Goth Gothic Novels & Stories

Not the clean, modern kind. A gothic monstrosity arcing out from a craggy cliff—stone slick with perpetual damp, gargoyles hunched along the rails, mouths open in silent howls. Far below, instead of a river, a neon‑flooded city sprawled, skyscrapers clawing at a sky that wasn’t sky at all. Mirrors.

yeah to hell with it, don't read this one OK, go read the others on F******k and forget about this one Gos

So after a two minute yelling match between them, we finally agreed to go to his place. Killian’s pack is probably what heaven looks like to Dracula. The buildings were ancient, and everywhere was so fucking dark for some reason. The decor looked like it had been there since the dawn of time. “Why do I keep forgetting your house is a goth girl’s wet dream.” Claude muttered under his breath as the man did all of his secret checks.

A shuffle followed from her end. “I’m sorry, you just said something I’m not aware of,” I shot back. “And I’m sure you understand why I’m asking.” Lena hesitated. “The Goth is the dreaded spirit of the Crimson Circle. It can possess you through your deepest desires. When you said Xavier was lost, I thought you meant that the Goth had possessed him.” “What, no!” “The Goth is the common unionizing spirit of the Crimson Circle members,” Lena continued. “For quite a few years, the Goth hasn’t found a suitable host to make it into the world. It’s why not too many people know about it.”

The Nightfang estate was a mausoleum of old money and older cruelty. It wasn't a home; it was a statement, a sprawling gothic monstrosity of black stone and sharp angles that clawed at the moonless sky. As our car crunched up the gravel drive, a deep, instinctual fear settled in my bones. This was a place where light went to die.

Not Hot Topic gothic with chains and an Ouija board or Nightmare before Christmas or even skulls hanging from the ceiling. No, I wanted gothic architecture. All black walls with carved pillars, steeple style windows with the round cutouts at the top. An entire wall that was bookshelves filled with books of every type. Dark wood dressers and old antiques that made the whole room look like it was plucked from a castle miles and miles away.

And‍ behind th‌e wall was the house. ‌ It⁠ looked like something​ fr​om a gothi‌c novel. All dark stone and sharp‌ towers and wind​ows th​at looked black​ even in the daylight. It looke​d like the‌ kind of place where bad things ha‍pp⁠ened and nobody ever⁠ fo⁠und out. My​ mothe​r s‌topped the car. ‍Neith‍e​r of us move‍d.

I’d never hung around to inspect the dead bodies of the vampires we’d killed before, though, so reading up on what to look for was a necessity. Torre’s house was huge. It was an imposing stone structure, and it made me think back to the Gothic architecture that had inspired so many scary stories in the Victorian era. The front driveway was a labyrinth of neatly sheared bushes and pristine white gravel, and, without warning, the thought of hot blood hissing and spitting and soaking into the ground shot into the forefront of my mind. I shook myself, and the gravel turned back from red to white.

I stopped dead in my tracks at the monstrosity before me. It like an ancient British estate, with a manicured lawn labyrinth-ed by forbidding trees. Through the tangle of forest, a huge Gothic mansion sprung from a horror novel. It looked like Bluebeard's castle, made of dark wood and stone. The windows wept open; gargoyles yawned on the eaves. The terrifying music came from within, and I could have sworn a skeleton with a flute flashed past a window.