WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF?
What Are You Afraid Of?
Fear is an interesting thing. We all experience it, but we don’t all experience it in the same way.
What terrifies one person might barely bother another. Some people are afraid of heights. Others are afraid of the dark, enclosed spaces, spiders, being alone, or things they cannot explain.
And then there are the fears that are harder to name, the fear of losing someone you love, the fear of discovering something you were never meant to know, the fear of being unable to protect yourself, or someone else, when something goes terribly wrong, or the fear of being forgotten after you’re gone.
As a horror writer, I find those kinds of fears fascinating.
When I create a frightening scene, I’m not only thinking about what the reader can see. I’m thinking about what might be happening underneath the surface. What would make someone hesitate before opening a door? What would make them keep looking over their shoulder? What would make them wonder whether they should have come there at all?
Sometimes the most effective horror isn’t the thing standing in front of you. It’s the possibility of what might be waiting just beyond it.
That is one of the things I love about writing horror. Fear gives a story another layer. It allows us to explore the things people try to avoid thinking about in ordinary life.
And sometimes, the most frightening question isn’t, What is out there? But is what would I do if it found me?
Fear has always been a part of storytelling, from ancient legends told around fires to modern horror novels and films. We willingly step into frightening stories knowing that, eventually, we can close the book, turn off the screen, and return to the safety of our own lives. But, for a little while, we allow ourselves to be afraid. Maybe that’s part of the appeal.
I’m P.S. Kessell, an independent author of gothic horror, dark fiction, and poetry.
So now I’m curious. What scares you most in a horror story? Is it something you can see, something you can’t see, or something that could actually happen?
I’d love to know.
UNEXPECTED WRITING TWISTS
Sometimes a story begins with a clear destination, only to turn down an unexpected road and reveal that it has been leading somewhere else all along.
Sometimes an idea begins as something small—a scene, a character, a conversation, or even a single thought. You have an idea of where it might lead, and you begin writing with that destination in mind.
Then, something unexpected happens.
A character says or does something you didn’t anticipate. A scene develops differently than you imagined. A new question appears that you hadn’t considered before. And suddenly, the story is moving in a direction of its own.
I’ve experienced those moments while writing, and I’ve learned not to fight them too quickly. Sometimes the unexpected direction is exactly what the story needs.
That is one of the things I love about writing fiction. You begin with an idea, but somewhere along the way, the characters and the world you’ve created can start opening doors you didn’t know were there.
Some of those doors lead to places you expected.
Others lead somewhere completely unexpected.
And sometimes those unexpected moments become the parts of a story that stay with you the longest.
As a writer, I think there is something exciting about not always knowing exactly what will happen next—even when you are the one holding the pen.
I’m P.S. Kessell, an independent author of gothic horror, dark fiction, and poetry.
I’d love to know: Have you ever written a story that surprised you by going in a direction you never expected?
WHAT MAKES A PLACE TRULY HAUNTED
What Makes a Place Truly Haunted?
When we think of a haunted place, we often imagine an old house with darkened windows that seem to watch us back, creaking floorboards that groan under invisible weight, and rooms thick with the residue of things long forgotten—dust drifting through still air like something half-alive.
But I think a truly haunting place is something more than that.
Sometimes it isn’t the house itself that frightens us. It’s what happened there.
The secrets left behind, pressed into the walls like stains that never quite fade. The people who entered and never came out the same—if they came out at all. The subtle, crawling awareness that you are not alone, even when every rational part of you insists the room is empty.
A shift in temperature. A silence that feels too deliberate. The sense that something is watching from just beyond the edge of perception, waiting for you to notice it.
That idea has always fascinated me as a writer.
In It That Has No Name places become more than settings. They feel…aware. As if the land itself remembers. The house on Highway 89, in particular, holds secrets that seem to seep outward, reaching far beyond what its walls should reasonably contain. Even in daylight, it feels wrong in a way that is difficult to explain—like the air around it hesitates before moving.
I love the idea that a familiar place can slowly become unfamiliar—that somewhere ordinary can shift so subtly you almost doubt your own memory of it. A hallway that feels a little too long. A doorway that seems darker than it should be. A house that sounds different when you stand inside it alone.
Until you begin to question whether you should be there at all.
Because perhaps the most frightening thing about a haunted place isn’t what you can see.
It’s what you can’t.
As a horror writer, I want readers to feel that uncertainty in their bones. I want them to pause at the bottom of a staircase and listen a little too closely. To wonder what might be waiting just beyond the next doorway, what happened in the quiet moments before they arrived, and whether they would have the courage to keep going if the house decided to notice them back.
Maybe that’s why haunted houses have fascinated us for generations.
We aren’t only afraid of the darkness inside them.
We’re afraid of what the darkness might reveal when it finally decides to move. When it shifts, just slightly, and acknowledges that we are there.
Have you ever visited a place that gave you an unexplained feeling of being watched, unwelcome, or simply…not alone?
I’d love to hear about it.
A WALK THROUGH THE SHADOWS
Why I Write in the Dark
There has always been something fascinating to me about the darkness.
Not simply the frightening kind, but the mysteries hidden inside it—the things we cannot explain, the choices we make when we’re afraid, and the question of what might exist beyond what we can see.
That fascination became the foundation for my It That Has No Name trilogy.
I wanted to create a story where horror wasn’t the only thing waiting in the shadows. Faith, friendship, love, betrayal, supernatural forces, and the struggle between good and evil all became part of the journey.
At the center of the trilogy are Katie and Jay, two characters whose lives become entangled in a world far more dangerous than either could have imagined. What begins with mystery eventually opens the door to something much darker.
Writing this trilogy allowed me to explore the kind of horror I love most—the kind that makes you wonder what you would do if the impossible suddenly became real.
I’m P.S. Kessell, an independent author of gothic horror, dark fiction, and poetry.
If you’ve read one of my books, I’d love to know:
What is the most memorable thing a horror story has ever made you feel?
WELCOME TO MY CORNER OF STORYTELLING
Welcome to my corner of storytelling! I have always been fascinated by the mysteries that exist just beyond the edge of what we understand, like the places where fear, imagination, and the supernatural collide. As an indie gothic horror author and poet, I write stories that explore haunted places, hidden darkness, and the forces that challenge the human spirit.
My journey into horror began with It That Has No Name, a tale that grew into a trilogy filled with mystery, terror, supernatural forces, and the battle between good and evil.
The trilogy follows a group of characters whose lives become intertwined with an ancient evil that refuses to remain hidden. From unexplained events and haunted locations to vampires, demons, witches, and the secrets buried within a mysterious house, the world of It That Has No Name explores the darkness that can exist both around us and within us.
The story continues with It That Has No Name II: House on Highway 89, where the secrets surrounding the house deepen and new dangers emerge. The journey concludes with It That Has No Name III: The Beginning, revealing more of the origins behind the darkness that has haunted those who crossed its path.
Beyond my novels, I also write horror poetry exploring fear, emotion, mortality, and the shadows found in the human experience. Poetry allows me to visit darker places in a different way, capturing moments of dread, beauty, and reflection.
Although horror is my passion, my writing background extends beyond fiction. I have also worked in education and authored professional resources, including From A to Z on Instructional Strategies.
Thank you for visiting my page and stepping into my world of gothic horror, supernatural mysteries, and dark imagination. I hope my stories give you a thrilling journey into the unknown.
Welcome to the shadows.
THE HIDDEN
“The Hidden”
Things turned bad again last night.
I pulled inside my shell and closed up tight
While you took your shots at me, left and right.
Kids tucked in their beds, “Oh, what a fright!”
The scars and marks cover all of the spots
That have suffered from your wounds and your knots.
A white cloth all blood stained
Nothing won here, nothing gained
You bottle up all your anger
Built up inside when around family and strangers
Then release it upon those you love
With a few slaps coupled with a shove.
Almost drops me to the floor
Since it doesn’t, you deliver more.
No one deserves to suffer such an attack.
I just don’t have it in me to fight back.
I cover my head and face as much as I can,
But your fists seem to hit right through my hands.
I run for the bedroom at my first chance.
You reach out for me as we do our endless dance.
I break free, run quickly and reach for the door.
I shut it fast and then I drop to the floor,
Hoping the lock will hold and I’ll catch a break.
I’m just not sure how much more I can take,
I shed tears in anger, pain and sadness,
While trying to stay calm during all the madness.
Then I hear bottles breaking in the living room,
And I hear a snap, sounds like the breaking of the new broom.
I crawl over to the bed, hoping you’re done,
As I hear you settle in your chair, I’m next to the gun.
So many times I have thought about using it.
Just one more time and I can end all the bullshit.
But I don’t have it in me to use the gun.
After all, by tomorrow all of this will be done.
Everything will be back to normal, it will all be over.
We will be one happy family, once again, here in Dover.
Let me try to go to sleep now before he comes back again.
If I’m asleep, just maybe he’ll see me as a friend.
Not an enemy to him at all, he should know.
Of my physical abuse, I have never told.
I keep it buried deep down within my soul,
Where it has created this enormous black hole.
Who knows what would happen if it explodes,
Like the 357 Magnum when it unloads.
For now I keep it buried inside me in a dark place,
Hidden behind a dark veil of fine lace,
Knowing that one day I may reach into the wicked place,
And put on that mask of a different face.
Written on 7/22/19
THE DARK WELL
“The Dark Well”
Deep within the well below,
Where the dark is thick and dead,
Evil calls to those who know
All the evil things they’ve said.
Sinners stop along the track,
Drawn to hear the voice below,
Staring down into the black
Where the quiet waters glow.
Leaning past the well’s cold rim,
One man flips a coin to hear,
Reaching deep into the dim,
Pressing in to get too near.
Slick wet stone and sudden fall,
Swallowed by the icy black,
Nothing left to hear at all,
And the water smooths right back.
Written on September 1, 2026
BATTLE OF THE BLADE
“Battle of the Blade”
Salt bleeds into the cold ground,
The demon makes a heavy sound.
He stands before her open eyes,
Underneath the empty skies.
His fire hits against the stone,
She stands in the dark alone.
He offers her a crown of night,
And asks her to give up the light.
The black power calls her name,
She wants to join his evil flame.
Why beat him in this bitter fight,
When she could rule beside the night?
She stops and pulls her hand back fast,
And strikes the demon down at last.
She will not serve his dark design,
And draws a final iron line.
His body falls to dust and ash,
With one last quick and blinding flash.
His heavy screams begin to fade—
She wins the battle of the blade.
Written on August 5, 2026
CARNAL ROT
“Carnal Rot”
I was pinned to the ground
Jaws snapping at my face.
Trying to fight back but its strength is overwhelming
Skin tearing, ripping a chunk of meat from my neck, cold air, blood
My body jerks
Violently.
The virus rushes through my veins
Freezing.
The frantic heartbeat slows, thickening into mud.
Breathing.
The lungs have forgotten how to do so.
Deafening.
The silence inside my ribcage is impossible.
A snap
The jaw moves.
Shadows bleed into focus.
The dark becomes varied shades of gray.
A sound
The thumping of a living being’s blood flow nearby
Warmth.
The draw of the fresh flesh
No more panic
There is only the calling, the ache in my loins,
and the need to beautifully and violently fulfill my desire to feed.