Dark Fiction Novels & Stories

One of Danny's first reading loves was in the horror genre, devouring Poe, King, Herbert and others as a child, and he has recently developed a side line in writing horror shorts for the author and compiler, Samie Sands, which he enjoys very much. Danny now lives in France, and his book, A Tale of Aquitaine, is part auto fiction, part fantasy, and about his life there caring for a disabled child. He is now working on a forthcoming novel entitled, Lala's Non-stop Erotic Cabaret, a story of sex, murder, and insanity..

The sky was dark save for the moon that hung low in the sky it casts a strange glow over the kingdom. Inside the palace, the tension was real. It was the kind of tension that shook even the strongest of men. It was the usual Fortnight ceremony where the wizard takes a look into the future of the kingdom. The king and his subjects watched as he performed his rituals, making strange sounds and incantations. The wizard's screams echoed through the huge hall, a sound that would haunt the memories of those who heard it for years to come. "Doom! Doom is coming!" he cried, his voice trembling with fear. "A werewolf will bring ruin to us all!"

I was practically a sex-addicted slut who slept with different people almost every day, but I swear on everything I love, I really couldn’t control it. My body always seemed to have a mind of its own. Always reacting. Always needing. Always begging for release. And if I didn’t give in, I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the day. I wouldn’t be in my right mind. And that… was my dirty secret. I had promised myself never to let my mom find out. Never to let him find out. The towering man who stood beside me, his expression cold and unwavering. The richest and most dangerous man in the entire United States. A man both feared and respected. A man who made my heart pound and my body burn, reac

They lived in this huge bubble, not knowing – or caring – about people like us. My own life felt like two separate books. One was Maeve Briggs, high school senior, trying to keep up her grades and pretend everything was normal. The other was "Eve," the girl with the dark wig and fake ID, dancing on a small stage downtown. That was the book I kept hidden, guarded with my life. It was a secret I'd die before anyone found out. Especially Mom. And Jasper. And Nova, my best friend, who thought my nights were spent studying or binge watching shows.

A mix of fear, anger, and relief. The truth hurt. But the lies had hurt worse. Deep down, I just wanted everything to go back to normal. AT FRANCESCA’S PENTHOUSE The penthouse lights were low, warm, and expensive. Francesca sat on the edge of the long white couch, legs crossed, lips painted deep red. She held a glass of wine like it was a weapon. She watched Mr. Blackwood with a smirk. Mr. Black stood near the window, back to her, hands in his pockets. His shoulders were tense.

I turned to the very last page—the one my father-in-law had been writing the day he died. The page was blank, except for a single, trembling line of ink at the top. The Weaver knows the code. The Architecture is the Grave. I closed the book, the sound of the leather snapping shut like a gunshot in the quiet car. The "Day-by-Day" was gone. We were into the "Night-by-Night" now. And as the Suburban hit the open highway, the speedometer climbing toward ninety, I realized that the 300,000 words of our story were only just beginning to get darker. And as the grey Chicago rain began to lash against the windows once again—no, as the black North Woods ice began to coat our path—I realized that I was

The way the First Dream had felt. The traveler whispered: "It has been sleeping." A pause. "For longer than existence." Another pause. "For longer than memory." The darkness beyond the Graveyard suddenly split open. A crack. Tiny. Yet catastrophic. Golden light erupted through the opening. Not warm light. Not comforting light. Hungry light. The sight made Nova's entire body go cold. Because the light wasn't illuminating the darkness. The darkness was retreating from it. As though afraid. The traveler stared at the crack.

FREAKY AFTER DARK: CONTENT WARNINGS What You're About To Read This collection doesn't do safe. It doesn't do vanilla. If you're looking for paranormal romance where the monsters are basically humans with extra features, keep scrolling. Freaky After Dark is unapologetically filthy paranormal erotica where supernatural beings act like the feral, dominant, possessive creatures they actually are. These stories are designed for readers who've been waiting for monster romance that actually commits to the monster part.

A vast dark place that had no walls and no floor and no sky but existed anyway with complete certainty. A book. Not the journal she had been imagining, leather bound and findable. Something older than that. Something that existed the way a wound exists, not as an object but as an absence, a place where something had been removed from the world and the world had never healed around it. A woman. Ancient. Standing in the dark with a stillness that was not peace but the opposite of peace. Something that had been waiting so long it had forgotten what it was waiting felt like. Just the waiting remained.