Lost in the Dark - Man Driven to Insanity
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### Lost in the Dark
Rain poured from the heavens, a relentless torrent that battered against the single, cracked window of Ethan's dilapidated apartment. Each drop was a tiny hammer, striking iron against his skull, a constant reminder of the torment that had shaped him. He seated himself at his old, creaky desk, the wood so fragile it groaned in protest whenever he applied the slightest pressure. Papers scattered across its surface, ink blurred by moisture from the relentless damp that seeped through the walls.
Ethan’s eyes, bloodshot and tired, wandered to the mirror perched precariously on a shelf nearby. The reflection stared back, a gaunt figure with hollow cheeks and unkempt hair. He had tried to escape, oh how he had tried. But there are some ghosts that refuse to stay buried. They claw and gnaw and scream until sanity is shredded into tatters.
In the mirror’s distorted surface, he saw them. Always, he saw them. His father with his leather belt, eyes burning with sadistic joy, and his mother, watching with an eerie, detached interest, as though observing a scientific experiment. Their voices reverberated inside his head like a cursed symphony.
"You're worthless," his father's voice snarled. "You'll never be anything but a failure."
He had been just a child. A helpless, trembling child, eager for affection, desperate for approval. But all he had received were bruises and scars, both visible and hidden. Ethan shuddered, trying to shake off the memories, those infernal phantoms.
Choosing to distract himself, he reached for the stack of letters he kept hidden in a drawer. They were from his younger sister, Marie, the only soft light in his dark world. Her letters were his sanctuary, her words a balm to his wounded soul. She had escaped, found a life far from their childhood horrors. But Ethan, he had never managed to flee, tethered by chains of terror and despair.
As he opened the latest envelope, something bizarre caught his eye—a single, black feather, nestled within the paper folds. Its presence was incongruous, unsettling. His hands trembled as he read her words.
"Ethan, they are back. I can feel them. They haunt me, whispering from the shadows. Please come find me."
A chill crept up Ethan’s spine. He hadn't seen Marie in years, yet the raw panic in her writing ignited a spark of brotherly duty within him. He had to find her, save her from whatever nightmarish force had sought to drag her back into their shared abyss.
He packed a bag hastily, filled with old relics—an unused rosary, a rusting flashlight, matches—things that might fend off the dark. The journey to her last known residence was a harrowing one, through winding roads soaked with rain and shrouded in mist. The house where Marie had been living was a decrepit mansion, forgotten by time, perched perilously on the edge of a dense forest.
Lightning sliced through the sky as Ethan approached, illuminating the mansion's decaying grandeur. The front door was ajar, the interior in shadows. He hesitated on the threshold, his heart pounding. With a deep breath, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
“M-Marie?” he called out, voice cracking.
No response. Only the silence, thick and foreboding.
He moved through the house, each step a hollow echo. The air was oppressive, heavy with the scent of mildew and rot. In the dim light, he could see strange symbols drawn in red on the peeling wallpaper, cryptic and menacing. The further he ventured, the louder the whispers became—sibilant murmurs that slithered into his ears and wrapped around his brain like a vise.
"Ethan... Ethan..."
They were everywhere. And then he saw her—Marie, standing at the end of a long corridor, her face pallid and eyes vacant. She was mouthing something, but no sound came. Ethan rushed towards her, arms outstretched.
Before he could reach her, the floor gave way, and he plunged into darkness.
He awoke in a small, windowless room, blood pounding in his temples. Chains rattled as he shifted, and he realized with dawning horror that he was restrained to a cold, metal chair. The room was bare, except for a large mirror opposite him. His reflection looked back, twisted into an expression of stark terror.
From the shadows emerged a figure—his father. Beside him, his mother. They approached slowly, and Ethan's blood turned to ice. Their eyes were hollow, skin cracked and peeling, voices echoing from the depths of the grave.
"Welcome home, son."
It was then that Ethan broke, his mind fracturing under the weight of endless torment. Reality and nightmare fused into one grotesque entity.
As his parents’ apparitions leaned into to envelop him, a final, fleeting thought brushed against his crumbling sanity—Marie wasn’t real; she had never escaped. She had always been there, a fragment of his broken mind, a desperate attempt to cling to hope.
As the whispers grew louder and the darkness swallowed him whole, Ethan’s screams faded into the ceaseless rain, leaving only the silence behind.
This story was generated by user MorningstarSon3 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a psychological horror story with the man driven to insanity by his abusive parents when he was a child.
Response: ### Lost in the Dark Rain poured from the heavens, a relentless torrent that battered against the single, cracked window of Ethan's dilapidated apartment. Each drop was a tiny hammer, striking iron against his skull, a constant reminder of the torment that had shaped him. He seated himself at his old, creaky desk, the wood so fragile it groaned in protest whenever he applied the slightest pressure. Papers scattered across its surface, ink blurred by moisture from the relentless damp that seeped through the walls. Ethan’s eyes, bloodshot and tired, wandered to the mirror perched precariously on a shelf nearby. The reflection stared back, a gaunt figure with hollow cheeks and unkempt hair. He had tried to escape, oh how he had tried. But there are some ghosts that refuse to stay buried. They claw and gnaw and scream until sanity is shredded into tatters. In the mirror’s distorted surface, he saw them. Always, he saw them. His father with his leather belt, eyes burning with sadistic joy, and his mother, watching with an eerie, detached interest, as though observing a scientific experiment. Their voices reverberated inside his head like a cursed symphony. "You're worthless," his father's voice snarled. "You'll never be anything but a failure." He had been just a child. A helpless, trembling child, eager for affection, desperate for approval. But all he had received were bruises and scars, both visible and hidden. Ethan shuddered, trying to shake off the memories, those infernal phantoms. Choosing to distract himself, he reached for the stack of letters he kept hidden in a drawer. They were from his younger sister, Marie, the only soft light in his dark world. Her letters were his sanctuary, her words a balm to his wounded soul. She had escaped, found a life far from their childhood horrors. But Ethan, he had never managed to flee, tethered by chains of terror and despair. As he opened the latest envelope, something bizarre caught his eye—a single, black feather, nestled within the paper folds. Its presence was incongruous, unsettling. His hands trembled as he read her words. "Ethan, they are back. I can feel them. They haunt me, whispering from the shadows. Please come find me." A chill crept up Ethan’s spine. He hadn't seen Marie in years, yet the raw panic in her writing ignited a spark of brotherly duty within him. He had to find her, save her from whatever nightmarish force had sought to drag her back into their shared abyss. He packed a bag hastily, filled with old relics—an unused rosary, a rusting flashlight, matches—things that might fend off the dark. The journey to her last known residence was a harrowing one, through winding roads soaked with rain and shrouded in mist. The house where Marie had been living was a decrepit mansion, forgotten by time, perched perilously on the edge of a dense forest. Lightning sliced through the sky as Ethan approached, illuminating the mansion's decaying grandeur. The front door was ajar, the interior in shadows. He hesitated on the threshold, his heart pounding. With a deep breath, he pushed it open and stepped inside. “M-Marie?” he called out, voice cracking. No response. Only the silence, thick and foreboding. He moved through the house, each step a hollow echo. The air was oppressive, heavy with the scent of mildew and rot. In the dim light, he could see strange symbols drawn in red on the peeling wallpaper, cryptic and menacing. The further he ventured, the louder the whispers became—sibilant murmurs that slithered into his ears and wrapped around his brain like a vise. "Ethan... Ethan..." They were everywhere. And then he saw her—Marie, standing at the end of a long corridor, her face pallid and eyes vacant. She was mouthing something, but no sound came. Ethan rushed towards her, arms outstretched. Before he could reach her, the floor gave way, and he plunged into darkness. He awoke in a small, windowless room, blood pounding in his temples. Chains rattled as he shifted, and he realized with dawning horror that he was restrained to a cold, metal chair. The room was bare, except for a large mirror opposite him. His reflection looked back, twisted into an expression of stark terror. From the shadows emerged a figure—his father. Beside him, his mother. They approached slowly, and Ethan's blood turned to ice. Their eyes were hollow, skin cracked and peeling, voices echoing from the depths of the grave. "Welcome home, son." It was then that Ethan broke, his mind fracturing under the weight of endless torment. Reality and nightmare fused into one grotesque entity. As his parents’ apparitions leaned into to envelop him, a final, fleeting thought brushed against his crumbling sanity—Marie wasn’t real; she had never escaped. She had always been there, a fragment of his broken mind, a desperate attempt to cling to hope. As the whispers grew louder and the darkness swallowed him whole, Ethan’s screams faded into the ceaseless rain, leaving only the silence behind.
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