Novel & Cerita Funny Horror Books

“Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.” I shrugged even though he couldn’t see it. “I like knowing how people lived before everything got loud. Plus, it’s an excuse to hide in here. Away from parties and drama.” “Smart girl,” he murmured. The way he said it made my stomach flip. Time passed. Maybe twenty minutes. We talked about everything and nothing. My terrible roommate. His awful coffee from the faculty lounge. How the basement always felt colder than the rest of the building. Our voices got softer, more comfortable. The dark made it easier somehow. Like we we

“You are pathetic.” Her body flinched at my words, but another wave of shivers covered her arms. “Dirty little doll.” The more I talked, the more her nipples were standing at attention, the more her breathing was getting heavier, the more her hands were gripping the fabric they were tied with. My fingers traced her leg. “I bet you are one of the people who like reading p**n books in public.” I moved to her other leg, gripping her ankle. “I bet you keep a straight face while your panties are getting soaked.”

I burst out laughing. "You think Tom sent that text? That was me." Jacob's face went slack. "You don't mean Edgar…" Exactly. I killed Edgar. As a kid, I used to torture animals, watching them writhe and die in pain. It wasn't that the idea of doing it to people had never crossed my mind. I found doing it myself to be boring. Getting others to do it was the real high. Toying with someone's mind and keeping them in my palm was what hooked me.

I knock on the damn thing and there's a hollow sound coming from inside. "How the fuck does he open this thing?" I touch every part of the wall until I feel something out of the ordinary. I push it and hold my breath. Please let it open. The almost realistic wooden magazine moves to the right, then I see a drawer inside. I press the small button next to it and the drawer moves to the left. Holy fuck. I chuckle. Haiden freaking Blackwood. A genius cunning wolf in the flesh. Two Frost-moon pack werewolf books are placed inside. What surprises me though, is the small book placed between them. I immediately notice it's yellow cover, something closer to gold. It must have been gold but worn out

Dad grabbed the nurse, throwing her out of the room alongside himself. "Well-done, Emily, you have accomplished your mission." A sinister scent emerged, a wicked laugh echoing across the room. The once blue sky was now a mixture of black and white with the moon reflecting its radiant image. Wails filled the air as a ray of light fell from the sky, hitting a mountain on the other side of town. I groaned, wincing as my hand was scorched by the flaming book. The pages settled, words in red appearing on the pages. "Strigoi, Nosferatu, Jiangshi…"

Arpit and I are fond of novels, while he loves to read horror, I am a mystery-thriller fan. I was unwrapping the parcel when Aunty called him and he went to her, telling me to keep his books in his room. The books were 5 while I remembered ordering only 4. I thought to check why I have received an extra book. Horrified by the revelation, the book was The Red Journal. I thought I was hallucinating. I picked up the red book and stood in front of the mirror. It was not my hallucination, it was real, just like me.

"Because if you do. I got this book from a very nice lady in front of the shopping center last month. Well, I've been reading it lately. The end of the world could actually happen?” Calvin blinked, then snorted. “What kind of question is that? You’re seriously frightening me with these mental exercises,” he said, half-laughing. “What is this? Are these horror stories you're reading for philosophy class?” She pressed her lips together, frustrated. “I’m serious, Calvin.”

One time at work I'd even heard a co-worker called me the-Squidward-from-spongebob. Exactly why I hated them. That morning I'd just gotten up and, traditionally, said my good mornings to Sam triple zero eight, then the story stroke up. We were having a conversation of a book I'd just finished reading, 'No, Mr Harry Botter, do not turn me into a witch.' Believe me, it was a real book alright. The author was named Harry Botter, so he was the main character of his novel. Stories like that, what do they call them again? Paranormal stories, they were always fun to read. Partly because they were stupid, other part, they were nonsense. Nothing but ridiculous lies.

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.

After two days of high temperatures and intense boredom, he remembered the three books. Sam pulled out the one with the Mummy on the cover, because it looked the most innocuous. It was entitled the Ninth Pan Book of Horror Stories. He wasn’t the least bit prepared for what he found inside. The first three stories involved emasculation, murder and burning at the stake. In his fevered state Sam felt he was not only watching the characters’ suffering, he was experiencing it along with them. He flung the book at the wall and then hid it again, wishing he could burn it like Jinnot, the young girl in the third story who was burned alive.