Is The House Of Hunger A Horror Story?

"Kane stays unmoving, and I realize he’s barely breathing. I don’t think he needs oxygen to stay alive, so that’s not too surprising, but I can’t’ figure out why he is so still. His hand at my waist is so very close to my breastbone, the longing for him to slide it up only a few inches, to touch me in places no one ever has before, has a gasp leaving my lips. I have to bite down again to keep from moaning, and he hasn’t even kissed me yet." Emory I was born to be the Alpha of my pack. But now... I am here, in the castle of our greatest enemy, the Vampire King. I should hate Kane, but the more time I spend with him, the more I long for him. I am not here to be his lover, though. I am here to be his feeder. But even before his lips graze my skin the first time, I know I would give myself to him in every way imaginable if only he should ask. Kane I long to taste the wolf shifter, but not her blood, her body. But I'm already betrothed to marry another vampire, and if I call that off, I have resigned my kingdom to yet another war. There has to be a way to keep Emory as my feeder but not claim her in my bed. I just haven't figured it out yet. But I have enemies, and every moment she spends here in my home, Castle Graystone, she's in danger. I can protect her, but at what cost? Am I willing to risk everything to make her mine? Or should I put my duty to my kingdom first?

The novel that revolutionized psychological horror literature and redefined fear itself. Welcome to the house that never sleeps... because it's busy haunting its inhabitants. This towering building hides in the heart of a quiet Egyptian city, its heart throbbing with crime, madness, and screams that no one hears... except the walls. In this place, everything begins with a single crime... Nasser, the father, a man in his fifties, suffocated by the shadows of his past, his mind collapsing behind a locked door. In a moment of madness, he slaughtered his wife, Nour, with his own hands, opening a dark gateway that changed everything. His son, Malek, the young man who tried to forget... found himself falling into an abyss with no bottom. Voices haunt him... hallucinations suffocate him... and memories bleed every night. And in this house, Malek begins his journey toward the abyss... Is he a victim? Or a killer in the making? As for Sophia, the silent sister… she sinks into a hysteria no one understands, This isn't a haunted house. This is a conscious house… harboring hatred… and growing with blood. Nightmares - Hysteria - Jinn Intervention - Victims Turned Killers A terrifying collapse of the human mind when besieged by fear. Crimes intertwined with supernatural forces, logic crumbling, and a terrifying reality slowly taking shape. Detectives driven mad - a super-intelligent killer Characters so vivid you'll feel their breath beside you. A heart-wrenching climax that makes the last page an unforgettable stab. If you think you've read horror literature before If you think you know something about ghosts… then what is the truth about jinn? Do you believe in them? If you think you can sleep after midnight... You're mistaken. Because this house doesn't haunt its victims it creates them.

18+ Extremely Explicit Content, Reader Discretion Heavily Advised Content Warnings: This collection contains Graphic sex, dubious consent, significant age gaps, taboo relationships, religious blasphemy/roleplay, rough and degrading scenes, morally corrupt characters, filthy language, and intense psychological edges. If dark, controversial, or morally twisted themes bother you, walk away now. Some hungers stay buried in the shadows. Others are so wrong, so deliciously depraved, they burn to be spoken. Wicked Hunger delivers raw, no holds barred erotic stories where every rule is made to be shattered. Step into a haze of temptation where guilt only makes the pleasure sharper. From holy men who break their sacred vows to men who should never touch their best friend’s little sister, each tale drags you into a slow, aching descent into sin. They’re dangerous. They’re off-limits. And they’re exactly what your body has been begging for. Indulge the cravings you were never supposed to have. These cravings that don't go away when you close your eyes. They get louder.

For the sake of that fake heiress, my biological parents and brother threw me into a horror game to "teach me some manners." The second the game started, the fake heiress, Nicole, went out of her way to provoke the ghosts nonstop. Once she'd pissed them off, she shoved me in front of her to take the punishment. As I lay there, tortured within an inch of my life, she planted her foot on my head and smirked. "Mom and Dad already made it clear—I'm the only one they truly love. They only brought you back to keep me entertained! Letting you deal with those ghosts for me is more than generous. If you dare complain, once my brother and the others get back, they'll skin you alive." In my past life, I treated them like family and gave in every single time. In the end, I was nothing but a stepping stone for them to beat the game—torn apart and devoured by over a dozen ghosts. But now, I've been reborn. "Welcome to Horror Instance: Happy Home." The moment I heard that mechanical announcement, I slapped the arrogant Nicole so hard she flew across the room. Because in this instance, the three bosses that terrorized every player… were all my family. The red-dressed female ghost who killed without hesitation was my adoptive mother. The monster with scissors for hands who ripped out hearts with a single swipe was my adoptive father. And the ruthless warden who devoured people whole, leaving no bones behind, was my adoptive brother. With them watching my back, why the hell would I keep putting up with this? A mocking smile curled across my lips as I said, "You're on my turf; none of you are getting out alive."

After years of running from her past, Lissa returns to the one place she never wanted to see again—her childhood home. The town hasn’t changed, but Lissa has. Now a mother, a wife, and a survivor, she’s trying to rebuild a life while standing on the crumbling foundation of her trauma. Just a few months. Just until she finds her footing. But the house doesn’t let go so easily. It smells of mildew and memory. Dust covers more than furniture—it coats every secret Lissa tried to bury. As she navigates motherhood, old friendships, and a strained relationship with her sister, Lissa discovers more than ghosts in the attic. A photograph violently scribbled out. A letter from someone she hoped was lost to time. And a journal that brings her back to the girl she used to be. Her husband, Colt, tries to be her anchor. Her son, Lucas, is her reason to fight. But a single name—just one letter, T—is all it takes to fracture her resolve. The past isn’t dead. It’s waiting in the basement. In a letter tucked behind old receipts. In the quiet corners of her memory where no one else can go. As the days pass, the house begins to feel like a trap.Lissa must decide if she’s strong enough to dig through the wreckage of her past… or if some secrets are better left buried. Told with raw emotion and atmospheric suspense, House of Quiet Screams is a story of trauma, resilience, and the silent strength it takes to confront what once felt un faceable. For Lissa, surviving was never the end of the story—facing what comes after might be the beginning.

At the Halloween Carnival, my younger brother and I got separated. Not long after, the headless body of a teenage boy was found in an alley. My father was consumed with rage—he blamed me entirely. He locked me in the chapel and forced me to chant prayers and light candles for my brother's soul for eighty-one days and nights. After that, he had me sold to a brothel in the city's red-light district, so I could spend the rest of my life atoning for my brother. He instructed the brothel manager there to give me only the most depraved clients—and to make sure I was left barely breathing. The brothel manager, paid to follow orders, assigned me to women with twisted tastes. Night after night, I was tormented. When I came down with consumption, I was denied any care. The hands I'd once used to turn pages—the hands of a scholar—were deliberately broken, crushing whatever hope I had left for the future. Eventually, one client went too far, and I died on the bed. The brothel manager had my body rolled up in a straw mat and dumped in a mass grave outside town. A year later, on New Year's Eve, my brother came back.