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

The room was musty and dimly lit. A heavy curtain was drawn across the only window, allowing only a slight and pathetic slant of balmy sunlight to slip in. Faintly, the air tasted of dog urine and stray fur—a fusty undertone hovering beneath ghostly.

Gothic Literature is characterized by elements such as fear, horror, death, and gloom. Most in which is portrayed in “The Picture of Dorian Gray.” How do we know gothic is ‘gothic’ though? Sometimes it is characterized by the setting other times by the supernatural manifestations. There are many ways to discover wether it gothic literature or not, taking “The Picture of Dorian Gray,” for example.

chest as if it were a newborn child in danger. I'd been following her for

I looked around. "Yeah, maybe." She threw out her cigarette and nodded to me before walking back into her room. I stood outside, just watching room five. *What the hell could be in there?* I leaned against the door, put my ear to it and I listened. It was silent for a short while, but I heard a muffled knock come from inside. I continued to listen. Another knock. Then another knock. And then, complete silence. I kept my ear at the door, just listening, waiting. Another knock, but this time, it was against the door. I jumped back, shocked by what had just happened. I knew there was somebody or something in there and the fact that I didn't know who or what it was, had me completely horrified. I just wanted to get far away from that motel.

One-thirty on a Thursday morning. I laid in bed worrying, after watching John rush to Main Street for a fire call. My head spun as the pager near my head continued to dispatch calls. “Be careful on the roof Watson, I can see light through,” Feltner’s voice echoed. Ambulance sirens boomed down a four-block stretch of Main Street. My body sprung from the bed and hurried out and down the block. My face began to fill with heat. Just then another page came through, “I know idiot, I put it there.” It was John’s voice. I felt relief and began to walk back down the sidewalk to our home. I heard a young girl screaming for her dog, hysterically. Finally, back in my house, I completely forgot that I had left the two girls upstairs. Thankfully,

A Gothic novel is one which incorporates modes of literature such as horror, the setting, suspense, superstition, atmosphere, horror etc. In the story Dracula the author shows these traits in various sections of the story that makes it a lot more interesting and it is one of the the main characteristics beside the various other features that makes this story great. Dracula was published by . Surely there are many other novels such as Frankenstein, The Vampyre etc, but Dracula is one of the prime example of a Gothic novel that has a lot of different attributes that make the story distinct from the others. Mr.Bram Stoker in his phenomenal book Dracula encompasses the different Gothic traits, how they make the story extremely intriguing and engaging and have a significant effect on the story.

I woke startled, dazed and confused basically drowning in my own sweat. Where on earth am I. I got up and spun around and all I could see was four blank walls that seemed like they were closing in on me. The only thing that stood out was a lone door placed right in the middle of one of the walls. Without even thinking about it, I started to carefully creep forward towards the door, but as I did this I could hear movement on the other side and the door began to open. I was lightning quick to react and rushed up to the wall right beside the door and nervously watched as a large figure began to enter the dimly lit room. He looked around and noticed the empty space and shouted out in surprise, but I was quick and without a second thought grabbed him and slammed his head against the wall, knocking him out cold.

Once upon a time there was a lonely hut, the closest thing to the hermit’s house being castle ruins. The green grass is littered with rocks and pebbles. Everything is calm, balanced even. The morning dew makes the ground shimmer like a mirror, reflecting the dim blue off of the sky. The only thing disturbing the morning peace is the sound of hooves pounding their way through the quiet forest. The horse disrupts the perfect layer of dew covering as far as the eye can see. The rider seems content with the beauty of the forest, it’s looks exactly like the ones that the legends told of. His short brown hair is only slightly affected by the speed he’s going, the loose ends trailing behind him. Green eyes shining brightly with the excitement of a new area to explore. The gleam of anticipation and enthusiasm in his eyes makes them shine brighter than the dew on the grass. He

The golden shimmering crown was dimmed to silver as darkness encompassed the now forgotten light. Accompanying this shade was an ominous call from a crow that echoed in the hall. The room, rectangular and narrow, yearned for company. In the middle of this room was a now silver throne, and lying on it, a skeleton, regally posed with a goblet in grip. Chairs were home to cobwebs, their antiquate designs, never exposed to light. Years of absence showed in the walls, and the once purple tapestry, black as the heart of a raven. The door creaked open to muster a gust of light – the room welcomed this newfound hope with lust, and so followed this light, a domineering shadow. A man clad in dark armour, aura of sin, dominantly made his way to the crown. He brushed the skeleton into dust and claimed the royal jewels.

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

John pulled up to the rocky crooked edged driveway, he left his family in the car to check the house out. He came to an old brick mansion with green dull vines like sinister snakes along the sides of the outside wall. John saw the door open automatically, his bones were rattling in his body as if they were shouting to each other. He walked up the stairs that lead in the house as they screamed to him, it was like a girl dyeing painfully. He stepped in the house cautiously. A laugh appeared in the hallway. It was a deep laugh as if it was echoing throughout your ears. Footsteps came towards him slowly. They were moving so quickly you could barely here the floorboards creaking. The sound of the footsteps hauling though the house made john scared.

John pulled up to the rocky crooked edged driveway, he left his family in the car to check the house out. He came to an old brick mansion with green dull vines like sinister snakes along the sides of the outside wall. John saw the door open automatically, his bones were rattling in his body as if they were shouting to each other. He walked up the stairs that lead in the house as they screamed to him, it was like a girl dying painfully. He stepped into the house cautiously. A laugh appeared in the hallway. It was a deep laugh as if it was echoing throughout your ears. Footsteps came towards him slowly. They were moving so sluggishly you could barely here the floorboards creaking. John’s face was as pale as a ghost. You could hear his hearts

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

I stared in horror – that wall was stained with gruesome blood stains. What the smell was became all too obvious and I felt the need to vomit… that motion put away and forgotten in an instant when the shuffling of feet rustled behind me. Panic. I turned around in a blur, my eyes huge and watering. My stomach stirred in the slightest. A lamp? Indeed, a tall standing lamp radiated a warm light only a few metres in front of me. Was it real or a figment of my abused mind? Curiosity would get the best of me, lending me a tiny spurt of energy to boost me on my feet. Teetering footsteps led me forward cautiously, random tremors reminding me of my weakness. The lamp was close enough to touch, its friendly warmth the only hope in the world to me. Basking in it for some slow seconds, I wondered, maybe there were more things in the room that hadn’t been revealed to the naked eye? Turning sharp on my heel, I let out a blood curdling screech as I came face to face with the most horrific thing I had ever seen. Huge fly-like eyes took in my paling complexion, and a lopsided smile of stinking razor sharp teeth mocked me. Rancid skin that looked like the algae layer that sat upon a swamp bubbled and oozed, trickling down a sharply shaped ‘face’. Flight or fight reaction chose the obvious option and I turned back again to run. Where, I did not