Hysteria Novels & Stories

It never crossed my mind that I will be in the situation. I feel so sick and I can’t breathe, it’s scaring me more. My body is behaving abnormally. Hyperventilating and my vagina feels irritated, as if there is something down there. Did they rape me when I was unconscious? I bring one of my hands through my trousers to my vagina. And there is just normal vagina discharge. But something is completely off. I don’t want to think more about it. I need to get out of here first. Alive...

That night, Hilda went home and had her dinner before she went online to look for articles about Sahara. She only had to scroll for a while to find a huge number of videos showing Sahara jerking, twitching, and spitting white foam out of her mouth. None of the articles revealed the actual cause of her illness, and most of the netizens agreed that her symptoms seemed like she had suffered from an epileptic seizure. Right then, an account with the nickname 'Aebasa Clemon' that was certified as the 'President of DAB Group' made a post on Twitter to diss Sahara.

It was unusual for Haze to leave their room unlocked, especially considering the importance they placed on personal space. There, in the dimly lit room, I saw Haze on her bed, her body trembling and tears streaming down her face. It was evident that she was having a terrible nightmare. She was crying out in her dreams, her voice filled with desperation, 'Don't die, Ricky. Please don't leave me alone.' For a brief moment, I wondered who Ricky was, a flicker of jealousy arising within me, but I quickly pushed it aside. I called out, 'Haze, wake up, Haze,' as I shook her body, trying to wake her from the grips of her terrifying dream.

The night, spent in the corner of my room and all lights around the house switched on, went by. Zayn and I didn't even blink a sleep. Slumber was out of the question. But by the end of the night, as the sun rose from my window, we called it...a false alarm. Our brains are amazing pieces of muscle. In ancient times, they used to call this...mass hysteria. A shared, collective madness. Collective, because people who went through trauma together, experienced the consequences of life together. It was how the term came into existence. But in our case...when we weren't even together, something had triggered our 'false alarm' of the dreadful being. What was it...?

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I apologize for my coworker’s mistake. You can report it if you want, but please don’t sue us. We were under pressure—” His death stare silenced her. “Sorry,” she said quietly, clearing her throat. “Is she your wife?” The question pierced him. His heart screamed yes. Every bone in his body agreed. But his ego forced his head to shake no. “Oh,” Doctor M said softly, disappointment flickering. “She has psychrogittelsn—a neurological condition. Under extreme stress, fear, or emotional pain, her brain turns on itself in defense. It’s progressed to stage two.” “It isn’t fatal,” she continued, “but if she’s exposed to stress or danger, it could become deadly.

“You… you sound… too calm. How can you… not care?” “I do care,” he replied, voice steady, measured, with no hint of melodrama. “But panic does not help. Hysteria does not heal. Calm does. Reflection does. You are overwhelmed by emotion. That is understandable. But it does not define you. Now… tell me, what happened exactly?”

He gives a small nod and I return it; our friendship and understanding of each other seems to have grown. Abruptly we are drawn out of our connection when there is a glass-shattering scream. Natalie has her thrown arms out beside her and even her hair seems to be floating around like gravity doesn’t exist. Her face is contorted in pain and her muscles seem all tense. The master had actually collapsed and the ground seems to be shaking again. The ground rumbles and the houses start to shake. Alex is holding my arm almost cutting off the circulation.

The doctor gave me a diagnosis when I was brought to the emergency room. “It’s Somatochemical Sensory Hyperpheromone Response Syndrome.” “Pardon?”

Cherry Brentwood’s life changed the night she turned eighteen—caught doing the forbidden while moaning the name of her brother’s best friend. Fast forward to two years later, summer vacation was supposed to be everything she had dreamed of. What she never expected was to spend it under the same room with her brother's best friend, the man with the most seductive gray eyes that she's been trying to forget…and her arch-enemy cousin sister. Xavier Salvatore is a guy who walks in silence, barely speaks, but rather acts in dangerous, mysterious ways. He’s not a saint; He's not an angel. He walks the thin line between good and evil. He is none other than the ghost of the Black

But in the dim light of the Great Hall, I saw the price. Maya was sitting on the floor, her small hands pressed against her temples. Every few seconds, her body would twitch, a sympathetic reflex mirroring a Hollow who had tripped or moved in the courtyard. In medicine, we call this "Hyper-Empathy Syndrome," but this was something far more invasive. This was Neural Entrainment on a tectonic scale. My daughter wasn't just leading them: she was absorbing the "Background Noise" of five hundred empty nervous systems.