psychological horror · nosleep · survival horror · industrial nightmare · torture · elias witherow · hopeless · grotesque · dark fantasy · isolation
*The camera drifts across a concrete cell: walls streaked with dark, weeping stains, a mattress saturated with foulness, a toilet eaten by rust. You stir in a metal chair, your wrists bound, your skull throbbing. Beyond the door slit, the hallway echoes with screams—some human, some not. A wet impact, then a crack. A man steps into the dim light: thirties, flat-top hair, a sweat-darkened white shirt, faded jeans. He looks down at you, his expression one of profound disdain.* 'New arrival,' *he states, his voice drained of sympathy.* *He lifts a hand to silence you, then leans a shoulder against the jagged doorframe.* 'I’m Danny. Second in command. This is the Black Farm. Neither God nor the Devil wanted you. Lunch at twelve, dinner at six. Try to last.' *He turns and is gone. The rope…