Romans & histoires Good Horror Books To Read

“No doubt.” “What about those two small FedEx boxes?” “Most recent novels from Samhain Horror.” “Awesome. Those books I bought at the Webb County Library sale last week?” “Sorted into general and mystery fiction. Struck the mother lode with all those Mary Higgins Clark novels.” “We cater to all tastes, miss. Unless you like Twilight, 50 Shades of Gray or James Patterson. Folks want drivel, they can drive to Utica.” “Hey. I actually liked Twilight. It wasn’t all bad.”

I stopped at the library door and smiled to myself. ‘Books are better than people. Books don’t hate on you for something you didn’t do.’ I pushed the door open and breathed in the wonderful smell of books. ‘Paradise.’ I strolled to the shelves and scanned through the books, reading their names off their spines. ‘It seems Dante wasn’t joking when he said half of his library was filled horrors.’ A book caught my eye, and I pulled it from the others. “Bone and Souls by B. Brian.” I read the name aloud and skimmed through the description behind it. “This seems interesting.”

This should be for one of the young ladies in this apartment who walk out elegantly in the morning looking like people who don't live in this old apartment. I can't dispose of the flower so I open the door and enter with it. I drop it on the table before walking slowly to my cane chair to sit, watching the view out of the window to soothe my frustration before I begin to read the new books I got. I got ten books and for once in my life, I want to give horror a try. I hope I won't end up screaming till my baby pops out of me unexpectedly. I chuckle to myself as I slouch into the chair.

His presence was tense, as if he was waiting for something to move in the shadows. “Black magic,” he murmured, reaching for a book with gold-edged pages. The cover had a strange sigil, one that pulsed faintly under the dim lighting. I frowned. “This place… it doesn’t feel right.” It wasn’t just the books. There were jars placed on a nearby table—each containing murky liquids and unidentifiable objects floating within. Some looked like dried-up hearts, others like small, shriveled hands. I swallowed hard. Hades exhaled sharply. “It’s worse than I expected.”

I read the titles out loud. “The Devil in Silver by Victor LaValle. The October Country by Ray Bradbury. Broken Monsters by Lauren Beukes. Last Days by Brian Evenson.” I curl up my lip in disgust. “This is your reading style?” I frown. He glances up. “I like horror.” I widen my eyes. “Boring.” His jaw ticks in annoyance. “What do you like to read?” I purposely bend over, revealing my naked ass. “I like raunch.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Do you like to read? I blog about books, specifically horror and thriller books.” “Like Stephen King?” She nodded. “Stephen King, Dean Koontz, David W. Wright, Sean Platt, and, ah, Dan Wells.” He nodded slowly as she listed her favorite authors. “What about A. A. Abernathy?” Fuck! “You read Abernathy?” “Yeah, I just picked up the latest one. It’s pretty good so far.”

“No, you didn’t. I remember, and I appreciate that. But… you must know that with the lights on, even this small lamp, you’ll be able to see how hideous I truly am.” She’s shaking her head as if she can’t believe it, so I feel compelled to describe myself. “Have you ever read those children’s books, meant to horrify young people not to go into the woods at night, that talk about werewolves?” “Yes.” She sits up straight in her chair, leaning in.

She raised her hand and with her index finger she brushed the books, reading their titles. There were some that said "satanic pacts" others like "the call of the devil" "the forest and its hidden side" "small town legends" "werewolves and the full moon" and the last one said "Wisconsin Cases". Camila took out that last one, the book was big, it had a red cover with the image of the town itself. But that image was in black and white, as if it was taken years ago.

Their explanation of tantra was truthful, if a little oversimplified. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples. I need coffee, and by now the kids might have something for me, so I head back down to Chinatown, taking a detour into The Magickal Childe bookshop on West 33rd on the way. Of the stack of books I’ve spent my morning with at the library, the one title I’m fascinated by is the infamous Tibetan Book of the Dead, and now I wanta copy I can mark up. The shop is a cramped little hole in the wall that reeks of voodoo oils and herbs. Ceremonial swords and shelves of dusty glass jars cover the walls. A leather-bound copy of the Necronomicon takes pride of place in the display window and a

Shrewsbury The Third Twin: A Dark Psychological Thriller by Darren Speegle Aletheia: A Supernatural Thriller by J.S. Breukelaar Where the Dead Go to Die by Mark Allan Gunnells and Aaron Dries Sarah Killian: Serial Killer (For Hire!) by Mark Sheldon The Final Cut by Jasper Bark Blackwater Val by William Gorman Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy by Mercedes M. Yardley Nameless: The Darkness Comes by Mercedes M. Yardley