Best Horror Graphic Novels Novels & Stories

His eyes, usually so warm when they landed on Lila or me, were distant, focused on a bleak horizon only he could see, a horizon dominated by the phantom conjured by Lila’s nightmares: the owner of those boots. The drawings. They were imprinted on my soul, a constant, horrifying slideshow behind my eyelids. Locked in Damien’s biometric safe now, they still screamed from the darkness. The monstrous scribble with empty eyes that radiated pure malice. The small, stick-figure child curled impossibly tight. The boots, always the boots, standing sentinel over fear. Damien… Oh God, Damien. The moment his eyes had locked onto that drawing of the child hiding under the table, the boots beside it… I’d

Not even a single try. “What does it say?” I asked, brows furrowing as I rubbed both of my palms to create warmth. The cold had been much cruel today ever since we arrived at the healer’s cabin. I encouraged myself to look at the drawings instead; the art style is pretty much gothic, if not ancient. It wasn’t inked. Hues of black and white were embedded on the golden brown pages of the material. I saw the graphics of a human and a werewolf. They were doing something strange… some sort of a ritual. Elliot did not flip the pages further so I ended up guessing that that was it.

From what I have heard, they appear to regard it exceptionally. At the point when he at long last stops, I stop too over an especially thick book named Werewolves, Spiers, and Shifters: Complete Version. On the front is an image of a threatening werewolf ready to gobble up a human and a human combating a genuinely horrendous looking Shifter with a weird-looking lance. I slip it from the rest, concealing it behind me.

Please Note: This story has heavy violence and dark moments!! There WILL be moments of carnage and depression!! This is not a story for the faint of heart!! Some of these chapters may contain: Torture Homicide Horror-like elements Sexual assaults *NO RAPE* Along with: Demonology Crude dialogue Emotional trauma

he asked, pointing to the book. "Of course..." Vinnie said, handing him the brochure. Thane scanned the cover, his eyes narrowing as he looked closely at it. The cover depicted a drawing of a werewolf, a vampire, and witch, in a savage position, poised to attack a helpless human sprawled at their feet. A red danger sign was crossed over the three supernatural creatures, with the caption "The Imminent Threat of Non-Human Entities - A fight for the preservation of Mankind" written boldly on top of it.

He vented all his fear of the horror game onto me just like before. Whenever Jack was bullied or ignored by others, he always came home and dumped all his resentment on me. His fists fell on me like raindrops. He had placed a restriction on me, and my whole body could not move. My eyes reddened, and veins bulged on my forehead. This scum—I would definitely kill him! The moon outside turned blood-red, and the air was filled with the smell of blood. In that instant, I seemed to hear something break. Then I bit down hard on Jack’s arm and tore off a piece of flesh.

The cover was embossed with a symbol that looked like a twisted, enraged claw mark. Nate crossed the room, the ghost sense of Kieran’s touch still tingling on his skin. He stood beside his chair, close enough to feel the warmth coming from him, and peered down at the pages. The script was old, but the images were brutally clear: depictions of wolves, but different. They were monstrously big, their musculature exaggerated and vicious, with four separate, scary sets of fangs in their gaping maws.

“What are you waiting for? Do you need a bedtime story?” I chew back a smile. Settle against the headrest. “Why? Do you have any?” “Me?” “No— Weres. Us, I guess.” “Sure, but they’re bleak. Humans and Vampyres coming for us if we nip our teachers too hard. The gods of nature toying with their beastly children. Cosmic horror— that kind of shit.” “Wow. Do children like them?” “I didn’t. Had nightmares about them for years.” I nod slowly. “That explains it.”

Because he had just been ripped apart. I turned around slowly and stared at the “pet” who had done the ripping. He still had blood on his face, but somehow looked… innocent. “I was hungry,” he murmured. Maybe it was my imagination, but his pupils looked a little sharper than before. [Wow. Trying to slut-shame someone in a horror dungeon? He had it coming.] [Pop the champagne. Ding-dong, the jerk is dead.] [Lol the stans are out. She can sleep with monsters but nobody can call her out?]

" Things were quiet for the next three days. I kept checking in, and Chester kept reassuring me, no weird dreams, nothing out of the ordinary. He even tiptoed around the idea of seeing a shrink, but I was not having any of it. Just when I started to relax, that's when it happened. Chester did not come home one night, and his phone might as well have been a brick. That old, uneasy feeling crept back in, and I bolted for the cemetery. There he was, sitting by my dad's grave, a mouthful of pâté and a half-empty glass of whiskey, toasting the air. My heart twisted in my chest. "Don't you dare eat that! Spit it out, now!" I dashed over, pounding on his back, desperate to make it stop.