Christmas Scary Stories Novels & Stories

Heck this is my favorite month. But tonight, Christmas is a cruel joke. Snow is just another layer of danger and its beauty is a sharp contrast to the nightmare swallowing me whole. Branches whip at my skin as I sprint through the darkness. My lungs burn. Every breath feels like swallowing ice. I’m shaking—not from the cold, but from terror so strong it feels like it’s carved into my bones. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what they want. I don’t know why this is happening.

All around them, boys and girls, dressed as monsters and super-heroes, began to titter and giggle, the tension from the story leaving their little bodies. Chloe wasn't afraid of the story; in fact, she had read it before, as well as many others. She didn't have many books at home, but one that she did have was a cheap paperback collection of scary stories that she read over and over again, becoming immune to their quaint shocks. “Alright, kids. I hope that wasn't too scary for you,” the teacher said. The class, as a single unit, assured her that it was not, in fact, too scary. However, several of the children's faces said otherwise.

Please. Dani: I'm embarrassed. I rolled my eyes. Linc: Because you freaked out? Everyone freaks out. Shit, I was afraid of the dark until I was fifteen because my mom used to tease me that some crazy man was going to steal me away. She made me afraid of Santa, Dani. What kind of monster makes you hate Christmas? Dani: That's horrible!

He utter with a frightening face. "You should learn how to control your eating habits in terms of like this. Aurora added noticing how hungry he was that his stomach began to rumbling. "Who's ready for a scary folktales? Scarlett ask as everyone raise up their hands. "Okay... Okay... Okay! Not so fast, so here it goes. "I will be starting with the tales of a " four friends" once upon a time, there was this four friends who school in a boarding school. The first friend where so obsessed in finding out something he saw at the school earlier so he woke his four friends up as they follow him to the place. Out of curiosity, he touch the status which he was so obsessed and suspicious at because th

Not presents. Shaking, I went back to my room and opened my laptop. The NoSleep subreddit was always active late at night, a place for people all over the world to share their terrifying experiences. I started typing. Title: My 5-year-old sister saw "Santa," but her description is terrifying. Help.

“Your world is full of surprises.” Wolves crowded in the hallway outside. Whispering loudly. Wolves do not whisper well. “She talked to the Christmas tree.” “She thinks lights are fairies.” “She screamed at the heater.” “She is terrified of snow.” “Poor thing.” “She smells like magic.” “Old magic.” “She fell from the sky.” “What if she is powerful?” “What if she is chosen?” My ears burned. I curled into myself. “Stop staring at me,” I whispered. “Please. Stop staring. I do not know this place. I am scared. Everything is wrong.”

3rd January, 1999(morning) The Warehouse Lana Its a never ending circle. A repeated sequence I experience everyday, locked up in this room with little or no contact. A hollow feeling in my heart whenever I think about my family, the grief I feel whenever I remember those who died in that bloody Christmas party.

When his head fell, he also died. But don't be afraid! This is just a little story to scare children! I will tell you how it happened. In the city of this story nobody smiled or played games, all the children studied all day. In the colorless city, adults worked all day and the older ones taught the younger ones how to work until the day they died. On the day that no one remembers the exact date, very heavy rain arrived in the city followed by a floating sea of ​​heavy rain clouds. And with the rain came the boy with a bluebird in his arms. The boy happily hopped around the dark city streets, not caring about the strange looks the boy was humming; "Can someone offer me a place under your roo

It was late autumn when they arrived — the trees skeletal, the air thick with a kind of oppressive stillness that seemed to hum beneath the surface of the world. Emily Carter, a graduate student in folklore and urban legends, had heard the whispers about WildWood all her life. She had grown up just a few towns over and had spent years gathering the old stories: tales of the “vanishing patients,” the “howling trees,” and the “night doctors” said to stalk the forest paths. Determined to separate fact from myth, Emily organized an expedition for her thesis, enlisting a few brave companions:

By the time Yves Golding got home, it was already midnight. I was lying in bed, staring at a photo of him and Melissa Lane. His abs showed faintly beneath his red Santa suit as she leaned against them, eyes shyly closed. Their colleagues had left comments below the post, saying that they were a perfect match and that Yves was quite bold. Melissa commented, "You guys, stop making things up. Mr. Golding was just being kind by keeping a lonely soul like me company for Christmas!"