Gothic Short Stories

One of the fire department members was standing outside of the front door saying that something was wrong, that there was a fire. My brother grabbed his phone and called my dad. I threw on my fire pants and gloves and went inside. It hadn't quite crossed my mind what had happened yet so when I saw that the floor was pitch black, I thought it had gotten painted and no one had mentioned it. It was so dark and foggy inside that I went for the light switch. They didn’t work, but then I noticed something else. The cobwebs near it were covered in soot. That’s when I realized how much trouble we were in.

The cool wind blows through the Melbourne alley ways, it’s 3am on the 8th of March and not a soul could be heard. The street lights were flickering and there wasn’t a car insight. The atmosphere, cold and dark, would give a deathly shiver down anyone's spine. Then, a loud, gut wrenching scream broke all silence. The sound of fleeting footsteps echoed throughout Hosier Lane and moments later sirens screeched through the streets of Melbourne.

It was a pleasant fall Tuesday when Stephanie went to work. Her day normal consisted of writing reports, and filing paperwork for her office. She turned on the television to see if there was anything alluring in the news. “NEWS FLASH: MAN CONVICTED OF MURDER HAS ESCAPED PRISON.” The warning did not phase her, considering the jail was far from her office. She concluded that she was safe. By four o’clock, it was time for her to travel home from a laborious day of work. She arranged her things into her bag, and began her trek. Walking out the door, she was met with warm rays from the sun. It was an astounding way to end a strenuous

“I was at work. It was on a weekday and it occurred around 11:00 AM. I think we found out about it shortly after. Probably around 11:15-11:30, just by word of mouth” Heather began to recall. She was not as effected at first as she was as more information became available. The severity of the event had not hit. The situation was unexpected and happened so quickly. She had not

Topaz’s spookiest experience was when she saw her grandmother sitting in her old chair after she died. This scenario relates to Gothic Literature and Magical Realism because it contains supernatural things like a ghost, a strange or scary plot, and a gloomy mood. Those two genres are similar because they both show dull and odd events throughout the stories too. However, Oates’ “Where is Here”is an example of Gothic Literature because it contains a spooky and eager plot, an ambiguous ending, and tortured characters.While Julio Cortazar’s “House Taken Over” is an example of Magical Realism because it uses weird, strange plots that seem regular as if it were a part of daily life. Gothic Literature and Magical Realism is in these stories which makes Topaz’s spookiest experience a Gothic Literature and Magical Realism.

In Alabama, in the country, next to a dirt road and a muddy lake that was full of green water, where you couldn’t go to sleep because the frogs croaked too loud, there was a large house. The large house was made of splintery wood, and was inhabited by only one person. Now, the lake that his house was built on had been where a boy named Ronald Pratt had been ran over after removing the bricks from in front of the wheels of a flaming portable, saving the lives of many kids after the portable rolled into the lake and the fire was extinguished. One day, the man who owned the house was in his bed at 8:30 pm and he heard a whisper. He couldn’t make out any words, but he heard it all right. He pulled out a flashlight and grabbed his rifle to go and

Rain hit my head, raced down my face and back. We trudged through the mud, sinking in our boots feet deep. All we could see was our breathe, all we could hear was the wind slapping against the trees, rain hitting, and our boots squishing in the mud. We expected the weather to be like this, the weather channel had been going crazy all week about a storm passing through our way around 5 pm today. Just as predicted the rain became heavier, fog thicker, and sky darker. But our search group did not give up; we had been searching months for the beloved missing girl named Emma Barrett in the Elliott State Forest in Oregon. She was last scene heading into the forest with her parents on a Tuesday afternoon for a hike, hours

Why Might Parents Allow Their Children to read Gothic Literature? According to some parents, Gothic Literature provides a sense of escape for the child and allows the child to relate to their own real-life problems that they may be facing in their own lives. However, when parents allow their children to read Gothic Literature, they are opening their children's minds up and allowing them to go into the dark world and face many unknown challenges and experiences, in hopes of overcoming and conquering their fears that they may have once had. In these Gothic Literatures, there is often a recurring theme that allows the child to put themselves in that character's place or shoes.

Meanwhile, Russ, Ron, Nick were standing in the back of their yard and suddenly heard a loud booming noise. Then they finally found out that it was thunder. Every person started to scream and

The girl bolted to the door, eyes darting wildly through the smoke-filled room. The flames licked at her heels as she ran, barefoot, out the front door of the once friendly dwelling. She panted, her glazed eyes looking back at her former home. Her small body collapsed onto the pavement, tears crashing down her tanned face. She heard the muffled cries from her parents in still inside. The parents she couldn’t protect. The parents she killed.

Gothic fiction is a product of human curiosity, fascination and fear. This genre of literature represents human fears in a more symbolic and allegorical way, allowing readers to address their phobias in a safe frame. Gothic fiction is mistakenly associated with adult fiction due to the common belief that the gruesome events described in this mode of literature are inappropriate for children. Nevertheless, kids are the ones who have the biggest questions and fears. Gothic fiction, with its grotesque creatures and spooky places, turns kid fears into fictional characters that are defeated by the forces of good. This essay examines the connection between Gothic fiction and traditional fairytales, while it discusses how Gothic stories help children

Horror originated, in books. It was the Gothic Horror (literature) genre that gave the ideas to newly found film producers, prior to 1910 is when the first Horror film production was this was “the manor of the devil” this was in 1898. In 1910 is when it really began with Frankenstein being the big one. This movie is till around to this day, this has been re made several different times and is one of the most well known. Since the beginning of time people have been trying to scare each other, this is most likely where the horror popularity came from. Horror is extremely unique because it seems to be the only movie that is a repetitive story line. It has the monster/ villain and the victim yet we still get scared and surprised by new movies too. The

The heat was unbearable, but I forced myself to keep going. ‘Left,right,left,right again’, I thought. I ran as if my life depended on it and know that I think about I guess, in a sense it sort of did. Screaming out, I yelled “Sarah, Sophia, Jessica, Anybody?”. “Can you guys hear me, please come out!”, my voice echoed through the halls. I was met with silence. Doors were slammed one after another by the force of my hand. No one in my sight, Smoke was starting to cloud my vision, it grew hotter, coughing uncontrollably I marched on. Praying in my mind I checked the last room. Even in the smoke, the heat, I could make out something in the corner of my eye. I drew closer to the shiny object. Careful steps were made and soon I sighed a sigh of relief. The three girls in question were huddled up in a corner. “Guys….come….here..”,my voice was hoarse ,but they got the message loud and clear. Sophie, the energetic little blonde looked up. “Ray! You’re here!” Hugging them all tightly, I felt at peace hearing their voices and their even breathing, I let go once I reassured that they were safe. With Sophie in my arms, Sarah on my hip and my hand intertwined with Jess’s I turned abruptly Fire engulfed my vision. I felt my heartbeat faster as I stared death in the eye.‘Great, just great’,. My eyes scanned the room in a frantic hurry until the inally laid upon the window. Climbing out, I heard a chorus of fearful shrieks. I myself wanted to shriek, but I couldn’t I

The men in the booth behind him started to talk after they had received their drinks. John was having a hard time trying not to listen in on the conversation that the two men were having. He was drifting in and out the conversation and some of the things he heard were unusual. One mentioned something about some sort of chemicals and blowing everything up. John knew he had to report what he had just heard, and he also knew that thousands of lives depended on it. Now John had to decide on whether or not to get up and leave his booth risking being noticed by these men. He had made his decision, John had to leave. He slinked out of the safety of his seat and carefully made his way past the two menacing men. “HEY!” yelled one of the men. They had just realised where John had come from. They scrambled out of their booth and chased him out of the restaurant and down the street. John ran as fast as a cheetah chasing its prey, terror gripped him like a vice. He could hear the two men getting closer, their rasping breathing was just behind him. He had to think quickly, how could he elude them? He nearly slipped over as he turned a corner. John felt like he just died inside because he now faced a dead end. He ran down the alley way looking desperately for somewhere to hide, but there was nothing. The two men grabbed him and threw him up against a wall, one of the men whispered in his ear, “No eves dropping,” before hitting him over and over. John could feel his vison fading as he sponged punches but stayed

After a cup of bold Italian espresso and in the later hours of Sunday morning, our neighbor came from across the street and tentatively knocked on our door. Without saying good morning she launched in, “I was upstairs in my son’s room, putting away his laundry at about 9:15 when I heard a crash. I looked out the window and noticed something going in your kitchen. I was worried. Is everyone all right?” Still foggy, I invited her in and began to recount the previous day’s chaotic series of events.