Free Horror Novel Novels & Stories

With a cloth stuffed in his mouth. He saw there were two men sitting on the high chairs. They were just looking at him but they were too intimidating. He remembered how much he cried for Adam to untie him, to leave him, to send him back to Stephen. Speaking of Stephen. Another wave of shock trembled passed his body. He saw Stephen was thrown on the ground. He was hurt. He was choked. And then he bit Adam. His eyes turned yellow. His fangs elongated. And he killed Adam?

Then I threw them into the room where Nicole was being held. Seeing her bulging eyes and tongue stretched three feet long, they slammed desperately on the door in terror. No one said a word. All they could do was repeatedly use the knives I threw inside to kill Nicole—who could resurrect endlessly. And Nicole, using her long tongue, continued forcing them into desperate corners. By the time I went to collect the remains, the room reeked of blood so thick it stung the nose. There was not a single trace of human tissue left—only pools of blood and minced flesh.

"I was so frightened by her request that I scared her away. She disappeared and didn't come back until a month later. When she came back, she didn't look sad. She looked really furious. Around that time, my mom was pregnant for him the second time. He lost his job and didn't allow mom to work. For the whole year, bad things began to happen. He even got into a fight with some people and they almost killed him" "I see...The ghost-girl's work" Juana mumbled. "I was too young to understand everything. But I knew some things. The beating got worse when he found out I saw a girl-ghost. I think he was really scared that the girl he killed has come to haunt him down" "The beating?"

His hot breath washed over me, making my skin prickle with fear, and I felt his gaze like a physical touch, making me shudder. The chains creaked and groaned, straining against the beast's fury. I knew it was only a matter of time before Romain broke free, and I was consumed by the horror that loomed before me. The Moon Goddess seemed to have abandoned me, leaving me to face this terror alone.

Halloween always brought out the weirdos, but I didn’t expect to be one of them, out here alone in the middle of nowhere, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. My boots crunched on the gravel path, the barn looming ahead, its weathered wood silhouetted against the crimson sky. The rumors called it haunted, a place where people vanished on Halloween night, but I figured it was just small-town nonsense. Still, my heart pounded, a mix of adrenaline and unease. The wind rustled the corn, whispering like it was alive, and I swore I heard something—a low growl, deep and primal, cutting through the night. I froze, camera dangling, my breath visible in the chilly air. The growl came

And are Dan Simmons books in your rich assortment of mysticism? — Our classics are on the second floor, on the outermost shelf, right next to the stairs. And Simmons... we need to look in the database. Leah headed in that direction, determined to leave today with at least a couple of collectible collections of works, including the short stories: The Dunwich Horror, The Call of Cthulhu, The Murders in the Rue Morgue, and A Premature Funeral. She read them more than once, learning them practically by heart. However, after the move, the number of her books decreased sharply and almost all the works of Alan Edgar Allan Poe and Howard Lovecraft were cut. On the one hand, those books had become di

But the fear that had been gnawing at her for days pushed her forward. She opened the book. The first pages were cold, filled with business notes and travel schedules. But as she flipped forward, the handwriting changed—it became jagged, frantic, and deeply personal. Her eyes landed on a single sentence near the end: Some ghosts don’t stay buried because they were never dead. A chill crept down her spine, turning her blood to ice. Before she could process the words, the lights throughout the estate flickered once, buzzed, and died. The house fell into absolute, suffocating darkness.

“The novel’s title is Shocking Shocked, and it tells the story of a guy who was electrocuted after disclosing shocking news?” I bit the bottom of my lip. “Well... It’s one of my favorite novels.” She slapped herself across the forehead. “Dainty! We should not read novels like these. I assumed you were interested in romantic novels, so I let you read books, and then I’ll know that you’re reading about terror and murder novels?!” My mouth was closed. What can I do if I’m not a fan of romance novels? Horror, mystery, and psychological stories are my favorite, and not romance. When I read a romantic novel, my whole body convulses. They simply do not appeal to me.

I turned and saw Harmony halfway up the ladder to my bed, half of her body crawling under my mosquito net. Her expression was grotesquely exaggerated, filled with fear as she stared at me. I let out a terrified scream and jumped upright from my bed in shock. The following scream came from Harmony, louder than mine, and then there was a crash as she fell off my bed, landing hard on the floor.

He was lying face down, and face up, all at once. I live in that house now. I am the village "fixer." And every night, I listen to the scratching beneath the floorboards. I don't fear the ones that crawl. I fear the ones that wait. Because now I know that the most terrifying thing in the world isn't death—it’s a corpse that refuses to close its eyes.