Creepypasta Sally Williams Novels & Stories

Slowly, she stepped back, but the bus just waited, its entrance gaping open like a whale ready to swallow her whole. Willa wasn’t stupid. She knew danger when she saw it. “Hey…” she screamed, but nothing came out. Her voice didn’t go beyond her ears. At only twenty-one, she had become the most sought-after ghostwriter in the country. Platforms like Ellalux, Febnovel, and even the mighty master of webnovels, Koodnovel, had sought her services. Known as the horror-story specialist, she crafted dignified deaths, haunted struggles, and glorified survivals.

The little tease knew what she was doing. Crawling over top of her, Sally ran her lips over Celeste’s body, obviously enjoying the squirming gasps it caused. She took her time to taste as much of her flesh as she could, finding both spots that made her groan wantonly and others that made her hiss as they tickled. Everywhere Celeste’s body was a mass of sparks. When she was finally marked, Sally wouldn’t know what hit her if she thought they were sensitive now. Celeste grew wetter thinking of sinking her teeth into Sally’s neck, claiming her for her own.

“I love you, Sally.” --------------- A week and a half later, Mrs. Willow returns from Paris. However, Sally still spends time and research at Ryan's herd. Sally is doing her search, when suddenly her mind fades for a split second but returns seconds later with only one thing on her mind: kill Ryan. It was as if she was possessed by a completely different being. Glancing around the room, she stood up and walked towards the exit. Turning left, into the hallway of the herd house, Sally walked toward the door at the end of the hallway that led to the basement of the house.

Luca says in a low voice. “Thanks.” It feels strange having him here, walking around freely, especially after we were all led to believe he is a convicted killer. I open the box to find Sally’s belongings—a lock of her hair, a doll, and a diary. I arrange the items around the candles, hoping their personal connection to her will strengthen the ritual. I close my eyes, reciting the incantation once more, my voice growing more desperate with each word. “Spirit of Sally, come forth. I call to you.” Minutes pass, each one stretching into an eternity. The air is thick, almost suffocating, but there is no sign of Sally. No ghostly apparition, no whisper from the beyond. Merely silence.

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

"How dare you suggest such a thing! My grief has been…” "Your grief has been a lie," I interrupted, my voice growing louder, commanding the attention of every soul in that hall. "Five years ago, Sally Taylor didn't lose a daughter to a tragic disappearance. She disposed of one. Sally, you were the one who planned with Monte to kidnap Hillary and Neveah. You were the one who orchestrated the disappearance of your own flesh and blood because Hillary wouldn't play your games anymore. And while you were at it, you kidnapped Laziel at the same time, trying to fracture the Giovanni family from within while you secured your own power."

"Ah! Someone, come quickly! Get this bloody prop out of here!" Sally's hysterical scream interrupted Quilton just as he was walking toward me. The moment he heard the word "prop", Quilton snapped back to his senses. Sally clung tightly to Quilton's clothes. She looked terrified as she buried herself in his arms. "Holly is too much, preparing gruesome props like this. Quilton, you know I faint at the sight of blood," she whined.

I turn my attention back to Davison and say, “‘My supervisor is already aware of the situation, you pestilential pedophile, and he likes being played for a fool even less than I do. Since the nature of your relationship with Little Miss Slut Puppy over here has come to our attention, your contract has been revoked. “Now,” I say, positioning myself behind Davison’s desk, “Sally Salisbury, you go over there,” I say to Christy, indicating the corner opposite from me with the gun. “W-what are you g-going to—” I cut Christy off in mid-whimper with a clean shot to the chest. “I’m not one for small-talk,” I say, focusing the gun back on Davison. “Never works out for the villains in movies to sit ar