Creepy Writing Prompts Novels & Stories

I drew my jacket tighter, feeling the hairs rise on the back of my neck as we pressed onward into the depths of the crypt, our remaining flames flickering weakly against the encroaching shadows. "This place gives me the ultimate creep vibes," Olivia muttered with a tremor in her voice, her eyes wide with fear as they darted about searching for unseen threats in the darkness. Her hand trembled visibly as she reached out to touch the damp wall for support, the rough surface feeling alive beneath her fingers.

Ivy trails close behind. I lean back. The leather couch creaks again. I scroll through her page once more. Her latest post delivers a sultry challenge. Her words cut sharp and enticing. The competition thrills me. My pulse quickens. I return to my draft. I polish every line. The words become a dance of desire and sweet victory. The room grows dim. The sun dips below the horizon. I light a candle. The vanilla scent fills the air. It softens the edges of the evening. Victor texts again.

“ Whoever was hiding behind the lodge used the trees scattered around as his hangout and wrote these words while he was at it, one look and it creeped me out. These words are barely noticeable given how tightly packed he made them while he was writing but then again he looks like he is f*cking crazy to me.” Reyna took the cellphone from him and just as he said, one look at it and she was ready to throw up. “It's rotten blood.” There was only one word that was written over and over again but what made it creepy was that every word was written with blood. ‘Mine’ that was all that he wrote but like some sort of devil incantation.

“It’s so insane it might be good.” “Right? I want to write it, but I’m worried about how Cruz is going to react when I tell him I need him on another cover.” She sighed wistfully. “Third option?” “Gritty earthly police officer investigating a serial killer who turns out to be a vampiric alien from another world who survives on blood. He doesn’t mean to kill his victims but if he doesn’t eat, he will die.” “How do you come up with this stuff?” “I don’t know. Yesterday I was in the shower looking at Cruz’s body wash and it has mint in it and all I could think of was using mint leaves as a garnish in this vampiric alien’s bloody Mary.”

I was moaning so audibly, he had to whisper into my ear countless times to remind me that we were copulating in a car that had a tinted dark glass; hence, passersby might be attracted by my moans. But I was having the best sex and experiencing the best in all my years of existence. I was having the best feeling of my life; I had grabbed him so tightly and passionately, pleading with my eyes for him to go deeper. Impromptu sex is the best. Quickie is beautiful anyway. His face was motionless; the car air conditioner was on, hence making him not sweat, as every thrust of his came with a different mild scream and shout.

I flipped to the next page. “The voice won’t stop. Keeps telling me what I am. What I’ll do. Monster. Killer. Can’t escape it. Can’t make it stop.” The next page was worse. It didn’t even make sense, not that the first two pages did, either. “Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Gore. A knife. Need the knife if I’m going to complete his ritual.” The rest of the page dissolved into illegible scribbles. I kept reading. It was page after page of the same thing. Fragmented thoughts about death and blood and murder. Some of the words were truly vile. Some in all capital letters, others written so tiny they were like the text form of whispers.

My parents exchange glances, then nod with indulgent smiles, a silent way of wishing me well. Upstairs in my room, I perch on my favorite armchair. The soft glow of my desk lamp cast a warm ambiance, setting the stage for the creative journey that awaits me. With a swift motion, I turn my laptop on. My fingers dance across the keys as I open G****e Docs. The first scene unfolds in my mind. the characters breathing life into the digital canvas. Yet, just as I poise my fingers to type the first letter, a sudden wave of dizziness engulfs me. The room spins, my head throbbing and my forehead sweating.

It sends conflicting emotions surging through me—fear, urgency. I push myself harder, muscles burning, the trees blurring past me in streaks of green and brown. I need to get back to her. Now Then I see them. Dark figures moving in the distance, slinking between the trees. They aren’t wolves—aren’t anything I’ve seen before. Their forms shift in the moonlight—tall, grotesque creatures with elongated limbs and glowing red eyes that burn like embers. A low growl rumbles from my chest as I slow my pace, my muscles coiled, ready for a fight.

The weird taste of the off-brand Kool Aid hung thick on his tongue. “Are you gonna cum soon baby? I need. Need . . . ” Reality became shiny along the edges. Some underpaid editor had over-saturated the colors. Things behind him? A door creek? Cold air? The world began to . . . No, not the world. His mind! His mind began drip-drip-dripping plop drip drip collecting into a puddle of nonsense at his feet lights and boxers and monsters in a pool of liquid rock, shaking sticks

Epilogue: Now that I have written several of these stories, I find that my old ghosts have started to haunt my dreams yet again. It is amazing that once things are written down, they begin to take on a life of their own. Just remember, if you don’t want things to go bump in the night, don’t tell anyone else about them.