifted the axe high—

And then, the monsters breached the mist. They were horrifying. They were massive, grey-skinned abominations, their muscles bulging with sickening, unnatural proportions. Their chaotic, glowing purple eyes burned with mindless, explosive rage. To Mwajuma, they were the ultimate manifestation of the toxic, violent male spirit—beasts that existed only to destroy the beauty of the world.