Dark Humor Stories Novels & Stories

It might help if I get lost…or accidentally set the apartment on fire,” I teased, getting a hint of a smile that he buried by denying. "Or you'll probably starve the poor animal to death," he returned the joke, narrowing his gaze, making the lines of expression visible at the corners of his eyes. Since the incident in my bathroom we acquired the ability to joke when it came to Alzheimer's. Black jokes made the situation less overwhelming. He was the first person he could joke with like this. My friends didn't like it when he said things like that and found it cruel; what they didn't understand was that at the end of the day the one who would live in limbo would be me, and taking it so seriou

"I thought I knew how to make an omelette. I guess not." "Don't beat yourself up, or should I say cut yourself up?" "Haha, that was terrible." "It was good, it was a good joke," "Then how come I'm not laughing?" "Cause I think you cut up your funny bone too," Marcus couldn't hold back his laugh, "that made no sense, at all." "Yet you laughed, so mission accomplished. When I was a kid, my dad would make a bunch of dad jokes whenever we got hurt just to distract us from the pain, they were rarely funny." Marcus chuckled. "But it's the effort that counts, huh?"

Perhaps because there was something taut beneath the brightness now, something that did not feel like one of her usual fascinations. “What sort of story are we talking about?” I asked. Jenny hesitated just long enough to make the pause deliberate. “The kind people laugh at until they can’t.” I frowned. “That sounds even worse!” “It sounds fun.” “It sounds like trouble.” She grinned. “Those are often the same thing.”

It came out short and disbelieving, the kind of laugh a man gives when someone’s insulted his intelligence instead of amused him. “That’s good.” He shook his head, still laughing under his breath. “That’s genuinely good. Did my grandmother’s people teach you that one, or did you come up with it yourself?” “I’m not lying to you.” “Of course you’re not.” He leaned back, arms crossed, something cold settling behind his eyes now that the laugh had faded. “You’re the third woman this year to try that particular story on me. One of them even had a name badge to match, if you can believe that. Very convincing prop.”

I smiled, intrigued by her enthusiasm, and leaned back in my chair, silently encouraging her to continue. Sophia launched into a series of stories, each one more silly and entertaining than the last. She told me about the time she had accidentally spilled coffee all over her shirt and had to walk out of the shop with a giant stain on her chest. She told me about the time she had tried to order a complicated coffee drink and had ended up with a concoction that was completely undrinkable. And she told me about the time she had met a friend at the coffee shop and had ended up getting into a heated argument with him over something ridiculous. As she talked, I found myself becoming more and more

I told him about the terrible vacation story Lucas had shared with me once, his family's disastrous week at a rain soaked coastal town when he was twelve, how he had told it with such vivid, self deprecating humor that I had laughed until my sides ached despite everything weighing on me that particular evening. I described the way he had acted out each disaster of that vacation, his father's collapsed tent, the seagull that had stolen an entire picnic lunch directly from his hands, his own dramatic, twelve year old outrage at the unfairness of it all, and Jonathan laughed properly for the first time since the funeral, a real, unguarded sound that startled us both slightly with how unfamiliar

Henry's hands had been tied in a harsh knot, and he was not taken seriously in the slightest. When he woke up, he heard a group of people telling dirty jokes in the car and laughing from time to time. "These rich people are so fun to play with. They think we're stupid, but you're smart, Boss! All you did was dangle some bait, and they fell for it—hook, line, and sinker!" one of the men said in a low voice.

For the next few minutes, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. They told me funny stories about things that had happened around the house, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I actually laughed. Their stories were filled with small, humorous mishaps—like the time the gardener accidentally watered Mr. Dela Cruz's shoes or when a squirrel ran into the kitchen, causing panic among the staff. Their lively chatter made me forget, even if just for a little while, about all the chaos happening around me. It was like a brief escape, a reminder that life could still have moments of joy, even in the middle of a storm.

She said that and I started dying on the floor, that was probably the funniest thing I've ever heard. "That is the fucking stoner spectrum!! Either you're a fucking Einstein or a fucking retard that tried to play baseball with a robot," I said, laughing through my words, causing Alex to break too, laughing and pointing out how fucked up my sense of humor is, "It's not my fault! Imagine having a fucked up humor before going through the dungeons of hell to become an arch-demon." "Tha-That's fair but still, that's fucked!" "Fuck me, that was funny," I said and the look I got from Alex scared the fuck outta me, she looked hungry but also cautious, "You good?"

I lied, wiping my face quickly with the back of my hand. He stayed. The rest of the night turned into something completely unexpected. Silas sat next to me on the couch and started telling ridiculous stories about his past jobs. He made terrible jokes. He mocked Julian's expensive suits and his arrogant attitude. For the first time in weeks, I actually laughed out loud. He cheered me up effortlessly. "You have a very strange sense of humor," I told him, laughing at his latest joke about a botched delivery run. "It works on you," he pointed out. He shifted closer to me. "You look much better when you smile."