Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
More handpicked essays just for you.
Analysis of horror movies
Fear narrative writing
Analysis of horror movies
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: Analysis of horror movies
The Stalker
And there he was. He followed me down every block just a few paces behind me stopping whenever I did and turned at every corner. I recall it was a chilling night, one I would never forget. There was almost an eerie feeling as soon as I had locked up the shop, I could feel someone staring at me from the building across. The dark presence of a slender man caught my eye in the dimly lit street, he didn’t dare to hide himself standing under the street light, face right at me. It was hard to make out his facial features from what seemed like scars and several stitches along his eye. As the fog rolled in and the cold wind whispered, I decided to walk home. Hazzy abandoned apartments and dead, amber leaves that have fallen weeks before made the walk bloodcurdling. What was normally a fifteen minute walk home seemed like hour.
As I approached my house I began to pick up my pace but the man behind me took bigger, faster steps. The wind turned into gusts, the night became bitter and my panic started taking over. The sound of wind chimes in the nearby homes made it almost ghostly as well as the occasional flicker of the street lights. The whole neighborhood seemed to pick up on what seemed a supernatural night. I came up to my block, ran up the creaky porch, and turned around to see if he was there but to my amazement, he stood at the corner still staring at me but frozen and didn’t leave until I opened the door. He just turned around and left as if nothing had happened.
Still in angst, I took my shoes off, hung my coat and headed straight to the kitchen but I walked past my couch, I heard a loud squeak coming from the door. I froze in the center of the hallway at the shrill sound of metal on metal and the thought of an unwa...
... middle of paper ...
...ands only made it worse. Just as the man was about to grab me, I swung the door open.
As I took the last step off my porch, I thought to myself that it was all over. I heard that same groan to my side so I plunged my body away but I stumbled and landed on the sidewalk. My severely scraped arm and the shreds of skin hanging from my knee made it impossible to get up. It was less than a second after I realized that the man had pulled out the object again and was walking faster towards me. I tried to stand and flee but my body was frozen from the fear. I layed there with my arms over my head on the ground only imagining what could happen next. The faint sound of his slow, heavy breathing made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. I slowly looked up to check if he was still there and the last thing I saw was a grotesque, hemic hand about to grab my face.
He just turned and left without a word. I touched Lennie’s grave. The rough touch of the wood deflecting to my fingers. I walked back to the ranch. Everyone was asleep. I wanted to run away tomorrow but I couldn’t let this chance pass up. It also prevented any chance of Candy following me. I tiptoed out of the room and went straight to the woods. I made sure to mix myself in with the shadows of the trees. I saw the river and It felt like I did it...until I felt something grab me by my neck. I quickly got flipped over and pushed to the ground.
I was interupted by a man who cleared his throat. I turned around to see what was going on, he growled so I turned back around. I was now terrified. I noticed that my father had fallen to the back of the pack I was curious as to why he did such a thing. I was finding the trip very difficult as my legs hurt when I took a step. I heard the same man clear his throat I looked behind me and I saw his machete unsheathed and raised in the air, I knew this was not going to end well for me. The man slashed at me with his machete. The pot I was holding fell and broke. I was running to my father and while I was doing so I cried, “My father, they have killed me!” as approached him Okonkow, my father slashed at me with his machete.
aranormal activity has been a cause of fear and excitement throughout history. The unknown attracts the curiosity from those who wonder whether the supernatural is real or a figment of the imagination. Ghosts are one of the supernatural beings whose existence is questioned every day. Many want to deny the existence of ghosts because they are terrified of other phantoms who may exist and ignore the evidence that has been brought forth throughout the years. However, ghosts are supernatural pheromones whose existence still impacts today’s society.
Before that night, I didn’t believe in the paranormal. Now I sure as heck do. I had been chased out of my house after a fight with my step-parents because I wasn’t doing well in school (I had dyslexia), and I had taken shelter in what seemed like a normal house. I realized what I had gotten into after the sun set. The doors were locked without a sign of anyone going near them.
Elements of the supernatural have long enhanced the folklore of many cultures. Stories of ghosts, magic, and so-called aliens are transferred from generation to generation, sparking our imagination and uncovering our deepest fears. While some stories are clearly fabulous, others are believed by those who tell them. The story I wish to report is of the latter kind: an experience that generated real fear in the teller. Although the story is completely original, it contains ideas reflected in much other folklore, including similar tales from similar locations. And like all folklore, the effectiveness of the story depends upon the performance of the teller and those to follow.
I didn’t know where exactly I was going. But I didn’t care. I walked aimlessly in search of shelter, a place where I could seek refuge. Hours went by, and I was losing hope. When out of the corner of my eye, through the distant, dense foliage. I noticed what could have been salvation. I was fatigued and in a feeble state, was I hallucinating? Or was this real? I stumbled through the valley, my eyes fixated on the dwelling ahead. Much to my delight it was very real. I arrived at the cabin and surveyed the surroundings. The shack itself was isolated, old and tattered, as if unattended to for an eternity. I knocked on the door, and suddenly became overwhelmed by a supernatural feeling. I could hear frantic rumbling and murmuring inside, evidently the occupant wasn’t expecting a visitor. I waited a while longer, and finally the door creaked open and I was greeted by three of the utmost repulsive looking creatures I had ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on. As disgusted as I was, I was in no position to turn away, I needed their help. They welcomed me into their abode and provided me with nourishment and directions on how to return
Ok. One night my sister and I were at my father’s house. He lives in Kingsville on 10 maybe 9 acres of land in this [small pause, looks at ceiling] I wouldn’t really call it a farmhouse, just a kind of small house out there. The previous person who lived in the house was supposedly shipped to an asylum, for, you know, normal stuff [pause] schizophrenic or something. My sister and I were at the house one night and we were cleaning up the house while my dad was on some sort of job out of the state and my step mom was at work in the hospital. We were doing our stuff, and then the power flickered, and came back on. We didn’t think anything of it. Then, outside of the door, we heard a noise, kinda like a dog barking, but like, just enough not so that we knew it wasn’t. So, we hear this noise, and start to get fre...
It was a beautiful night. It was perfect for a walk. As I strolled further into the park a figure approached me. It was as dark as pitch so I couldn’t make out who it was. It was late; you wouldn’t usually see anyone at this time. My heart was beating faster and faster. The strange thing was I wasn’t frightened; it was just my heart beating rapidly. As the masculine figure approached, I began to walk slower. That was when I heard the voice.
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.
I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be seeing these long finger shaped shadows that stretched out to me. I had this gut feeling as though something was following me, but I assured myself that I was the only one in the forest. At least I had hoped that I was.
I slowly turned the nob and opened the door. I had been out for nearly six hours and missed dinner. Am I ready for this? No! I had only taken two steps into the kitchen then BAM,
He just threw his advise and vanished as if he was an illusion leaving behind one single evidence of his subsistence - the dried goat’s blood over my face. The short man stayed there longer canvassing the blade in his hand by his eyes covered with alternating glimpse of hesitation and clouds of tenaciousness. I stayed on obnubilating in my shelter until he commenced moving away. Subconsciously, I found me propelling myself up and over with the world around me turning upside down. I felt so weak but my enthusiasm kept me persuading this deep wish of following him.
“Where have they gone?” I asked myself conscientiously. Still in an attempt to retrieve light, I managed to carry myself outside; however, when I opened the front door, I knew the sight I just witnessed would stay imprinted in my mind forever. My parent’s house was the only building left standing . . . tornado number five had swept the city and this time it left its mark for good. “How could such a thing happen?” I asked myself trying to logically think of every situation that could cause this occurrence. Now in a desperate need of finding someone, I scampered through every room and searched for any sign of a person; by my seventh roundabout of the house I concluded that no one was in the house anymore. I was alone . . . literally the last person, for all I know, in Picher,
With a slow dawn I remembered. Had I slipped or had he hit me with something? My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I relived the figure advancing towards me. It was dark. The street light that shone from behind the man in the faceless thickset man in the grey hoody ensured anonymity. Now he was coming. How long had I been here? My head ached as I struggled to assess my surroundings.
It was dark that night, I was nervous that this dreadful day was going to get worse. Sunday, October 23, 1998 I wanted to start writing this to tell about the weird things i’m starting to see in this new neighborhood. Gradually I keep seeing pots and pans on the sink suddenly move to the floor. I would ask my sister but she is out with my mom and dad getting the Halloween costumes. When they got home I didn’t tell them what I saw because i've seen Halloween movies and I have to have dissimulation otherwise the ghost will come out and get me first. October 24, 1998 I think I got a little nervous yesterday with the whole ghost thing. 12:32pm, Went to eat lunch with the family today and I go to get my coat. I heard the words furious and madness,