Creepypasta Books Novels & Stories

The books here were faintly covered in dust. As he reached out to the top shelf, his eyes fell on a familiar thick black book lying on the floor. The Art Of The Body. Before he could stop himself, his eyes flicked up and locked with Scarlett. She didn't look away, but a deep blush gradually spread across her cheeks. That book brought back memories, and for a moment, he forgot the unspoken tension between them. He looked away finally and pulled out several dusty books from the shelf. Two were about old werewolves, one about vampires, and the last one was about witches.

“No doubt.” “What about those two small FedEx boxes?” “Most recent novels from Samhain Horror.” “Awesome. Those books I bought at the Webb County Library sale last week?” “Sorted into general and mystery fiction. Struck the mother lode with all those Mary Higgins Clark novels.” “We cater to all tastes, miss. Unless you like Twilight, 50 Shades of Gray or James Patterson. Folks want drivel, they can drive to Utica.” “Hey. I actually liked Twilight. It wasn’t all bad.”

Those books were older than any of the others in his office. The bottom shelf (the one he’d been searching when he’d first heard the cats playing in the hall) held his collection of horror anthologies. The famed Whispers series, edited by Stuart David Schiff, featuring the varied works of Ramsey Campbell, Stephen King, Charles Grant and so many others. The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror from England. The Shivers series, published by Cemetery Dance. Masques, Borderlands, Shadows, Stalkers, Dark Forces, October Dreams I & II, Corpse Blossoms, Horror Library Volumes 1-5, and Prime Evil. Classic horror anthologies jammed next to paperback collections of slightly lesser repute with titles to mat

" I don't get it, what's special about this library and these books?" " You can find anything you want about werewolves, witches, and vampires. Also, they're written by supernatural creatures. Meaning, every piece of information here is a correct one." " Can I find something about hybrids?" I asked him, and with a wink on his face, he answered. " Who knows? Perhaps, or you might also found something that would lead you a step closer to who you are." As I was about to ask him something else, he spoke perverting me from adding any other world.

It simply disintegrated, then reappeared back in the car. “Sick bastard,” I spat. He'd been stalking me. I tore a slim black book from the rat pile. Book of Psychopomps was etched on it in gold ink. Numbers, emails, and old-fashioned addresses accompanied names, written in no apparent order. I rifled through the pages: “Old farts: ODIN, MORRIGAN, YAMA, HERMES....” and “New pests: ANAESTHESIA, AIDS, SANTA MUERTE...” A red ribbon marked a page at the back. “Accessories: SHANNON PARKER.”

For the first time in human history we had an enemy that we could not easily deal with, and we owed that to two parties. For one, there is the well-known and infamous Doctor Christopher Krynick, the creator of these creatures. His intentions had been honorable, but he hadn't had the patience to give his research time to develop. He had fussed, wanted to develop a medicine that would take away the fear of deformity and mental retardation of their babies from expectant mothers.

BDSM: Slave 24/7 Plus more bonus chapters of all the characters you've come to love. Brody and Kylie's Story is Book 3 right after Daniel and Natalia.

She didn’t want to spill her crazy on to someone else. With no one to really talk to and all the time to kill she pulled out her laptop. She started searching the web for everything from hauntings to attachment’s. It was hard to distinguish what was real and what was fabricated. Jess eventually stumbled across something called a demonologist. His name was Doug Marshall and he lived about a day’s drive from her in Colorado. She clicked the contact me button on his website and decided that now was the time to tell her crazy story. This guy was her last and final hope. She closed her laptop as she was told to upon initial decent. With just her carry on she made her way to the parking lot

The air is filled with the scent of old parchment and dust. I move between the towering shelves. My fingers trail along the spines of books as I pass—histories, war, bestiaries, and ancient cities. None of them feel like they hold the answers I need. But I keep searching. I pull down a heavy tome on supernatural entities and flip through it. Nothing. I grab another book on creatures of the old world. Still nothing. My pulse quickens with every empty page. I can’t stop seeing that creature’s eyes. I can’t stop hearing the demon’s word.

I crawl onto the bed, pull the quilt to my chin, and open the book. The pages are thick, cream-colored, smelling faintly of iron and old smoke. No preface. No warnings. Just script that flows like liquid shadow, easy to read even in the dim light. The first chapter is titled simply: *Awakening the Veil*. I trace the words with a trembling finger. Diagrams of circles and sigils stare back at me—some I recognize from Father’s public rituals, others twisted, darker, hungry. Instructions for calling shades. For binding spirits. For raising what should stay buried.