غلاف قصة The letters بقلم pleasedontmehl
The letters
  • WpView
    مقروء 78
  • WpVote
    صوت 9
  • WpPart
    فصول 10
  • WpHistory
    الوقت 13m
  • WpView
    مقروء 78
  • WpVote
    صوت 9
  • WpPart
    فصول 10
  • WpHistory
    الوقت 13m
مكتمِلة، تم نشرها في ينا ٠٦, ٢٠٢٥
للبالغين
Imagine a world where the mundane life of a college student intertwines with the chilling thoughts of a serial killer. This takes you on a dark, psychological journey through the mind of a seemingly ordinary individual who harbors sinister secrets. The protagonist's struggle to find a suitable target, their meticulous planning, and the eerie calmness with which they execute their plans create a gripping narrative that keeps you on the edge of your seat. As the story unfolds through a series of letters, you are drawn into the twisted reality of the character, making you question the thin line between normalcy and madness. This story is not just a tale of horror but a deep dive into the human psyche, exploring themes of obsession, loneliness, and the desperate need for connection. Are you ready to step into the mind of a killer and uncover the dark truths that lie within?
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Killing Is Thrilling  بقلم duncanchurch97
47 أجزاء مكتمِلة للبالغين
'The night was alive with silence. I moved through it like a shadow, black leather gloves tight on my hands, boots soft against the grass. My gas mask hid my face, leaving only darkness where my eyes should be. The world narrowed to a single point: the house ahead. Tonight, it would belong to me. The farmhouse rose stark and white beneath the moonlight, silent except for the occasional grunt of a pig or the low hum of a cow. They were unaware. They were insignificant. I crouched behind the hedge, eyes scanning, senses alert. Every detail mattered: the flicker of light across the curtains, the faint rustle of movement inside, the way a shadow shifted across the floor. She was there. Oblivious. Popcorn in hand, murmuring to herself as the television flickered. Every motion was a note in tonight's symphony, and I was the conductor. I studied her, cataloging. Timing. Patterns. Fear. She didn't notice me yet, and that was perfect. Patience was everything. One sound, one misstep, and it could all unravel. I rang the doorbell once. Silence. Again. Still nothing. She flinched slightly, just enough to make my pulse quicken. Her small reaction was delicious. A sudden movement in the yard caught my eye-a neighbor's dog barking at some unseen intruder. Its voice was loud, startling, but contained. I froze. My breath slowed. Patience. Observation. The dog's curiosity would pass. I remained still, hidden in shadow, letting the moment stretch. The animal lost interest and padded away. Perfect. I moved to the back of the house, hammer in hand.' ...