Yellow Wallpaper Novels & Stories

Suddenly, the blindfold was yanked off, and she blinked against the harsh light, her vision slowly adjusting. The room she found herself in was a dismal sight. The walls were bare, painted a sickly shade of yellow that had faded and chipped over time. Dirt and grime clung to every surface, giving the space an aura of neglect. The floor was covered in dust, and bits of debris littered the corners. A single dim light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting weak, flickering light that barely penetrated the gloom. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and decay, making Flora's nose wrinkle in disgust.

“Because my daughter… was one of the brides. She vanished on her wedding night. I stayed to hear her voice again. I stayed because I hoped one day… she’d come back.” A shudder passed through the floor beneath us. The walls groaned, this time more violently. “We have to go,” she said. “Now. The house doesn’t want us here anymore.” --- We ran. The west wing, once pristine, was now war-torn. The wallpaper peeled off in long strips. Paintings distorted, their subjects screaming silently from inside gilded frames. One chandelier collapsed behind us, shattering into a thousand diamond-like shards. I stumbled, catching myself against the wall. The wallpaper burned my palm—literally burned. I looked

The yellow was overwhelming, making my eyes water. Had she lost her mind? This woman drove up the fucking wall. Fuck! As I scanned the room, my eyes landed on a figure lying on the floor in the corner. Heaven was sprawled out, wearing devilishly short shorts that left little to the imagination. Her long, toned legs kicked lazily in the air as she read from a book, her mouth stuffed with Skittles. The candy's bright colors seemed to match the yellow of the room, creating a jarring, surreal effect.

The bed was against a wall of a room that was so big, her apartment above The Crimson Chalice could fit inside several times over. She didn't have anything holding her down, per se—but her body was still so stiff and sore that it's not like she could have wandered very far anyway. Across the way, there were thick curtains of deep purple and red hanging from top to bottom. The wallpapering was a gold and black damask design, and the raging fireplace across the way from her—while being the last thing she wanted to see sitting in her current state of overheating—was also sending her into flights of fancy concerning whether or not she'd somehow been zapped off to the age of some aristocratic Vic

“Why are you sighing anyway?” “Come here and help me pick a product.” She quickly stood up and walked towards my chair and I pulled her on my lap, inhaling her sweet cherry scent, and showed her the screen of the laptop. “This is purple damask wallpaper and this is red and black vinyl wallpaper. Which one do you think will suit this room?” Her eyes were wide and glittery as she squinted at the three-dimensional model of the room and aped at me. “Is that a pole?”

And Vahini shared that vision down to the core of it. The walls are painted yellow, the individual beds have matching yellow blankets, and the ginormous bookshelf smack against the center wall is a dark yellow —the books arranged in the order of a rainbow curtsy of Vahini. Both of their dressers are white with little yellow sunflowers, and in fact even the old bollywood movie posters on Vahini’s side of the wall are color-coded in yellow.

She turned slowly, eyes drawn to the parlor wall. Tristan was already pulling Cara back from it. “It’s shifting,” he warned. The wallpaper was peeling—not from age, but from pressure. Beneath it, the shape of something moved. Not insect or animal. Something worse. Veins. Black, pulsing, spider-webbing across the interior structure like rot spreading from the heart. They crawled behind the surface, coiling along beams, weaving through plaster. The house was not just responding—it was becoming. “Run,” Yvette whispered. “Now.”

She was not going to turn back now. The wallpaper had been beautiful once—cream and gold, the same pattern she had seen peeling in the corridor outside. Here, it was mostly intact, though dark streaks of smoke damage climbed the walls near the ceiling like frozen shadows. The chandelier above the bed was missing half its crystals, and the ones that remained were blackened with soot. The fire had reached this room. It had not destroyed it, but it had touched it.

His grey hairs can be seen moving against the black ones. The cabin is dusty and forces Cody to sneeze. I take a wash cloth from my grandma's kitchen and dust the railings going up the stairs. We head toward the attic and the cardboard boxes are still stacked up in rows lined up against the wall. The wall is still covered in ripped up yellow wallpaper. The red cardboard box is still there, and as we approach it I notice the lid is still closed from the last time my grandma shut it.

These people expected me to act a certain way, and anything less would result in my being kicked out in the cold. The Madam led me down a long hallway lined with more unsettling portraits. Their shrewd eyes seemed to follow our every move, judging as if they knew why I was here. The wallpaper beneath caught my eye and I tried not to frown at the wilted roses, so decayed the red hues were now a deep shade of rust brown. “Who on earth would want that as their wallpaper?” Ziva commented, and I couldn’t help but agree.