Gothic Short Stories

I was walking along the sidewalk on a brisk Autumn night as leaves crunched beneath my feet. Eerie fog rolled out along the road and brought a chill down my spine. I began to pick up my pace as I wanted to get home as fast as possible. The streets looked like a ghost town, no one was outside and only the dim streetlights lit my path. I took out my cellphone and attempted to call my mother, but it went right to voice mail. Just as i was pocketing my phone I heard a disturbing cackle. At that moment I began sprinting not wishing to stay and find out who or what made that sound. I was about half a mile from my house when I heard the disturbing noise again. Being in a pure state of terror I overlooked a pothole which I promptly stepped in and

It was a cold stormy night. The house was still. I was lying in bed when I heard a series of knocks at the door. As I descended the stairs the knocks were getting louder and louder. I thought to myself, "Who could be at the door this late at night?" When I opened the door there was a tall man dressed all in black. He smelled of fish and looked like he just walked out of a mud pit. He was having car troubles and needed to use the phone. I invited him in and told him that the phone was down the hall in the living room. Instead of calling the tow truck he called his friend, George, to come pick him up. I invited him to have a cup of coffee and some cookies while he waited for his friend to pick him up. We talked for about an hour when there

Why do people want to live in a perfect world? Everyone wants to live in their own fantasy world because that is where all their dreams are able to come true. No one wants a world of grief and sorrow. Life should be lived to its fullest. It should not be wasted. It should be embraced. When we are faced with agony, we must either make a choice between accepting it or hiding from it. In the play “A Streetcar Named Desire” by Tennessee Williams, the author mainly focuses on Blanche Dubois, a woman who moved to her sister’s house due to the loss of Belle Reve, her family home. She is a deceptive and selfish person, who cannot accept the occurrence of agony in her life. She mentally deteriorates due to the lost and rejection of love, and due to

'The Tell Tale Heart' is located in a house that is probably old as a

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.

Steps echoed through the empty hall, wandering patients acting as haunting reminders of his how the bags under their son’s eyes now blended into his discoloured face, how erratically he twitched when confined in a straitjacket and how horrified he looked as he ripped his hair out in bouts of furious anger. The overheard whispers caused a panic and bounding down the hall she went until she met a wall of bodies. She turned to her husband and watches his eyes; it was as if there was no sound. She followed his eyes as he listened, until one lone word echoed

All her life she had been told never to set foot in the house, yet, she decided not to listen. She shouldn’t have found that place so alluring. Every day, as she returned home, she felt such a pull towards the battered home. A soft voice whispered in her ear, begging her to come in, as if someone needed help. She had always been told never to go in, but she so badly wanted to. After all, the stories she had heard about the house couldn’t have been more than old wise tales told to keep people away. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

"Supernatural is awesome" Cheyenne yelled sitting on the couch between me and my other friend Amber. As we were watching the show we heard a weird noise come from outside. Now let me give you a break down if you have ever watched the show supernatural you would know one don't watch when the lights are off and it's dark outside and two don't be home alone. "Amber, Cheyenne" I whispered feeling creeped out "Get me salt now" Cheyenne mumbled at that moment the lights started flickering and the backdoor slammed open. "Cheyenne, Amber, and Blair tonight you will parish" we heard a deep voice coming from outside. Cheyenne grabbed mine and Amber's arm walking backwards towards the front door. "Don't move a another muscle" the voice went louder. "Call Nathanael" Amber whispered to Cheyenne "Why me" Cheyenne

Dark shadows lurked in the crisp, still air, along with a faint smell of death in the chilling silence of the night. He gingerly approached the door, walking up a flight of stairs as he did so. The stairs were made of stone, stone that was cracked with age and overgrown with weeds of neglect. With his hand on the door, he pushed. Only fast enough to move it an inch at a time. The door, the heavy door, was only made of the finest oak, scarred with age and decades of abuse. Finally, it was open. He glanced over towards the window, where a ghostly figure stood. It turned slowly to reveal its ghastly

A cry echoed from the heart of an old abandoned building. Quiet wails filled the empty hallways, the haunting echo ringing in my ears. Quickly, I whipped my head around to look for signs of possible footprints, or another soft whimper perhaps. “What could be causing such weeping?” was the first thought that entered in my train wreck of a mind. A certain stench of fear encompassed me as I wandered about the maze of halls, my focus on the small trail of blood leading down the hallways. As I turned one last corner, I found there a large room with towering ceilings. In the center of it all stood a small child, no older than my little boy at home. Clothed in a tattered shirt, small whimpers from him came each step closer

Bland curtains blocked all but a thin stream of light that peered into the dull room. The air was heavy with the scent of oppression masked only by the overpowering smell of chlorine and bleach burning her nostrils. A fire burned between her legs as she lay paralysed on her back; the agony swallowed her whole. The iron bed frame seemed to loom over her, its cold hard bars pressed against her scalp. Barely audible, Daisy could hear small regular breaths escaping from a small cradle beside her. The stabbing sensation that ran through her frame seemed to disappear as she thought about its tiny occupat. Daisy felt her stomach tighten as she looked at the two large double doors guarding the entrance to the room, the frame groaning under their combined weight. A sliver of light crept from under the doors illuminating the ceiling with a blurry yellow haze. Daisy could see dark shadows moving slowly behind the doors, and she gradually became aware of the muffled sound of grim voices beyond

She arrives on the 5th floor and steps out into the clean hallway. The smell of the hallway has a familiar heart retching smell, like the smell of the hotel she stayed in when Grandpa's funeral came about, the smell rips aways those memories and puts her heart in two as she slowly drags her feet down the long bare hallway. She sobs quietly as she arrives at the clean white door of her apartment. She stands there for what seems like an eternity constantly replaying the summer times over and over. The times where her life was fruitful and

What comes to mind when one is asked to define the term “Gothic?” Usually it is described as being dark, mysterious, and scary. The term Gothic is actually a style of literature marked by gloomy settings and mysterious events. There are major works of literature that have displayed strong elements of the Gothic tradition such as, Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Young Goodman Brown.”

Down the street there is a house that shows no sign of life, but in this house in the deepest darkest nook some tiny girl cowards by. Her hair straggly, unwashed, acting as a veil to mask the dirt and grime that cakes her face. Her clothing tattered and holy, stained with urine, have not been washed in months at a time. Her stomach growls with a ferocious hunger, inducing unimaginable pain to pierce her abdomen. Days have past, causing her to forget the last time she had eaten. In this room there is no bed, only a feathered out pillow and sheet. The stench of sex, smoke, and feces saturates the sheet, leaving a foul smell to continuously linger. The paint on the wall chips, falling restlessly to the floor. During the cold nights, this is

Water leaking from the tap every so often. She walked into the kitchen, trying her best to see through the dark with the dusty old curtains blocking out the light. The room is dark but just a slight glow was emanating from the window as the cheerful laughs bounced off the white, snow covered walls, which are now covered with a crimson red, silky liquid; Blood. She having been told, like every other solider, to always compare and contrast the happening outside and that of what is going on in this very room, a sign to know you surrounding, no matter what. But here inside something far more worse was going on. She slowly walked into the living room, holding the door frame for support. The bitter taste of misery lingered on the tip of her tongue. devastation and despair was the only thing that kept on raging within me. Her room. He destroyed it.