America Horror Stories Novels & Stories

I trembled from her words, I had a bad feeling about this as I looked for my mom but she was by the wall and Linda was feasting on her pussy as she let out continuous moans and screams of pleasure. “ Nghh! Argn. Yesss.” I let out a yelp, Anita plucked on my nipple with her teeth. She bit on it, pulling it as I cried softly from it. “ Ohhhh God. “ I cried, it was painful as I moved to the side. But this little action was interrupted as I saw Annabelle pick the bottle of chilli pepper. I blurted out in panic, “ No!” She laughed, saying in a sinister voice that was laced with darkness, “ You have no choice.”

Story Note: “Room for One More” is a standalone short from my erotic collectiona mix of intense, sensual, and sometimes forbidden stories that explore the raw edges of desire. Each story introduces new characters, new fantasies, and unapologetically explicit encounters. This particular tale features a taboo dynamic between step-siblings, told with heat, dominance, and no holding back. Reader discretion is advised. *************************************************

NOTE: This story is from my book, STEALING THE LYCAN'S SON. I wanted to include this here for exposure and an addition to my collection of short stories. SO if you have added it in your library and read my book, STEALING THE LYCAN'S SON, PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE AND PURCHASE. Thank you! . . . . . CAMILLA I giggled as I jumped over a large rock blocking my path, and made my way past the pack border and towards freedom.

“What other positions are there?” “Prop, hooker, lock, flanker, scrum half, fly, wing, and full back,” he listed off. With his accent they sounded like a list of silly made up words and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Hooker?” I repeated. “Yeah.” He frowned. “What’s wrong with that? It’s an important position.” “In America, it's a slang word for ‘prostitute’,” I informed him, snickering into my drink. Henry’s cheeks flushed. “Well, I just learned an new American word,” he said. He took a long sip of his drink.

Why the vampire felt the need to gorge himself in a substance that neither affects nor sustains him, Rose didn't know. "Father Benedict didn't say---I mean, why...why so early? What made him change his mind?" Hunter continued to ramble, scratching at his bald head. He gasped, "Oh, God. Don't tell me...the world is ending, isn't it?" Taking a deep breath, Rose scoffed at the vampire, "What gave that away? The meteors that will hit this place in an hour?" "No, I mean. This time, it's really ending, right? Like...whoosh...one big end."

I’d heard there were places where you could rent the tapes for a lot less than what they cost to buy, but it hadn’t changed my mind. I started towards the doorway with the curtain but stopped short by the tapes next to it. This section was at least twice the size of all the others. The covers of these boxes were all screams and knives. Bloody chainsaws and heaving breasts. The sign resting here was carefully drawn in black gothic type letters, each dripping red: “Horror.” Hanging by a piece of tape off every other shelf were letter-sized flyers exactly like the ones that man was putting on windshields out at the Farm and Fleet. I peeled one off to get a closer look.

He pauses before continuing with that slithering accent like something you would hear in a horror story or someplace in the darkest parts of Europe, “Have you ever wondered if the things that go bump in the night really exist? Or if they are a figment of your imagination?” Getting more creeped out by the second, I keep staring at him and then find that I can speak again. Before I utter an answer, I raise my hand up to my forehead and wipe a strand of my blonde hair out of my eyes so I can concentrate. “Sure, I have always been intrigued by the forces of darkness, but do they really exist as they do in my novels and dreams?”

ityville house. The Warrens determined that the events at Amityville were demonic phenomena, which the Lutzes, who knew nothing of demonology, could not have fabricated. The Warrens took numerous photographs, including one purporting to show the face of the demon boy peering out from a bedroom. The Lutzes wondered whether something wrong about the house itself might have influenced DeFeo to commit the murders. They moved to San Diego, California, where they struck a deal with the author Jay Anson to write a book. The Amityville Horror was published in 1977 and was adapted to film in 1979. Anson never visited the house but wrote the book from taped interviews. It contained numerous errors and

It was so liberating for him, that little by little and without realizing it, he began to shout it. "I am not a monster! I am not a monster!" He was screaming, louder and louder. Convinced for some strange reason that he was not a freak. Jonah ran out of his house and screamed that he was not a monster. He was running so fast that he had to hold Alma's head in his hand so that it wouldn't bother him. The people who saw him pass by looked at him strangely, his presence provoking disgust. But the children were afraid to see him. They wondered in their innocent little minds who was that strange little man, who possessed the color of the night and carried on his shoulder a strange head?

With a choir, singing in her living room! “Beth,”Emma said ever so sweetly,“honey,are you totally sure you weren't having a dream?You must realize how this sounds!All this talk of caskets and corn children giving you ominous warnings….did you watch a horror movie before bed?You know how those upset you.” Beth composed herself as best she could.”No, I didn't watch a horror movie Em.I came downstairs thinking I’d left the telly on and there in my living room was a casket with me in it!And a choir of children.”