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I just finished reading Gorgeous Gruesome Faces by Linda Cheng and omg I would absolutely recommend it to anyone who is looking for a sapphic psychological thriller

The Vanishing Portrait Shaina Tranquilino September 20, 2024

Draydon Cunning, a reclusive artist, stood before his latest work, wiping the sweat from his brow. He had no idea where the inspiration had come from, but the face of the man he had painted felt strangely familiar. He hadn’t met him in real life—at least, he didn’t think so—but the figure had haunted his dreams for weeks, compelling him to paint.

The painting, now completed, stared back at him. It was a man in his late thirties, with piercing green eyes, dark hair, and a strong jawline. His expression was one of melancholy, like someone who had seen too much of life’s darker side. Every stroke of Draydon's brush had brought the man to life, and now, he stood framed in silence in the centre of Draydon's studio.

Draydon felt uneasy. The dreams were always the same. The man would appear in a dense fog, walking toward him through a forest at dusk. He never spoke, but his eyes—those same green eyes—were filled with desperation, pleading for help. Draydon would wake each morning, drenched in sweat, and rush to his easel, compelled to finish the portrait before it faded from his mind.

As he stepped back to admire his work, the air in the room felt heavy. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the man in the painting was trying to tell him something. The sensation was so intense, it bordered on paranoia. Draydon shook his head, laughing at himself. He needed fresh air.

After stepping outside for a cigarette, he returned to the studio only to be struck by a strange detail. The painting had changed.

The man’s eyes, once gazing downward in melancholy, now stared directly at Draydon, wide with terror. His lips, previously set in a solemn line, were parted slightly, as if frozen mid-sentence. Draydon's heart raced. He hadn’t altered the painting himself—he was sure of it.

He blinked, convinced he was overtired. But the sense of urgency in those green eyes wouldn’t leave him.

Unable to sleep that night, Draydon scrolled through the news on his phone. A headline caught his eye: "Man Missing for Weeks: Police Offer No Leads." He clicked the article, and his blood ran cold. Staring back at him from the screen was the same face he had painted.

The man was real. His name was Adam Marrow, a local history professor who had vanished a month ago while hiking in the nearby woods.

Draydon's pulse quickened. How could he have known? The image from the dream and the real man—there was no mistaking it.

The next morning, he contacted the police. At first, they were skeptical, dismissing his claims as coincidence or a product of his overactive imagination. But the detective assigned to the case, Detective Serrano, took a lingering look at the painting.

"Let’s say you didn’t meet him," Serrano said, scratching his chin, "but you say you saw him in a dream? That’s hard to swallow, Cunning."

Draydon could only nod, feeling like he was falling deeper into something he didn’t understand.

That night, Draydon couldn’t rest. His dreams were more vivid than ever. He saw Adam standing in the same fog-filled forest, but this time, the landscape seemed more distinct. A twisted oak tree stood in the distance, its branches gnarled like reaching fingers. Nearby, a large, jagged rock jutted out of the earth.

When Draydon woke the next morning, his eyes flew to the painting. Once again, it had changed. Adam’s body had shifted in the frame. Instead of standing in an empty space, a faint background had emerged—a shadowy silhouette of the same forest from Draydon's dream, the twisted oak tree barely visible in the distance.

The realization hit him hard. The painting was showing him something—something real. A location. A clue.

Draydon grabbed his sketchpad and hurriedly sketched out the forest and rock formation from his dream, adding every detail he could recall. His heart pounded as he contacted Detective Serrano again, showing him the updated painting and the sketch.

Serrano, to his surprise, didn’t dismiss it outright this time. "There’s a place about twenty miles from here," the detective muttered, his eyes narrowing as he studied the sketch. "The rock, the tree—they match a spot near Timber Falls. It’s known for hiking trails. It’s possible Marrow went that way."

Against his better judgment, Draydon offered to go with Serrano to the location. They trekked into the forest, each step more unnerving than the last. The trees loomed above them, casting long shadows across the trail. The deeper they went, the more familiar the terrain became to Draydon. It was as if he had walked these woods a hundred times before.

After nearly an hour, they reached the twisted oak tree from his dream. It stood tall and sinister, just as he had seen it. Serrano gave Draydon a wary glance but pressed forward, toward the jagged rock.

Near the base of the rock, partially hidden by underbrush, they found something. A torn piece of fabric, stuck to a branch. It matched the description of the clothing Adam Marrow had been wearing when he disappeared.

Then, something else caught their attention—an old, shallow well, its stone edges crumbling with age. Draydon’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know how he knew, but something about the well was wrong. He could feel it.

Serrano leaned over the edge, shining his flashlight into the darkness below. His breath caught in his throat.

There, at the bottom, was Adam Marrow.

The man’s body was lifeless, but it was clear he had been alive until recently. Claw marks on the stones suggested he had tried to escape, but the well was too deep. The authorities later confirmed that Adam had fallen into the well while hiking and had been unable to climb out. He had survived for days, perhaps even weeks, before succumbing to dehydration.

Draydon stood silently as the rescue team pulled Adam’s body from the well. He felt a strange sense of relief but also an overwhelming sadness. The man who had haunted his dreams, the man he had unknowingly painted, had been crying out for help all along.

Back in his studio, Draydon stared at the now-empty canvas where the portrait had once been. The painting had vanished, as mysteriously as it had appeared. In its place was nothing but a blank white surface, as if the canvas itself had purged the tragedy it had borne witness to.

But Draydon knew the truth: the portrait hadn’t disappeared.

It had simply fulfilled its purpose.

The Echo in the Walls Shaina Tranquilino October 1, 2024

Amelia and Jonathan had been searching for a fresh start, away from the noise and chaos of the city. The mansion they found, nestled deep within a forest, seemed like the perfect escape. Towering and ancient, with ivy crawling up its stone walls, it was a place shrouded in mystery. But the price was too good to ignore.

“This feels like a dream,” Amelia said as they stood in the grand foyer, gazing at the high, arched ceilings and marble floors. The place had a cold beauty to it, untouched by time, as though it had been waiting for them.

Jonathan smiled, squeezing her hand. “It’s perfect.”

But on the first night, as they lay in bed, Amelia heard something strange—a soft, almost imperceptible whisper, like wind sliding through cracks in the walls.

“What was that?” she asked, sitting up, her heart quickening.

Jonathan shrugged sleepily. “Probably just the wind. The place is old, after all.”

Amelia nodded, though she wasn’t convinced. As the days passed, the whispering became more persistent. At first, she thought it was her imagination. But then the whispers began to take shape, forming words—words she didn’t want to hear.

"He’s going to leave you."

She froze the first time it happened, standing alone in the long, dark hallway outside their bedroom. The voice was faint, almost tender, but unmistakable. It sounded like her own thoughts echoing back to her from the walls.

Amelia told herself it was stress. Moving had been difficult. Adjusting to a new place, especially one so isolated, could play tricks on the mind. She didn’t tell Jonathan. How could she explain that the house seemed to know her darkest fears?

But the whispers grew louder. At night, as they sat by the fireplace, she could hear them—soft murmurs hidden beneath the crackling of the flames. The voices whispered of betrayal, of loneliness, of secrets Jonathan was keeping.

"He’s hiding something from you."

One evening, Amelia finally asked, “Have you heard anything strange in the house?”

Jonathan looked at her, frowning. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she hesitated. “Like… voices?”

He laughed, though the sound was strained. “You’re just imagining things. This place is big. Old houses settle, creak.”

But that night, Amelia woke to the sound of Jonathan speaking in his sleep. She turned toward him, her pulse quickening.

"You can’t protect her."

She sat up, eyes wide. His lips moved, the words barely audible, but there was no mistaking the fear in his voice. He was dreaming, caught in some nightmare. But whose words were they?

The next morning, Jonathan was quiet, distant. When Amelia asked if he was okay, he brushed her off.

But she knew the truth. The house was getting to him too.

Days turned into weeks, and the mansion’s whispers became an ever-present hum. Amelia began to lose sleep. The whispers echoed in her ears, feeding her anxiety, telling her things she didn’t want to believe.

"He’s tired of you."

"You’re not enough."

The walls felt alive, like they were watching her, waiting for her to break. She avoided the mirrors, terrified of what she might see in them. Her reflection felt foreign, her mind unraveling under the weight of the house’s secrets.

One evening, as the sun set behind the thick trees, Amelia confronted Jonathan.

“Something’s wrong with this place,” she said, her voice trembling. “The walls… they know things. They’re telling me things.”

Jonathan’s face darkened. “Amelia, stop. You’re letting it get to you. It’s just a house.”

“No, it’s not!” she cried. “I can hear them, Jonathan. And I know you can too.”

For a moment, his expression softened. He opened his mouth to speak, but then the whispers came, louder than ever before, echoing between them.

"He’s already planning to leave you."

Jonathan’s eyes flickered, and in that brief second, Amelia knew the truth. The whispers weren’t lying.

With trembling hands, she backed away from him. “What have you been hiding from me?”

Before he could answer, a violent gust of wind tore through the room, rattling the windows. The house groaned, as if waking from a deep sleep. The whispers grew louder, drowning out their voices.

"It’s too late now."

Suddenly, the walls began to tremble. Cracks appeared, snaking across the ceiling like veins. Amelia’s heart pounded in her chest as the mansion seemed to close in around them. The whispers rose to a deafening roar.

And then, silence.

Jonathan stood frozen, his eyes wide, his face pale. "Amelia…" he whispered, but the fear in his voice was unmistakable.

The walls had spoken the truth.

The mansion had been waiting for them all along.

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, as if the mansion were holding its breath. Amelia felt the chill of dread wrap around her like a shroud. She wanted to run, to escape the walls that seemed to pulse with an unseen energy, but Jonathan stood rooted in place, his face pale and expressionless.

“Amelia, we need to get out of here,” he finally said, breaking the heavy stillness. His voice was laced with fear, and for the first time, she saw the uncertainty in his eyes.

She nodded, feeling a surge of adrenaline. They turned toward the door, but as they stepped into the hallway, the whispers returned, cascading around them like a wave.

"You can’t escape your fate."

They hurried down the corridor, each step echoing ominously, but the whispers grew louder, swirling around them, drowning out their thoughts. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist, creeping closer with every passing second.

“Amelia!” Jonathan grabbed her arm, his grip tightening. “We have to stick together!”

She met his gaze, her heart racing. “We can’t let the house take us! We need to find a way to break whatever hold it has on us!”

They raced toward the main staircase, but as they reached the bottom, the house trembled again, and the whispers turned to a cacophony, a terrifying symphony of their deepest fears.

"He will leave you. You are nothing without him."

Amelia clutched her head, overwhelmed. “Stop! Just stop!” she screamed into the dark void.

Then, in that moment of desperation, she recalled the legend she had read about the mansion—a story of a family that had succumbed to the house’s whispers, unable to resist the pull of their own insecurities. But it also spoke of a way to silence the echoes: one had to confront the source of their fears.

“Jonathan!” she shouted over the noise, her voice fierce. “We have to face it! We need to confront what we’re afraid of!”

He hesitated, confusion and fear mingling in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“The house feeds on our doubts! If we face what we fear the most, it might lose its power!”

Before Jonathan could respond, the walls shuddered violently, and a shadow darted past them. It was as if the very essence of the house was alive, writhing and grasping for them.

“Together,” Amelia urged, gripping his hand tightly. “We can do this together.”

They took a deep breath and faced each other. “I’m scared you’ll leave me,” Amelia admitted, her voice shaking. “That I’m not enough for you.”

Tears shimmered in Jonathan’s eyes. “I’m scared that I’ll fail you, that I won’t be able to protect you. But I love you, Amelia. I don’t want to lose you either.”

With those confessions, the whispers quieted, but they weren’t gone. Instead, they morphed into a softer, almost melancholic tone, as if the house itself were listening.

Amelia pressed on, her voice steady. “I’m afraid of being alone, of not being able to find my way. But I know I’m stronger than this place. We both are.”

The walls trembled again, but this time, they felt more alive than threatening. Jonathan nodded, his resolve strengthening. “I refuse to let this place take us. I love you, and together, we can face anything.”

With their hands clasped tightly, they moved deeper into the house, each step echoing their newfound strength. They faced the whispers together, acknowledging the fears that had haunted them since their arrival.

As they climbed the grand staircase, the air grew lighter, the oppressive darkness fading. The whispers became mere murmurs, like distant memories rather than threats.

Finally, they reached the room at the end of the hall—the library, where the walls were lined with books, tales of love and loss, joy and sorrow. In the center of the room stood a massive fireplace, cold and empty.

Amelia knelt beside the hearth, touching the stones. “This is where it ends,” she whispered, taking a deep breath. “We need to cleanse this place of its hold over us.”

Jonathan joined her, and together they gathered kindling from the surrounding shelves—pages torn from books that had whispered secrets of fear and despair. They stacked the wood in the fireplace, their hands steady despite the trembling walls.

“Are you ready?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Let’s burn away the fear.”

Jonathan struck a match and lit the kindling. Flames danced and flickered, casting a warm glow around the room. As the fire grew, the whispers grew frantic, rising in pitch and intensity, but they held their ground.

“Leave us!” Amelia shouted. “You have no power here!”

The flames roared, and with a final wail, the whispers faded into silence. The house trembled violently for a moment, and then—calm.

As the fire crackled, the room felt different. The air was lighter, the oppressive energy that had weighed on them lifted. They looked at each other, tears of relief in their eyes.

“Did we do it?” Jonathan whispered, his voice a mix of hope and disbelief.

Amelia smiled through her tears. “I think we did.”

They embraced, feeling the warmth of each other, of love conquering fear. The mansion, once a prison of whispers, now stood transformed, its shadows retreating into the corners.

Hand in hand, they stepped outside into the golden light of dawn. The forest around them was serene, birds chirping, sunlight filtering through the trees.

“We’re free,” Jonathan said, looking back at the mansion.

“Yes,” Amelia replied, a sense of peace settling in her heart. “And now we can start anew.”

Together, they walked away, leaving the echoes of the past behind, ready to embrace whatever lay ahead.