Feminist Horror Books Novels & Stories

The woman climbed a short ladder and began pulling down a few books. “These should help,” she said, setting five large, dusty tomes on a nearby table. “Sorry about the condition they’re ancient. Let me know if you need anything.” “Thank you,” Anna said as the woman walked away. Rhea and Anna sat cross-legged on the floor beside the table, surrounded by the stack of heavy books. Their covers were worn, their spines cracked, and the pages yellowed with time. Each had a unique title: 'Tales of the Mystical Creatures', 'Powers', 'Hidden Behind the Voice', and two others with faded letters too difficult to read.

She poured herself another glass of cheap red, already on her third, and dropped onto the couch in her pencil skirt and blouse, buttons half undone. The city lights through the rain-streaked windows. Her laptop was still open on the coffee table, case files glowing like accusatory little rectangles. She should sleep. Instead she reached for the dusty old book she’d bought on a drunken whim two years ago at that weird occult shop downtown. *Daemonologie for the Modern Woman.* Stupid. But tonight it felt like the right kind of stupid. She flipped it open, scanned a page at random, and slurred the words under her breath. Latin? Probably, didn’t matter.

“Oh, so you won’t come out? Fine. Then I’ll smash all your d*mn flowers!” He stormed forward and stomped the flowers into pieces. At that moment, I suddenly remembered something Lucas once told me. In horror games, players who refused to participate usually died horribly. Back then, I thought he was just making up stories, but it seemed like maybe I really should’ve believed him. “Sir, wait, don’t–” Before I could finish my sentence, the crushed flowers suddenly regenerated. On top of that, they grew larger and larger until the enormous petals swallowed the man whole. A scream rang out, and then silence fell. All that remained on the ground were two severed limbs and a pool of blood.

He kissed the back of my neck, my shoulder, my spine — soft, almost reverent kisses that felt more dangerous than the rough fucking. “You’re mine now, Liora,” he whispered against my skin. “Completely. And I’m nowhere near done breaking you.” I shivered in his arms, completely ruined, completely owned. And as he started moving inside me again, slow and deep, I realized with horrifying clarity that I was already starting to crave the breaking. The basement was soundproof. No one would hear me scream. And as Silas fucked me into the mattress again, his hand wrapped around my throat, I whispered the words that sealed my fate.

There were a few articles of clothing littering the floor, but Lissa quickly picked those up and placed them in the hamper on the inside of Rose's closet. There were a few non-textbook books sitting on her desk, the subjects ranged from mythical dragons and spy academies, to the psychology of serial killers and a few classics. I'm not sure what surprised me more, the fact that Rose had read The Picture of Dorian Gray or that she seemed to have a fascination with serial killers. Knowing Rose's intelligence level, I decided it was the serial killers. I picked up one of the books on the most macabre killers to exist, trying to ignore Lissa digging in Rose's underwear drawer as she pulled out br

Maybe she could ask Zoran if she could spend a couple of hours here every day. Walking down the isles, she noticed all kinds of books. Some on witchcraft, others on vampires, elves, unicorns, dragons.. everything she’s ever read a fantasy book about, there was plenty of information on it. Just as she was going back to the first floor to wait on Zoran, she saw it. The werewolf section. She couldn’t control herself. She had already glanced at all the other books but those. Slowly, she made her way over, looking at all the titles and covers. Finally, she found what she was looking for. Reaching up, her fingertips grazed the spine as a hand grabbed her wrist.

Naked limbs meant the chill air of the room rolled over her helpless body, raising bumps on her skin and tightening her nipples in fear. The room she hung in appeared like a jail cell, with gray walls and a heavy door containing one small barred window. Worse than the putrid stench, which she tasted with each inhalation, more frightening than the sense of decay and the chokingly thick dust, but not as frightening as the creature in the room with her, were the moans and gibbering cries she could hear. The pitiful sounds, full of abject misery-and madness-wafted through the partially open door, causing her to shiver. Will I sound like that once he's done with me? She could delude herself all s

The Rennar symbol. She snatched the key. The metal was cold. Without a backward glance, she fled. The Rennar library was a tomb of forgotten truths. She went straight to a section blocked by a frayed red rope. The Forbidden Collection. She found it: Instinct and Transformation: Observations on the Lycanthrope. She carried the heavy tome to a table, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The pages crackled with age. She skimmed past charts of moon cycles and dietary notes until her eyes found a heading that stopped her breath.

I shook my head more and then screamed. I lifted the table and knocked it over on itself. My father couldn't have done something so heinous; it was insane, completely insane. What I never imagined was that, when I knocked over the table, she activated another system of false doors that opened behind the bookcase. I opened my mouth in disbelief and saw another room; it was the location of a horror story. “By the Goddess!” said Amelie before gasping. In the room were paintings and pictures of tortured people, but one image captured my attention. It was a woman who looked a lot like Clare; she was kneeling in front of the camera, and then, in another picture, your head was severed next to her b

“Don’t,” Don’t what? Run? Say I told you so? But before I can ask, the girl’s shrill scream fills the entire house. It’s ear splitting and brain numbing. Oh shit. My question of her being a pawn or a player is answered. I never came across one of them before, but the legends are fearsome. A banshee’s scream can immobilize, permanently deafen and in some cases, kill.