Creepy Books Novels & Stories

She kind of looked like a demon. Carefully as not to startle her, he settled on the opposite side of their table and asked in a low voice, "What are you looking for?" The books she stacked on the table caught his attention. "'The Expanded History of Death'," he read the titles aloud, "'Funerals through the Ages'. 'Life after Death: the Existence of the Afterlife'. 'Creatures of the Night'. Are you trying to know more about Hellborns and the Underworld?" Calix was a lot of things, but unfortunately, he wasn't thick, Kat lamented. "Yes."

she continued. I didn’t wait for further directions and headed that way. Sara was right. The library was crammed with books so rare that I didn’t even think they existed. I ran my fingers over them and stopped at the supernatural section. Werewolves. The variety of these books was astonishing. A Hidden History or Under the Full Moon. But the one that caught my attention was The Grim Howl.

They had assured me it wasn't anything like becoming a zombie, but there were similarities and they couldn't deny that. A creaking sound echoed in the distance, the door to the other stairwell had been opened. We all held our breath and I tried to sense who else had come onto this floor with us. Whatever it was, I couldn't make sense out of its thoughts and its feelings were almost primal. It was hungry and on the hunt for blood and had smelt living flesh on this floor. I knew right away. It was after us. Not wanting to give away our exact position, I whispered to DJay and Lee, "guys, something has joined us on this floor. I don't know what it is, but it knows we're here."

Their explanation of tantra was truthful, if a little oversimplified. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples. I need coffee, and by now the kids might have something for me, so I head back down to Chinatown, taking a detour into The Magickal Childe bookshop on West 33rd on the way. Of the stack of books I’ve spent my morning with at the library, the one title I’m fascinated by is the infamous Tibetan Book of the Dead, and now I wanta copy I can mark up. The shop is a cramped little hole in the wall that reeks of voodoo oils and herbs. Ceremonial swords and shelves of dusty glass jars cover the walls. A leather-bound copy of the Necronomicon takes pride of place in the display window and a

And find out if there was any way to fix it. As she drove, Caitlin thought again of the rare books she had found in her library. Most of all, she that of that one rare volume, and its torn page. She thought of its ancient ceremony, the one in Latin, with its cure for vampirism. She wondered again if it was real. Was that just passed down from folklore? An old wives’ tale?

One volume called to her like a whisper against bone: *The Greater Veil: Finer Threads of Dominion* She pulled it free. The book was heavier than the black tome from her father’s library, its cover bound in something that looked like polished shadow-leather, warm to the touch. She opened it carefully. The first pages spoke of layered commands, of weaving intent so precisely that the dead obeyed without resistance, of turning even the strongest-willed undead into extensions of the caster’s will. Raven’s breath caught. She looked up at Victoria. Victoria read the title over her shoulder, then met Raven’s gaze. She squeezed Raven’s hand once—firm, reassuring—and nodded.

The woman climbed a short ladder and began pulling down a few books. “These should help,” she said, setting five large, dusty tomes on a nearby table. “Sorry about the condition they’re ancient. Let me know if you need anything.” “Thank you,” Anna said as the woman walked away. Rhea and Anna sat cross-legged on the floor beside the table, surrounded by the stack of heavy books. Their covers were worn, their spines cracked, and the pages yellowed with time. Each had a unique title: 'Tales of the Mystical Creatures', 'Powers', 'Hidden Behind the Voice', and two others with faded letters too difficult to read.

I should return to my chambers, should maintain the careful schedule that kept me safely within established boundaries. Instead, I found myself drawn deeper into the library's maze of shelves, following an instinct I couldn't name toward sections I hadn't yet explored. The books grew older as I moved toward the back of the room, their bindings more fragile, their subjects increasingly esoteric. Here were volumes on subjects that academic institutions would dismiss as superstition—treatises on lycanthropy, studies of lunar influences on human behavior, collections of spells that claimed to bind souls to animal forms. Research, I thought with grim humor. Someone has been doing very specific re

Still the rain didn't look like stopping anytime soon so she thought she'd look around, maybe she could find a cheap copy of one of the classics she liked. Tara dropped this idea as she began to wander between the shelves, the books all seemed very odd. Those which she could read the titles of were things like 'The Occult Magick of the Amazon', 'Guide to the Dark Dimension', 'John Dee's Rituals', 'Demon Summoning' and 'Aleistar Crowley's Full Works'. Tara thought she'd heard of the last guy, some sort of mystic from before the Second World War. However the odd books didn't disturb half as much as the things which were dotted around the book shelves. All manner of weird items such as wands, a

It was an image of Scarlet’s face. Caitlin felt her stomach roll with anguish. How had her daughter’s face come to be on this ancient text in a lost vampire library? Once again, she thought of destiny. It was as though everything had already been decided. No, it was more than that. If felt as though everything that was happening now had already happened before, as if they were living in a constant loop with history swirling round and round, repeating ad infinitum. The life she was living was just one cycle, one in which the outcome had been predicted before, but was not set in stone. She could change the premonitions and prophecies. Whatever was supposed to happen, she still had control over