Writing the Horror I’m Afraid to Read by Thaise Wolff

When I was a child, nights in our house were never quiet. The wood walls seemed to groan and shift, carrying strange echoes through the rooms. Outside, gravel circled the house,  and when the wind blew hard enough, it scratched and crunched like footsteps. Sometimes it was just the cats, but in the dark, that sound felt like something else entirely. My sister didn’t help; she swore there were witches walking around the house at night. And then there was the wind, sliding through the window panes like whispers. With the right shadows, the right mood, even an ordinary night could become terrifying.

Those memories never really left me. Today, they are part of the backbone of my writing. I create the kind of horror I would have been too afraid to read as a child, the kind that mixes reality with imagination until you can’t quite tell where one ends and the other begins. 

Because that’s where fear becomes believable.

As a psychoanalyst and communication professional, I’ve always been drawn to the raw edges of emotion, the ones most people avoid. On the page, I put down what obsession, grief, and the cracks in the human mind are like. I think that’s why my stories feel so intense, and maybe also why traditional publishing sometimes resists them. They aren’t neat or softened for comfort. They’re raw, a little unsettling, and very human.

The thing about fear is that, in the safe environment of a book, it can transform. For some readers, it’s a way to experience discomfort and terror without real danger. For others, it’s a way to touch emotions they can’t express in everyday life. And for thrill-seekers, it’s a shot of adrenaline. My hope is that when readers pick up my books, they don’t just read fear: they feel it.

My new novel, Broken Doll, is very much part of that journey. It follows Annie, a woman whose behavior begins to change in ways no one can explain, pulling her husband and his friends into something much darker than they ever imagined. At its heart, the book is about obsession, faith, and what happens when trust cracks open into terror.

Here’s a small excerpt from Broken Doll:

I was praying.

Over and over and over again, until the words started to merge and mix, and my thoughts scrambled them all into one big loop of wording.

That was all I could do. I was shaking like a leaf. I knew it wasn’t drugs anymore because now I could see through the eyes that used to belong to me. I could feel my body move despite the fact that I wasn’t moving it.

Something had taken over me. Over my skin and my will, and I was sitting back, trembling with fear and tears in my eyes while I watched it unfold.

If I could vomit, I certainly would. 

I had a vague recollection that Mark had died by my hands and likewise Joshua was holding its last threads of life. 

“God, please help me,” I begged, and yet my hands kept moving, slicing more and more of his flesh.

Here and there, the world blinked out. It wasn’t like fainting, but like someone snuffling the candles of my mind. Then, it snapped back on mid-horror: my own hand already wet, my nails raking flesh. Other times, I could still hear gurgles and movements, but I couldn’t see anything. It was both a blessing and a curse, because the scene would blink half way through action right back on, and I’d immediately convulse with panic  — if only my body would let me.

“I am so sorry for all my sins. I never meant for this to happen, I never wanted anyone hurt,” I started confessing at some point.

He struggled so hard. I tried to keep conscious to grant him at least the dignity of having some witness of how much this man fought, but it wasn’t really up to me when I pieced the shadows the glimpse of what was going on with my body.

The strength I had, the way my body felt invincible and the fact that I recognized no pain whatsoever was impressive, if only had I not been committing these atrocious acts. And still, some part of me felt complicit because it was my hands the ones doing this, even if my mind was screaming against them.

His last breath rasped out, wet and ragged, a sound that clung to my soul like oil. It made my skin crawl and my stomach to turn.

Broken Doll by Thaise Wolff

When does a love story become a thriller or a horror tale? Is it when love ends and trust is broken, or when everything you believed turns out to be a lie?

When I met Alec, I thought the drama that haunted my life was life finally over, and that he was the Prince Charming I never believed I’d find. He made mistakes, did all the wrong things, and yet he was perfect for me because he loved me as I was. That was my happy ending come true.

Or so I was led to believe.

Sometimes the world is really just black or white. Wrong is clearly wrong, and fairness feels like the only right path. Most of the time, though, life doesn’t play out that simply.

I was young, naive, and blind to the price my choices carried. It took me years before I noticed the first sign, but once I did, the perfect life I thought I had came crashing down around me

My faith, my marriage, and what I believed to be right and wrong shattered as if the world had been turned upside down.

And in the end, the only way to survive was to become the very broken doll I had been my entire life.

*This book walks the thin line between love and horror, faith and madness. Nothing is ever it seems, and the story unsettles through the possession of body and mind. Please read the trigger warning, as it is not for the faint of heart.

About Thaise Wolff

“I am a book addicted”

I’ve been into books my entire life. By the time I was 12, I’d written a couple. 

My mom was the first one to push me and help me to get my first book out there, and that set off a passion that still keeps me going.

When my firstt book was published I already struggled with ll the marketing campaigns and publishing houses. 

So, it was no surprise that at 14, I ditched the whole competitive author thing to explore the world. I was tired, upset and lacking the energy to dedicate time to the literature world that had been so unfair to me.

Time went by while I travelled and discovered new passions.

It was only in the end of 2019 that I thought, why not keep publishing all the stuff I’ve been writing? So, I’ve put out five more books, edited them like crazy, and now I’m ready to share them with an even bigger crowd, especially now that Iive in North America.

Besides all the writing, I’ve got a degree in Communication, one in Psychology, a College degree in Business Communication and another one in Digital Marketing.

Horror Features on Ginger Nuts of Horror

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