Some deaths leave behind more than bodies. Residual explores the quiet aftermath of violence—the moments after the scene is cleaned, when memory lingers and truth fractures. Shadows persist, objects feel heavier, and time itself seems unwilling to move on. This is not a story about solving a crime. It is about what remains when the crime is over. Dark, restrained, and psychologically unsettling, Residual is a literary horror novelette told with a manga-inspired visual sensibility, focused on atmosphere, absence, and unease.

A tale of desperately trying to find your place in the world. an introspective character study of pain, identity, home, and found family. A one-shot comic book told through poetry and a love letter to classic Vertigo comics. "This comic is visual poetry at its absolute finest. A stained glass portrait reflecting trauma, longing, and belonging. You will be mesmerized. You will be amazed. And boy, your heart will ache. Everyone should take a look at this comic - it's MASTERFUL" - Fell Hound,

A struggling writer battles his own creations with conflict and turmoil brewing in chaos.

Two stories about death

This graphic novel uses the mirror motif to unfold a multi-layered and unsettling reflection on loss, trauma, and the different truths that can be concealed within fairy tales.

A glimpse into reality.

As lost memories resurface., some of the guests begin to realize that the hotel they’re trapped in is a lie. A disagreement about the state of their reality dominos into outright hatred. What’s worse, there’s a murderer locked inside with them. Trust is tenuous, and truth is made fragile by those who have the mysterious ability to create and destroy other people’s memories.

Fear and denial.

When friendships fade and social connections dissolve, the body remembers what the mind tries to forget. This abstract psychological horror explores the visceral panic of profound loneliness—not just being alone, but losing the people who once filled your world. Through stark visual metaphors rendered in near-black blues and blood-red accents, we follow an unnamed protagonist navigating the aftermath of social loss. Empty chairs still hold the warmth of departed friends. Phone messages dissolve into static. Mirrors reflect everything except the viewer. Rain falls inside bedrooms, tracing ribs like pressure maps of internal collapse. As isolation deepens, the body begins its desperate rebellion—heartlines stuttering into flatlines, tinnitus rings compressing reality, shadows reaching out for embraces that can never reach back. The protagonist’s world warps into something alien: street shadows point the wrong direction at noon, windows pulse like heartbeats across small-town darkness, and doorbell rings echo unanswered through frosted glass. This is not a story of recovery or redemption. Instead, it’s an unflinching examination of how loneliness manifests as physical emergency—the body’s primal scream of “save me” when human connection vanishes. Through minimalist visual storytelling and VHS-grain texture that makes each page feel like a fever dream, the work transforms private anguish into shared recognition. The final pages offer not rescue, but acknowledgment: a tiny red pulse on stark white, suggesting that even in our deepest isolation, some essential spark persists—waiting, hoping, enduring. 30 pages of abstract sequential art exploring grief, social loss, and the body’s memory of connection.