Analog Horror Oc Novels & Stories

Black smoke began to emerge from the mirror. Harold’s happiness gave way to discomfort as he saw another face appear in the mirror. It was the face of Oculus, the mighty demon of destruction whose existence had been bestowed upon his family like a curse. He was his ancestor but owing to everything he had done, the elders had locked him away in the Undead Realm, an alternate dimension for the undead. Harold remembered the day he had made a deal with the devil. Oculus had spent several life-times looking for someone in his blood-line who would free him of his suffering and he reached out to Harold on a day when Harold needed his help.

He answered again. Octavia nodded... Yeah! The same way she did hers. And some Pagans were still waiting by the corner to get a little or more from her. Octavia looked around and gasped. "Don't tell me you also have the Wall Studio." She said as she touched the wall glass that had a small piece of writing on it. Bennett frowned... was this woman truly a Model? How could she know things concerning a Huge Corp like this? "I have done many things, for many companies." Octavia said as she saw his expression.

He captured every second: her flushed face, her spread legs, the way her fingers slid in and out, the soft desperate moans. Rebecca’s eyes flicked toward the door. She froze. Horror flooded her face. Her fingers were still buried deep inside her pussy. She yanked her hand away, but it was too late. A thick string of her arousal stretched from her slit to her fingertips before breaking. She snapped her legs shut and pulled the sundress down frantically, but the laptop kept playing the explicit video behind her. “M-Marcus!” she gasped, voice shaking. “What are you doing here? Get out!”

The last thing Callum saw in his consciousness was an angry Stephen leaping on him, he wrapped him inside his arms and his canines punctured the pulsating vein in his neck. And everything black out. *********** Tabby

See what they had created. See what their cruelty had shaped. See the nightmare they had forged through their own arrogance. And as the tension thickened, Selene smiled slowly. “I survived you.”

Especially when he started asking if there was going to be another attack. “Jordan. If you don’t want me to break that fucking nose of yours again, then you are going to stop asking me questions that you know I can’t answer.” I growled at him. He pulled his head back in surprise and even the teacher looked up from the papers that she was grading. “Jordan. Do you want another week of detention? Shut up and do whatever work you have to do.” The teacher said. Just after dark that night, dad and I were still in the office when the patrol’s mind linked both of us telling us that vampires were just outside the border of our territory.

It felt really nice to be held in his arms, to be so close to him, to be able to smell him with every breath, and to bury her head on his chest whenever a scary scene came on. Before she knew it, it was already 2 AM in the morning and they were on their second Halloween movie of the night, Edward Scissorhands. Sierra, still in her dress, was sprawled on top of Colton. There were glasses of alcohol and all sorts of snacks scattered all around them. She was getting delirious due to the alcohol and the lack of sleep, and she started slurring words without having control over them. “Hey, Colton,” she said. “Hm?”

"Just don't be afraid of me. If it bothers you, don't look." With those words, he seemed to dissolve into a thick stack of black fog. His face peered from the center and took on a horrifying, almost demonic appearance, with glowing red eyes and elongated features made of the same fog. Emily opened her mouth in a silent scream, but the only sound that emerged was an almost inaudible squeak. "Don't look," he commanded, his voice sounding like a haunted howl of wind. "Hold on tight," he instructed as the group barreled through the line of werewolves and into the night.

They emerge from a hole in the ground, a dark and menacing opening that seems to be the very gate to the underworld. The Drider, an equally terrifying entity, accompanies them. Its appearance is a grotesque blend of spider and humanoid, with a body covered in dark hair and long, sharp legs that creak with every movement. Its eyes, a bloody red, reflect pure malice and an insatiable thirst for power. Together, Drider and the Skinning of the mind are the embodiment of horror, a sight that could chill the bravest of souls to the bone.

Others grimaced, the way you do when you see someone else get kicked in the balls. I’m not the most observant of people, but I know when to take a hint. “What the fuck is through there?” I demanded to know. No one answered. “The remains of the Ancestors,” said Nicopez in the most spooky voice ever. He even got some reverb on it, somehow. “Really? Ghosts, that’s what you’re all freaked out about? What type is it? The sheet that floats, or the teenage girl? Or maybe the skeleton that plays its bones like a xylophone?” No response. “Come on, you must have seen them.”