Good Psychological Horror Books Novels & Stories

The dragon yawned like it was bored, then slithered back into the pitch-black room like it was clocking out for the night. It happened so fast, nobody even blinked. Aside from the two mages who'd seen it before, everyone's fear rating shot up past 50. One old guy hit 100 just stepping onto the tenth floor. Dropped dead from sheer terror. The rest of the deaths were all over the place. But none of it touched me. To me, this place felt like paradise. I'd always been the outcast—thanks to my busted perception. Wolves avoided me, called me a freak, even chucked rocks.

His wrinkled face looked like it was crawling with countless wriggling worms. I shuddered and stepped back, whispering to Silvia, "Good thing I've got you. This place is terrifying." She snorted and suddenly shoved me forward, straight toward George. With an icy laugh, she said, "This pretty boy will make a great offering. You're going to love him." Before I could react, George gestured, and several eerie puppets stepped forward to pin me down and drain my blood. A sharp bell rang out, echoing through the night.

Willa sprinted into the elevator, her eyes widening with fear and her fingers clutching her bag firmly for support. As a horror writer, one would think she was accustomed to such surroundings and may have even enjoyed them, but that was far from the truth. Willa hated everything about ghosts and haunted houses, and even the sight of too much blood drove her insane. The horror genre felt like a gift; she was so good at it and had written over thirty bestselling novels, but in reality, her fears had been portrayed in every character she created. As the elevator dinged, she sighed in relief and rushed out. She quickly searched her bag for her key, but as her hand touched the doorknob, the door

I'm much too clever a girl for all of that. "Of course, mom. No signed books. Noted." I blow the dust off several bookshelves. The dust burns my eyes and makes me cough. Why do we have so many novels? I find my parent's old love letters gross. I see a book on psychology and look through all the pages. The human brain is a complex maze that requires studying and discipline to unlock its depths. And that's when I see it, 'Chapter 17: The Psychology of Suicide.' The note in my pool bag haunts me—the ghost letters 'J. D' make me gasp for air. Is it a cry for help, and if so, am I too late? If J.D is dead, is it my fault for not hunting everywhere for them?

Hello to my readers. First of all I want to say thank you to y'all that would be reading my book and I want to assure you that, you won't get bored while reading the story! Secondly, its a book about Eight College Students that went on a vacation and ended up having illnesses. This book contains mental illnesses that are psychological and beings such as ghosts. Thirdly, be rest assured, its my original work, anything in it that relates to human beings or to real life is nothing but a coincidence and please no plagiarizing.

Dad put it for extra security. I stomped my feet and walked towards the bookshelves. "Ugly, witch, old, fatass!" I mumbled under my breath while looking for books that I need. "I CAN HEAR YOU, BITCH! DON'T TEST ME!" she said from the intercom. My eyes widened in disbelief because of that. She held me captured! That clever witch! I roamed my eyes, looking for a specific book. I smiled triumphantly and grabbed it. Let's see what it can do. Dark Psychology and Manipulation...

“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.”

As he made his way across the room, he glanced at the bookshelves he passed but saw no books here that were turned upside down. Upstairs, he placed the book on an entry table in the hallway then paused, ears alert for any sounds like he’d heard this morning. Despite his love of horror, or perhaps because of it, Brad had never been easily unnerved. Scary movies, haunted trails and spook houses, most had little effect on him, and as for real life, he reserved his fear for things like disease, natural disasters, catastrophic accidents. It took more than an empty house to give him the creeps. Usually.

His turquoise orbs shone with cruel fun. He resembled a hauntingly beautiful yet mysterious artwork. I grasped the end of my blanket tightly, hoping that it would provide me some sort of warmth or a sense of security. But nothing could make me feel safe now. My insides seemed to be burned and engulfed by a wicked wildfire as I started panicking. I was in the same room with a ruthless man, who was rumored to having left his humanity at the pit of hell and he broke in. My first instinct was to scream, but I couldn't. Nothing came out of me, I felt myself being paralyzed, just like those nightmares.

Curiously I opened the book; the first page I saw, it had handwritten writing which looked very old and the pages were almost yellowish, it said “The sun will turn into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and dreadful day of the Lord’s arrival. He will come and claim what is his and the children of the night will bow down to it". I turned the page to read more but the book started to disappear from my hand. My vision went black and I posted back into my room with a pang of pain in my head I placed my hand on my head and my eyes opened wide. What does that mean? I thought. I opened the notes from my phone and type exactly what I read in the book. Children of night what does th