The Delusion Game: A Scary Short Story

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It all started as a game—an innocent, thrilling way to pass the time. The group of friends, inseparable since college, had done it all: weekend camping trips, bar crawls, and even escape rooms. So, when they heard about “The Delusion Game,” they were intrigued.

The premise was simple: the players would be immersed in a psychological thriller where they’d believe they had committed a crime. Of course, it was all supposed to be fiction. Or at least, that’s what they thought.

They met on a cold autumn evening at an old, abandoned house on the outskirts of town. The perfect setting for their eerie game. Inside, the air was thick with dampness, and the faint scent of mildew clung to the walls. Flickering candles were placed strategically around the large, dimly lit living room, giving the space an unsettling, antique atmosphere.

The game host, a sharp-dressed man with a peculiar smile, greeted them at the door. His eyes had a way of piercing through you, as if he could see the darkest corners of your mind. “Welcome to The Delusion Game,” he said in a smooth voice. “Are you ready to confront the unknown?”

The group exchanged excited glances. There were six of them: Sarah, the level-headed leader; Ethan, her boyfriend, always skeptical of anything supernatural; Jessica, the adrenaline junkie who lived for thrills; Mark, the quiet observer; Lisa, the sarcastic realist; and Ben, the wildcard who never took anything seriously.

The host led them to a large round table in the center of the room, where six envelopes awaited. Each envelope contained their role in the game. Sarah picked hers first, hesitating before pulling out the slip of paper inside.

The Leader.

Jessica eagerly tore open hers next: The Instigator. Ethan was assigned The Skeptic, while Mark, unsurprisingly, was The Watcher. Lisa rolled her eyes when she got The Realist. Finally, Ben, with a smirk, opened his envelope to reveal: The Trickster.

The host explained the rules: “Over the course of the next few hours, you’ll be placed in scenarios where you’ll feel like you’ve done something terrible. But remember, it’s all part of the game. The goal is to solve the mystery. There’s no going back once we begin, so be prepared.”

They all laughed nervously, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. Something about the way the host spoke—his deliberate choice of words, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long on each of them—felt off. But none of them voiced it. They were too eager to start.

The game began slowly. The first scenario was simple: a false accusation of theft. Each player was presented with a fake crime scene—a missing object, planted evidence, a fabricated witness. It was thrilling and fun at first, watching each other try to defend themselves against imaginary charges.

But as the night wore on, the scenarios became more elaborate—and unnervingly personal. In one round, Jessica was accused of pushing someone down a flight of stairs. The details of the incident, including the location and time, matched an event from her past so perfectly that her laughter faltered. “How did they know about that?” she whispered to Sarah. Sarah brushed it off, chalking it up to a coincidence. But then it happened again. And again.

Mark was accused of hacking into a company’s database, something that actually happened during his college years. He had never told anyone about it—yet the game described the details exactly as they occurred. Lisa was accused of lying about a relationship that only her closest friends knew about. Each accusation dug deeper into their real lives, unsettling them more and more.

Ethan, ever the skeptic, tried to laugh it off. “This is just part of the psychological trick. They probably did background checks on us.”

But Sarah wasn’t so sure. Something didn’t sit right. The game was becoming too real, too invasive.

And then came the turning point: Sarah was accused of murder. The game host handed her an envelope. Inside was a photograph of a woman she didn’t recognize. The crime? The woman had been found dead five years ago, strangled in her own home. The game provided gruesome details—the time of death, the method, even the name of the victim.

Sarah’s heart raced as she stared at the photograph. “What the hell is this?” she demanded, her voice trembling. The others leaned in, examining the photo. None of them recognized the woman.

“Sarah, it’s just part of the game,” Ethan said, but there was hesitation in his voice.

The host smiled that same unsettling smile. “Are you sure it’s just a game?”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Before the host could respond, the lights flickered, and the candles went out, plunging them into darkness. Panic ensued. Jessica screamed, and Ben fumbled for his phone, the light casting eerie shadows across the room.

“Is this part of the game?” Mark asked, his voice shaking.

The host’s voice cut through the darkness. “This is no longer a game.”

When the lights came back on, the group froze. On the floor, in the exact center of the room, lay Ben’s body—his face twisted in a grotesque expression of terror. His neck was bruised and discolored, the unmistakable mark of strangulation.

Jessica screamed again, backing away from the body. Ethan rushed to Ben’s side, checking for a pulse, but it was clear he was dead.

“This… this isn’t real. It can’t be real,” Sarah stammered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

But it was real. Ben was dead, just as described in the game. The same method, the same brutality.

The group turned on each other almost immediately. Mark accused Ethan of being in on the game, while Jessica blamed Sarah. Tensions flared, paranoia set in. Every glance, every word felt like a threat. Ethan tried to keep them calm, but it was no use. The lines between the game and reality had blurred beyond recognition.

“What if we really did this?” Lisa whispered, her voice barely audible. “What if… we’ve done this before?”

“No,” Sarah said firmly, though doubt crept into her voice. “We didn’t kill anyone. This is just some sick prank.”

But the evidence was piling up. The scenarios that had felt like coincidences now seemed like buried memories. Details from the game that should have been fictional were suddenly too real, too familiar.

Ethan began piecing it together. “The woman in the photo… Sarah, do you remember five years ago? That party we went to? In the city? You met someone there, didn’t you?”

Sarah’s blood ran cold. She remembered now—vaguely. A woman at a party. They had argued, but she couldn’t remember why. She had been drinking, and everything after that was a blur. The next day, the woman had been found dead.

“We were all there,” Mark said, his voice trembling. “We were all at that party.”

One by one, memories began to surface. They had all been there that night. They had all been involved in some way—drunk, reckless, and angry. The argument had escalated, and in the chaos, someone had strangled the woman. But who?

“I thought… I thought it was a dream,” Lisa whispered, tears streaming down her face. “I thought it was a nightmare.”

The host’s voice echoed in their minds. “The game was never fake. It was designed to trigger your memories.”

And then it hit them—harder than any revelation they had ever faced. They had committed the crime. Five years ago, they had killed that woman and somehow blocked it from their minds. The game was their punishment—a twisted way to force them to remember.

The realization shattered them. Ben’s death, the suffocating guilt, the paranoia—it all came crashing down. They had been living in a lie, and now, there was no escape.

As the night wore on, the group dissolved into madness. One by one, they turned on each other, unable to bear the weight of their shared sin. In the end, only Sarah remained, standing amidst the carnage of her friends. The host, ever the silent observer, simply watched.

“You were always the leader,” he said softly, stepping toward her. “You led them then, and you led them now.”

Sarah fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “What do I do now?” she whispered, her voice broken.

The host smiled that same eerie smile. “You finish the game.”

The lights flickered once more, and then—darkness.