Good Horror Books For Teens Novels & Stories

The movie is exquisite, if terrifying. 20. Sucks To Be Me BY KIMBERLY PAULEY Some of the best recent vampire novels are for teens, including my favorite, Sucks To Be Me. Pauley turns the genre on its head, imagining some pretty dreary, all too normal, nerdy vampires making their way in the regular day-to-day world. The heroine finds out her parents are vampires, and she has to make a choice. It's not easy as it seems, and the book is laugh-out-loud funny. In the soon-to-be-published sequel, Still Sucks To Be Me, she becomes a vampire but has to fake her death, leave her friends, live in a yucky town and still obey her parents.

Come pick a bouquet from these Flowers in a Dumpster. Eidolon Avenue: The First Feast by Jonathan Winn—where the secretly guilty go to die. All thrown into their own private hell as every cruel choice, every deadly mistake, every drop of spilled blood is remembered, resurrected and relived to feed the ancient evil that lives on Eidolon Avenue. Through a Mirror, Darkly by Kevin Lucia—Are there truths within the books we read? What if the book delves into the lives of the very town you live in? People you know? Or thought you knew. These are the questions a bookstore owner face when a mysterious book shows up.

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.

Then he noticed a little study table beside the shelf; a lamp and a book sat on top. The book on the table had been opened to its centre. And the way the chairs around the table had been set up gave Kevin a hunch that a group was here recently, reading. He glanced through the pages of the book on top and found the picture of a tortured girl. Her eyes were sworn open to keep them from closing—so that she could watch as her body was disembowelled. There was a text written just below it—it was a Latin translation. Another book on the shelf caught his eyes; its cover had the image of a man screaming while he watched his innards being pulled out through his stomach. Kevin threw his face away in d

At least with the trusty young librarian. “How about something scary?” I look at the mom before handing her the book we had already discussed while the child had been in class. “Is it too scary?” The girl pulls her hands back and turns to her mother. “Is just a little bit.” I place the book on the counter and wait for her to make the decision. “Or there’s a not scary one I think you’d like.” I watch amused as her forehead creases, she’s thinking hard and the smile as she takes the copy of Sam Wu is Not Afraid of Ghosts.

“Great. Just great. Meg loves shopping for odds and ends there, and maybe it’s evil. WONDERFUL.” “Well, perhaps not evil, just . . . ” I wave him off, massaging my aching temples with my other hand. “Yeah, yeah. I got it. Holy God, Gavin. Demons, evil houses and doctors, ghosts, redneck voodoo zombie witch doctors and monsters . . . what the hell else have we got in this town?” He tips his head at the book. “How about gods . . . ”

But then, why were all her belongings still here? She stepped toward the shelves and ran an index finger horizontally across the spine of each book, noting the authors. Stephen King. Paul Tremblay. Lauren Beukes. All horror, violence, and morbid. Certainly not what Jade preferred to read. The magazines held a different texture, they were smooth but thinner, and her fingertip snagged every crevice. She plucked a random one out and examined the cover. Vogue. Flipping through the magazine, she noted several of the corners were folded as a bookmark. She glanced over the articles on those pages: Interviews with influential people, food and drink reviews, and beauty products.

“Light or dark doesn’t matter. It’s just levels of nasty when we wash the laundry and take out the trash.” That was something odd to say in Ian’s estimation. He knew they’d be euphemisms, but for what he wasn’t sure. Looking at the now open book. There're scribbled notes covering the pages' empty spaces as they fought for room with the diagrams and symbols. The splotches must be ink or blood. The paper was yellowed, and the ink faded. Ian knew nothing about books. To him, it looked old and ready to fall apart. “But do we have what we need to kill them? Or can we kill them?”

Everything now seemed a trap, a sinister game orchestrated by unseen hands. With every heartbeat, she thought she heard ghostly footsteps approaching her walls. She clutched the blanket to her chest like a child clutching a comforting toy, but the terror was greater than any blanket, thicker than any wall. Her eyes leaped to the table, where the book still lay. Its dark cover glinted faintly under a sliver of moonlight, as if it were watching her, as if its earlier fall had been a message, not an accident.

The places Spencer stayed were seriously far away. I nodded, and we drove in silence for a few minutes before I decided to pull over to a deserted rest stop. "Let's take a break and look through these books, " I suggested, holding up the stack of dusty books we'd found in the school. Tia nodded, and we spent the next hour reading through the yellowed pages. A lot of them had to do with witchcraft, the anatomy and history of werewolves. My phone rang. I paused, exchanging looks with Tia.