Psychological
The Buzzer
The apartment where she was starting her life over had one of those outdated intercom systems with a loud, jarring buzzer that always made her heart jump and her skin itch. Her cats hated it too, always scattering when the noise rang through her apartment, sprinting for that dark, enclosed space under her bed that made them both impossible to find. She wondered, as that buzzer echoed through her apartment and her breath caught in her chest and her cats' claws slid over the hardwood floor as they ran for cover, if it would still make her feel that way if she wasn't now built out of anxiety and PTSD. But there was no point in what ifs and maybes in this brave new world.
By Mallory Roseabout a year ago in Fiction
Trapped by the Spider. Content Warning.
**Warning: Contains depiction of kidnapping and torture.** I knocked on the door three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. My presence was greeted by a dog barking, and within a minute, the sound of locks fumbling. The door swung open and I was greeted by the acrid smell of Marlboro red’s–what Grandpa used to smoke. A man stood in the doorway with a mess of curly grey and smoke-dyed hair. A slop of a beard decorated his face with his high cheekbones that pushed on narrow, beady brown eyes. He stood taller than me, but was short for a man. His red and black flannel fit poorly over his round belly.
By Callum Summersabout a year ago in Fiction
Parallel Collision. Honorable Mention in Parallel Lives Challenge.
The morning was unremarkable. The morning welcomed me with the kiss of a thin fog coiling over the payment and just the whisper of slick frost and ice waiting for the sun to thaw it back into water. The streetlight on the corner flickered like it was getting ready to die out. I tightened my jacket around me and checked my watch while I rushed to the bus stop a block away. Seemingly reading my mind, the bus rounds the corner, headlights splitting the mist.
By Autumn Stewabout a year ago in Fiction
Manticore. Content Warning.
I could nearly describe exactly the exact wording the Sherrif used. Almost, I could show you the way it felt when he grabbed me in mid-sprint, wrestled me to the ground and assured me nothing could be done. Without hesitation or error, I could imitate the tone of his voice and how unwavering his verdict was. But that would be pointless. What’s done is done and there’s no bringing back the lost.
By Thomas Speerabout a year ago in Fiction
Nothing II. Honorable Mention in A Knock at the Door Challenge. Content Warning.
I wake to a knock. The room is dark, and I am dazed. The rapping is at my bathroom door. Uneasy, I plant both feet on the hardwood floors. I rise and move forward, but there is nothing out of the ordinary on the other side.
By Ashley Limaabout a year ago in Fiction
Uncivil mad Thoughts.. Runner-Up in Parallel Lives Challenge.
HER I feel encased in glass...cast in an everlasting fecking mask - buried deep within a coral bed of frowning faces and gritted teeth. Feelings of having a bad day surface...I try my best to don my lovely grinning mask...but it doesn't fit.
By Novel Allenabout a year ago in Fiction
Drum of the Door. Honorable Mention in A Knock at the Door Challenge.
I thought I was alone, but the drum of the door is loud in the quiet. My ears must pardon as it is not the door's fault. What a wooden beauty. Deep red and polished it stands locked and latched to the frame. It almost allows a person to stare at it all day, get blissfully lost, and call themselves an art enthusiast. Almost. Oh how that door has saved me. So many times that pounding of the drum has come and gone, sticks of great force and human flesh. Yet I have remained safe inside. However, this instance has the little hairs on my back trying to flee. No three knocks separated by a short intermission, no knocking in a combination, no secret knock, no single confident knock, and no muffled screaming to get my attention. This time the order is horrendous, and the hits dramatically increase and decrease in intensity with no tell. Why are they not aborting this attempt? I tiptoe over to the wooden beauty. It is as if the door is unsteady and pushing itself farther from me, and my heart can't take the pace. What lurks beyond?
By Ashley Wrigleyabout a year ago in Fiction
Little School of Horrors
Knock, knock knock! No one had knocked on my door for eight years. Now, the rapping is loud, insistent. Its echo stirs my desolate corridors. I used to hear laughter. And shouting, and whispers too. I comforted occasional weeping in a quiet corner, and I sheltered little people from rain. I was their ship that sailed them to a future of letters, numbers, creativity; I was a conduit for friendships, connections, and finished projects.
By Teresa Rentonabout a year ago in Fiction
