Analoghorror Stories

Like the title, it will be a short story that I will not make a book. It is actually just for fun, and let my damn creativity to go, and didn't get wasted. Also it might be random so yeah

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜? 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢? 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚘 '𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐'..? ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ HI, HELLO TO THE FEW PEOPLE WHO WILL CLICK ON THIS! This book is NOT discontinued, but unfortunately very, VERY slow with updates as you can see... BUT I have been thinking of writing again! So do stay tuned for Chapter One!🤍 (12/20/25)

In an endless, decaying labyrinth with no name and no exit, a girl wanders alone. She has forgotten who she was. She no longer remembers when she arrived. The world around her rots gently-walls peeling, ceilings sagging, rooms breathing in slow collapse-and she does not resist it. The decay feels familiar. Comforting. Like home. There are no monsters here. No voices. No salvation. Only peeling wallpaper, mold-soft floors, flickering lights, and a girl slowly dissolving into the place that has claimed her. Through fragmented diary-like chapters, her thoughts erode alongside the environment, until identity, memory, and self become indistinguishable from the ruins that surround her. Where Wallpaper Peels Like Skin is a quiet analog-horror descent into isolation, decay, and surrender-where the greatest horror is not what chases you, but what welcomes you.

You were an actor for a very old Godzilla movie, one That was going to do a reshoot similar to the '50s however something happened... During the night you were visited by something... supernatural... He promised that he would help you get Revenge on the coworkers that killed your family. however, it came with the price... you would be Godzilla forever... You took it without hesitation. desperate to get revenge, however you now became the suit... You are now Godzilla... Your identity is the suit but your name never changed... You are the man in the suit...

What begins as a personal experiment soon becomes a descent into the mind's darkest corners. Alone in a rented house on the outskirts of Portland, Alistor Lidner documents every hour without sleep, for 11 days - the thoughts, the fears, the distortions creeping into the edges of reality. But the deeper he goes, the less he can trust what he sees... or what he remembers. Shadows move where they shouldn't. Voices whisper in empty rooms. And buried pieces of his past begin clawing their way to the surface. This is his journal. A record of a mind unraveling - step by step, day by day.

[hiatus.]

It begins in a dusty pawn shop. The kind of place where the air smells faintly of rust and old carpet cleaner, where the shelves sag under the weight of forgotten electronics, cracked radios, and VHS tapes with peeling labels. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering in uneven rhythm, as though the shop itself is breathing. Behind the counter, a man leans forward. His face is shadowed, his eyes unreadable. He is the VCR seller, and his voice is low, almost rehearsed, as though he has told this story before-perhaps too many times. Three boys stand before him. They are restless, curious, the kind of kids who wander into places like this on a dare. Their sneakers squeak against the linoleum as they spot a cardboard box tucked beneath the counter. Inside: a stack of old tapes, their spines marked with faded ink. The seller clears his throat. "These came from a woman named Cassy," he says. "She made them... but she went missing years ago. All they found were these tapes. They sold them to me. Now, they're yours." The boys exchange nervous grins. One of them laughs, trying to shake off the unease. Another hesitates, staring at the box as though it might bite. But curiosity wins. They hand over crumpled bills, the kind saved from allowance or odd jobs, and the seller slides the box across the counter. The boys carry it home..

i plan on making this ab different units and their experiences with their friends turning into alternates from the mandela catalogue series ^_^

Denied paranoia.

youre having a shit time in 300° degree weather in your house. and then gabriel shows up

Kind of hard to explain but this takes place in a alternate universe where instead of disassembly drones just having tail with acid and various weapons they have the ability to shapeshift themselves to look more like worker drones tho they won't look exactly Like one.

Who is she? What is she? Is she a human? Or is she.... O̷̡͓̙͕̠̻͐͂̎̐̃̇̒͗́N̴̲͓͍̗̘͇̞̲͈̤͚͑̅̔̐͗̐̈͠͝͝E̷̢̨̦͔̳͖͊̓͛͗̈́̑̃͒͆̋̈̚͜͠ ̶̟̉̈̈́̐̈̐̂O̵̗̹̟̼̼͕̠̓̉̅̊̆͆͝F̴̨̛̹̜̣̜͎̹̏̇̈̑̍͊̈͋̉̿́̽̚͝ ̸̺̲̟̻̞̣̝͈͖̰͔̬͉̀U̵̙͈͉͕̝̦̾̒̑͠Ŝ̴̢̰̠̟̳̓̀̀́͌̈̓̉̉̋̊͊̒̕ͅ?̸̺̜͎̀̒͝͝͝ Follow Irelynn as she discovers the truth. And nope, it doesn't take place in the Mirth AU.

On the worst night of their life, a wandering teen stumbles across a carnival that shouldn't exist - glowing in an empty lot, humming like something alive. Inside waits a chaotic, sharp-tongued clown who seems weirdly determined to drag them through the rides and games they've spent years avoiding. By sunrise, the carnival will vanish. But the truth it digs up won't.

Edit: According to recent lore (12/2022), Ivan Beck was not present during the meeting with the Department of Energy. I might rewrite this to fit the lore better but for now, I will leave it as it is. I hope it can still be enjoyed. A fanfiction based on Kane Pixel's Backrooms series. Highly recommend watching it in order to understand the lore better. Thanks for reading!

Its October now! Meaning its time to make some art for GORETOBER!

"where?..where am I?" [Erasing memories. . .] [complete!][WELCOME TO THE 3RR0R...R800!]

[Analog Horror but about a Kid's Book]

An original horror story based on glitches

A caretaker walks midnight rounds in a concrete tower, mending tiny "seams" where the world rubs thin. Tonight the lift whispers 13-a floor that shouldn't exist-and a child cries from a door that isn't on the plans. To set the building right, Rafi must choose what to anchor and what to release: a life on this side of the mirror, or the last clear memory of his mother. Quiet dread, fluorescent tape, and a choice that feels like a prayer-one shot of urban unreal for readers who like their hauntings low-key and human. Liminal, soft-horror, no gore. 16+ (no gore; emotionally heavy but PG-13) | Vibe seekers: Fans of liminal/analog horror, SCP-style uncanny procedures, and urban folklore (13th floor myths) | Reading context: Late-night scroll, 6-10-minute one-sitting story with a reflective aftertaste.

A miscellaneous amount of random HEADCANONS from different youtube args and horrors. - updates may be random, I'll probably leave this to rot. feel free to request! : 📺 *not really dead, just no requests (what's funny is the last sentence above this one)