r/WritersOfHorror

There are some friends who go out to travel to a small, remote town. They have fun there and joke about ghosts. At night, they leave the town. On the way, they stop on a bridge for a while to enjoy the weather. Then they get back into the car. At that time, there are seven people in the car. Their names are Shiv, Rohit, Dristhi, Muskan, Priyanka, Naval, and Yash.

After they start driving, Priyanka notices something strange. She remembers that when they came to the town in the morning and were having fun, they were only six people. They were never seven.

She tells everyone about it. Then everyone starts thinking and realizes that she is right. They had actually come as only six friends, but now there are seven people in the car.

They all look at each other. They know that they came as six people, but they don't know who the seventh member is.

The most terrifying part is that whoever they look at, it feels like that person came with them in the morning and has always been their friend.

No one looks like a stranger.

No one feels out of place.

So now... how will they find out who the seventh member really is?

Michael hadn't slept in days. Not really. Just short bursts of nothing that left him more tired than before.

He stopped going to work. Stopped picking up calls. Sat in his apartment, staring at the walls, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did.

But the silence felt heavier. The shadows seemed longer. He kept looking over his shoulder.

He called Alex. No answer. He left a message — short, quiet.

"I think I'm losing it."

He checked the door. Locked. The windows. Locked. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror. The handprint was still there — smeared and dry.

He didn't try to wipe it.

He didn't leave the apartment.

He sat in the corner of his room, phone in hand, staring at the dark.

Hours passed. His eyes hurt. His mind felt foggy.

He wasn't sure if he was awake anymore.

Then a notification lit up his screen.

Photo message. Unknown number.

He opened it.

It was a picture of him — sitting in that same corner, looking at the camera.

The timestamp was from two minutes ago.

He had been alone.

He looked up.

The bathroom door was open.

He hadn't opened it.

He stood up slowly. Walked toward the bathroom. Pushed the door open.

The mirror was clean — no handprint, no fog.

His reflection stared back at him.

And then it smiled.

Before he could react, his phone buzzed again.

Another message.

"You're not the only one here."
Chapter 3 coming soon

Michael lived a quiet life.

A 9-to-5 job, a rented apartment, and a silence that followed him everywhere. His parents died when he was six. His uncle raised him — and died two years ago. His last relationship ended badly. His office colleagues barely noticed him. He had one friend left — a childhood friend named Alex — and even that connection felt fragile.

At night, the silence in his apartment was the loudest thing he'd ever heard.

And then, one night, he heard something else. A soft knock. Not at the door. At the window.

He lived on the third floor.

He stood up, walked toward the curtain, and pulled it back.

No one was there. But the glass was smeared — like someone had pressed their hand against it. From the outside.

He didn't sleep that night.

The next morning, he found a note slipped under his door. No name. No address. Just a message:

"I've been watching you."

He threw it away. But the next morning, it was back — tucked under his door again. Same message. Same handwriting.

He checked his phone. No missed calls. No texts. No one knew where he lived.

He told himself it was a prank.

Then he opened his camera roll. There was a photo he didn't remember taking. It was a picture of him — sleeping in his own bed — taken from the corner of the room.

He was alone in the apartment.

But the photo was taken at 3:17 AM.

And he had been asleep.

He called Alex. No answer.

He called the police. They said they'd check the apartment.

They never showed up.

That night, he locked every door, every window, checked every corner.

After some days, at 3:17 AM, he heard a whisper from the other side of his bedroom door.

"I've been inside longer than you."
Chapter 2 coming tomorrow ✌🏻

We heard the knock again. Coming from the basement.

Arjun was the first to move. He took the knife, unlocked the basement door, and walked down the stairs. The light flickered. His footsteps stopped.

Then silence.

Maya called his name. No answer.

We heard footsteps coming back up.

Arjun stood at the top of the stairs. His hands were clean. His face was calm.

"Someone is down there," he said. "But they're not coming up."

He sat down by the fire, the knife still in his hand. He didn't say anything else.

We wanted to run. But the basement door was still open.

Then I heard a sound. Not from the basement. From behind me.

I turned around.

Ria was standing at the front door. It was wide open. Snow was falling inside.

She was holding Vikram's phone — the one he was holding when he died.

"He called me," she said softly. "Before he died. He said — it's one of us."

We all turned to look at each other.

Maya stepped back. Arjun froze. Ria didn't move.

Then she smiled.

"It's always been me."

"I just wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out."

She moved fast — faster than we could react. Maya fell first. Arjun tried to fight, but he was too slow.

I ran. I didn't look back.

When I reached the forest edge, I stopped and turned around.

Ria was standing at the cabin door, watching me leave.

She didn't chase me.

She just smiled.

And raised her hand to wave.

---

THE END

We found the second body at dawn. Vikram was still holding his phone — the screen cracked, but the call was still connected. On the other end, silence. And then a whisper: "You're next."

We moved him to the basement. No one spoke. Snow kept falling.

The fire had died down. We were just sitting in the dark.

I looked at Maya. She was still staring at the floor, like she was counting something in her head. Arjun had his back to the wall, holding that knife. Ria hadn't spoken — not a word since we found Vikram.

No one was crying. We were too tired for that.

Then I saw it. A photograph, lying on the table. Face down.

I picked it up.

It was all of us — inside the chalet, laughing, eating. The photo was taken from outside, through the window.

But we hadn't been here when it was taken.

We had just arrived.

No one had taken that photo.

I looked around the room. Maya was watching me. Arjun's grip tightened. Ria had her eyes closed.

And then I heard it. A knock. From downstairs.

The basement door was still locked.

But something was in there.

Knocking. Waiting. And I knew — the thing in the basement wasn't one of us.
Part 3 coming out at 8:10 today

My chest rises and falls but I can feel the air coming out.
I claw at my neck however there is nothing there
just invisible restraints mocking me.

The room is too dark.
The pain I feel is replaced with fake pleasure
to make me feel insane right?!

My back arches off the bed
it’s like I’m being pulled into hell.
My head whips around the room.
My hands shake from the disgusting things I did before.

This purple disgusting slime melts down my arms,
maggots cling to it.
My stomach screeches.
Vomit drips down my chin.
Blood drips down my legs mixing with white.

I feel chains around me.
My face melts into a sickening smile.
I claw at my cheeks and whimper in agony.
My face glued to the screen of horrible images.
My head tells me it’s pleasure and I’m being stupid.
Hah.

I sob with that haunting smile on my face.
I’m finally let free and I stumble out of the jail.
It turns out it’s just my room.

I look in the fridge.
All I see is bugs and slime again.
The maggots crawl up my arms trying to eat my skin.
Flies go under my eyelids.
Ants crawl under my nails.
Dirt and vines climb up my legs.
Parasites pick at my lips until blood trickles down.

My pupils swallow my whole eye.
I laugh manic really.

My brother gets up to get a soda.
He walks right through me.
I scream horrid wretched sounds.
He doesn’t seem to notice.

The ticks have burrowed in every inch of skin
on what’s left of my body.
I reach up to feel my face.
I realize my skull is exposed.
I feel something wet hit my foot.
I realize my liver had fallen out.

The maggots ate all the skin on my stomach.
Now the organs spilled out as the bugs crawled in
and took over my stomach.

I stumble back and my back hits the counter.
The cockroaches hiss and fly out ripping off the remainder of my face.

I throw up again.
All that comes out is larvae.
My vision blackens.

I try to claw off the bugs.
Scorpions numb my hands and they swell painfully.
I weakly scratched at my body and cried louder
screaming for anyone.
No one heard.

The mites had taken over my hands.
My mouth foams.
I fall and hit my head.
It cracks open but all that spills out
is parasites that have taken over my brain.

My vision blackens.
When I wake up I am in a forest.
I belong to the bugs now.

At least I tried.

The thing I kept running into with weather-disaster fiction is that it either goes supernatural or it goes action-movie. I wanted to write something where the horror came entirely from the physics - what a mile-wide wedge tornado actually does, what it sounds like from inside a root cellar when one passes directly overhead, the specific kind of dread that comes from a sky that doesn't know you exist and doesn't need to.
It's called ROTATION. It's on KDP.
I'm not here to sell it - I'm curious whether the "no supernatural, just nature" approach lands as horror for people who read in this space, or whether it needs a monster to work.

Friends, I'm struggling with my back-of-book blurb. My editor suggested the following and I'm just not sure how I feel about it. It's for my first novel, so I don't have a rep or readers with a history. If you read this, would you pick up the book to flip through it?

"In a workplace dominated by driven male peers, Beatrice Harris has built her reputation at the cost of everything else. Her marriage is quietly crumbling, and her six-year-old daughter is growing up without her. So, when the opportunity to lead a career-defining project is offered to her, Beatrice throws herself into it completely, sacrificing sleep, health, and the last fragile pieces of her personal life.

But as exhaustion takes hold, the world around her begins to fracture. Days disappear without explanation, dreams bleed into reality, and the terrifying creature she once dismissed as a trick of the light draws closer with every wrong decision she makes.

How far can desire for success push a person? And what happens when the hunger for more begins to consume you in return?"

EDIT:

Here's a slight tweak I made to the 2nd paragraph. Better or worse, or does it do anything at all?

"As exhaustion takes hold, the world around her begins to fracture. Days disappear without explanation, dreams bleed into reality, and a blackened creature with lifeless eyes and a hunter’s instinct draws closer with every self-serving decision she makes.   

What happens when the hunger for more begins to consume you in return?"