Folk Tales Scary Novels & Stories

Epilogue: Now that I have written several of these stories, I find that my old ghosts have started to haunt my dreams yet again. It is amazing that once things are written down, they begin to take on a life of their own. Just remember, if you don’t want things to go bump in the night, don’t tell anyone else about them.

The wolves had gathered close, along with the trolls and ogres who had joined their quest. They sat in a circle, and it was Tara who broke the silence, her voice steady but low as she began telling a story. “There’s a legend about these woods,” she started, her eyes glinting in the firelight. “They say that in the deepest parts of the forest, where the trees are so tall they block out the sky, there are shadows. Not ordinary shadows, but the remnants of warriors who lost their way. They wander endlessly, looking for the chosen one to guide them, but if you don’t answer their call… they’ll take you with them, and you’ll never leave the forest.”

Mira begged her mum with her tiny little voice as her mum was about to put her to bed "Okay dear, I'll tell you something very different, it's a mythical story and it's a bit scary" her mum said "Yeeeee, I love scary" Mira raise her little hands up happily "Okay listen," her mum started as she took a seat beside her little child's bed

– Skyler asks. “The stories say that elves are tall and beautiful. I don't think it's an elf. I would say it’s a fairy.” "You're kidding, right? Fairies don't exist. There is nothing about fairies except in human children's books. It must be an insect, and the screams come from somewhere else.” “It’s the creature who screams. It seems trapped in a web.” Skyler and the wolf have to make a decision. Whatever it was, it was trapped and about to be eaten by a giant spider.

by the time the sun shimmers at the horizon behind me and the crescent moon dips below the horizon before me, I have thought of every word I know of to describe really, really, really boring walking. There is absolutely nothing here. I think of the stories we told each other when we were pups. About wraiths that lived beneath the sand of the Barren that would pull you down into their nests. They would paralyze you and then their grubs would feed off you, slowly eating you alive. That was a favorite. There are the roaming packs of wilder-scorpions, creatures that are half beast, half scorpion. Where the beast's tail should be is a scorpion's sting that will cause your skin to turn black and t

In this world, many things were possible. “The Moonleaf only blooms at night,” she had said that morning while arranging dried herbs in her shop. “But do not go too deep into Moonville at night, child. It is not only animals that wander there.” I pushed her warning aside. Honestly, I was more afraid of losing my mother than of stories about werewolves, rogue beasts, and the so-called Alpha King who supposedly ruled them all. Fairy tales, I told myself. Stories made to scare children. As I walked deeper into the forest, I could not stop remembering every warning the healer had given me. I rubbed my head nervously.

Part One: Eyes of the Wolf Jamie Dalton lifted the grocery bag filled with Halloween candy and took a moment to inhale the aroma drifting from it. For most people Christmas was their favorite holiday but Jamie had always loved Halloween. From the time she was nine years old she made up fanciful stories about the night, stories of goblins and ghosts and all manner of creatures. As she got older the stories became more intricate, the characters more detailed. By the time she was an adult she was weaving in erotic scenes and drooling over the heroines she created.

The second his eyes landed on that video, he felt it, that burning sensation as it rippled through his veins, causing his blood to pump faster and his heart termored. When he was six he had thought his great grandmother mad when she would often tell these tales of Merfolks, dragons, fairies, elves, whispering ghosts, who lived in a beautiful city under the sea and how they were real… she said the whispering ghosts often lure men and women under the sea…. trap then suck their souls, they would sink ships and flood trespassing islands.

And on moonlit nights, when the wind carried whispers through the trees, the children would huddle close to their parents, grateful for the lessons learned from the chilling tale. And so, dear children, remember the story of 'The Whispering Shadows' when the moon is high and the wind carries secrets on its breath. For even the naughtiest of children may find themselves facing the eerie dance of shadows in the depths of the forest, a fate they can only escape by heeding the warnings of those who came before.

Through story, we teach the rules by which we share this world with the brethren. Around the dying coals of the evening fire, we spin tales of naughty children stolen never to return, of the brutal punishment of liars, and of trespassing travellers going astray. Tales teach us to seek out good-witches to tend to sore teeth or to help with difficult births, and diviners to foretell the weather, but to fear sorcerers or sorceresses who prey upon the unwary, sprites who blight the crops, and mermaids who drown sailors.