Best Haunted House Novels Novels & Stories

"Good thing your number will never be called — you're too ugly." "Yes, Mother." I wanted to scream in outrage. She was gorgeous! Even in the dream, I could see the purity of the blood, taste the goodness on my lips. A house appeared in the distance. It was poorly lit. The shutters were falling from the windows, and the porch steps had seen better days. The foundation crumbled beneath the heaviness of the home, making it appear depressing. I took the steps two at a time and found myself in Genesis's room. She had books everywhere. Books about vampires, werewolves, and sirens. Then finally, Dark Ones.

“Sorry, we’re fresh out of miracles. You new in town?” “Yeah. I moved into the Varyn House.” His grin evaporated. “You’re living there?” “Temporarily,” I said. “Unless the roof kills me first.” He hesitated, then bagged my things and added a flashlight. “On the house,” he said. “For when the lights go out.” “Why does everyone keep saying that?” He didn’t answer. If ghosts could have favorite hangouts, Willow Creek’s library would be it. Old wood, creaky floors, the smell of dust and time.

Derek said reasonably, though his posture visibly stiffened as he aimed his flashlight down the hallway. ​"I hope so," I breathed. ​"No," Tasha said flatly, grabbing the back of Derek's shirt. "This house is haunted. Jonathan Vance's ghost is back for his property. We are all going to die." ​"Calm down, Tasha," Derek said softly. "There's no such thing as a haunted—" ​CRASH! ​A loud, violent smash shattered the quiet—the sound of a heavy wooden display shelf toppling onto the hardwood floor in the library.

I stayed silent. "The apartment where she had that accident was a company unit assigned to her," Stan said. "It's been empty ever since the accident. Later, the company wanted to take the place back, but the staff they sent over all got badly spooked. Over time, rumors that the place was haunted started to spread." He looked at me, his gaze sharpening. "But that changed when you showed up. When I first saw your rental address, I was shocked. I honestly thought you'd be running out of there in tears within three days. But you didn't.

Damien drove the rogue down, one knee in its chest, claws at its throat. “Say another word to her,” he growled, “and I will remove your tongue.” The rogue smiled up at him. “You cannot stop a door once it knows her blood.” The journal fluttered in my hand. Pages snapping hard enough to sting. Words appeared. THE HOLLOW CALLS WHAT THE HOUSE WAKES. My mouth went dry. “Damien.” “I’m busy.” “The haunted book has an update.” “Not ideal timing.” “Shockingly, the book did not ask.”

If only it worked that way. As my consciousness faded, my soul felt yanked back—to that Halloween night that changed everything. Lights strung like jack-o'-lanterns, crowds surging like a river. I was gripping my little brother Matthew Duncan's hand—warm and soft—terrified that if I let go for even a second, the tide of people would swallow him up. But in the blink of an eye, a puppet-maker's stall caught his eye. He pointed at a fierce general figurine, bouncing with excitement. "Eli! I want that one! The general!"

A QUICK NOTE BEFORE GETTING THE STORY STARTED: Hey there everybody! Wanna know how this story goes? Well, picture Little Women's Jo March meets Ghost Adventures' Zak Bagans about her haunted house, and then she writes a novel about it. Don't know who the heck I'm talking about? Well, lets say this is the story of a young, independent girl used to dealing with things by herself, who is forced to turn for help to a not-so-young, far-from-humble TV celeb used to having always his way.

She’d snuck into the forbidden library with a boy who didn’t speak much, who had bruises on his back and fire in his eyes. Ethan. And together, they’d read books that even the patriarchs feared to open. One of those books spoke of “The Heart of the House.” It remembers every blood that’s been spilled in its name. But none of the books said it was real. She thought it was symbolic. A metaphor for the darkness rooted in this land. Now she stood before it. And it was awake. Ethan’s face in the blood began to blur. At the same moment, the manor groaned. Not an earthquake—but something deeper. Like a beast shifting underground.

(Isabella’s POV) The safe house was a tomb, filled with the ghosts of a life that wasn't mine. Dust sheets covered the heavy, ornate furniture, and the air was thick with the stale, stagnant scent of time. The brutal, adrenaline fueled escape from Bianchi’s gala felt a world away, but the true horror of the night was just beginning to settle in my bones, a cold, creeping dread that no locked door could keep out.

Nothing happened, though, and relief instantly filled me. Every other time as soon as ink had gotten onto the page, I would be transported into the book. However, this time nothing happened, which might be because I hadn’t used the quill since the ink just spilled. No longer frozen, I recalled the knock on the door and rose from my desk. I was about to take a step when suddenly my living room dissolved into inky blackness. An inky blackness that had only been in a couple of times when the three musketeers of assholes paused my story. Which means I was in my book, 1001 Dark Tales. I instantly started praying that for once those three weren’t in the books with me. In the next second, I realize