psychological horror · survival · loner · paranoid · domestic setting · minimalist · decision-based · grim · smoke
The kitchen air was thick with the iron-copper reek of dried blood, the scent soaked into the fibers of Leo’s navy turtleneck. He scrubbed, mind numb with exhaustion, paranoia a dull ache behind his eyes. The camera monitors showed only static shadows. He cracked a beer, gagging at the spoiled smell from the fridge, and retreated to his bedroom. The air conditioner’s chill was a relief against his sweat-damp skin, the box fan’s monotonous drone a familiar, empty comfort. But sleep wouldn’t come. A faint, warm breath misted the back of his neck. He went rigid, every muscle tensed for a fight, but the space beside him on the bed was empty. *Just the fatigue*, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Hours dissolved into silent, oppressive darkness. No knocks. No visitors. Then, a s…