Terrifying Pictures Novels & Stories

He pushed to his feet then, sliding the first pile of pictures over to me and spreading them out, and as I stared down at the pictures, a frown crept into my face, explicit images filling my vision. “I should warn you,” he started, placing his hands on his lips, “some of them are really bad. My friend at NYPD really had to get through a lot to get me these images.” My eyes were boring holes into the pictures on the desk now, burning bright and hot. “What am I looking at?” I demanded in a gruff voice, queasiness starting low in my tummy. Tattered limbs and legs were scattered around in the picture I was staring at, so gruesome a sight.

I open it to find some large print pictures in them. I slide the glossy papers out, and almost immediately, my stomach jumps at the sight of such gory images. The envelope slips from my hands and the photos scatter to the ground. I'm so shaken that I don't even try to gather them up. The man in the pictures is dead, a bullet straight to his head, but that's not the most sinister part of it. His skin is rough and devilish, his eyes are dark, and his fangs are sharp and threatening. The look of a rogue.

She shrieked and raced toward the exit. *** ABIGAIL The guy blinked his eyes many times in surprise, but when he snapped from his shock, he quickly stood up with a murderous stare in his eyes. I winced at the sound his chair created and quickly felt shivers down my spine in fear. "Did you just steal a picture of me?" He seethed, eyes burning with anger. I quickly stepped back, but he also took a step forward. I took a step back again, and he did, too. I promptly turned around and ran for my dear life.

“I didn't want to bring this up because it would be treason if I'm discovered,” She carefully brought out a photograph and handed it to me. It was a picture of a decapitated woman, at least that's what the features revealed. She looked like she was tortured before finally beheaded with the claw marks all over her body. “Is this supposed to scare me?” “Not scare, warn,” she answered, her tone suddenly becoming mysterious. “This is nothing, it's just a picture of a woman without her head. I don't see how that can be treason,” I handed the photograph back to her.

My vision blurred for a second before snapping into a terrifying clarity. It was a photograph of a room—a dark, windowless basement. But it wasn't the stark, concrete architecture that made my blood run cold. It was the wall. It looked like a shrine… for me. A suffocating wave of nausea hit me so hard I felt the room spin. The surface of the wall was completely covered, top to bottom, in hundreds of pictures of me. There were candids, long-range shots taken from the cover of trees, and sharp close-ups, spanning years of my life.

Maybe it was a photoshopped image designed to scare her and she had panicked so much that she hadn't even noticed the telltale signs of digital tampering. With agonizing slowness and trembling hands, Anny reached for her phone, forcing herself to look at the screen once more. The panic, fear and shock struck her heart all over again with the force of a physical blow. Her free hand flew to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips to stifle the scream that threatened to tear from her throat. It was a photograph of her mother. Not a photograph taken when Rosie had been alive or one of those honorable, dignified photographs taken of her corpse after she had been dressed and prepared for burial.

I reached out and grabbed what turned out to be photographs. "Nothing." Max tried to grab them from me but I was too quick, spinning around and giving him my back. "These aren't nothing." My voice came out as a whisper as I looked at the pictures in my hand. They were horrific. Glassy brown eyes stared back at me, empty of life. Naked limbs lay in a tangled heap on top of some brownish grass. The poor girl looked like she had been dumped there like so much trash. "What are these? Why do you have them?” I could hear the hysterical edge to my voice.

Eventually the electricity stopped, and the pictures began flickering again. I breathed heavily through the pain, forcing the tears to keep away. Just as I was able to catch my breath, the pictures stopped again on another grotesque image of a dead wolf. Only this time, the wolf was hanging upside down from a pole. Its bottom half was that of a wolf, but the top half, the arms and chest, was human. The human head sat on a spike next to the body, only it had large fangs poking out of its open mouth. It was gross, sad, and scary. It made me want to cry again. I closed my eyes tight and tried to shake my head.

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken tension. Lysandra’s gaze remained fixed on Kaelen as he stood across from her, his posture rigid, a storm brewing behind his sharp golden eyes. She clutched the photographs in her hands, her knuckles white, her heartbeat thrumming in her chest. Each picture was a reminder of the horrors that had begun haunting her. The figures—those unnatural beings—appeared only in the frame, but their presence lingered in her mind, haunting her thoughts.

--Alyssa-- Everyone was here now, and their faces reflected a spectrum of unsettling emotions. Fear was the most prominent, etched deeply into their expressions. It was a fear that ran deeper than mere anxiety or unease; it was a terror that seemed to sap the very air from the room. Each person's face was a pale canvas painted with the dread of impending doom, and their eyes darted nervously, avoiding direct contact with one another.