Gothic Writing Novels & Stories

I must have slept again because when consciousness pulled me back the highways had become something narrower, something older, flanked by trees that bent toward each other overhead in an arch that felt less like road and more like passage, less like driving through a place and more like being admitted to one. And then I saw it. Brocandale Manor tore through the darkness the way something genuinely large tears through darkness, not gradually but all at once, present suddenly where there had been nothing, its gothic silhouette against the sky enormous and unapologetic. Gables that reached upward with the specific ambition of Victorian architecture that understood height as power. Stone walls c

It turned the sprawl of Oakhaven into a blurred watercolor”a landscape of dissolving gold streetlights and bleeding crimson neon, all washed away by a deluge that felt less like weather and more like a celestial cleansing. Inside the sanctuary of the study, the world narrowed down to the crackle of the massive gothic hearth. The fire was a living, breathing entity, throwing long, spasmodic shadows that danced across the mahogany shelves, illuminating the spines of ancient tomes that held the secrets of a dying civilization.

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.

In some cultures the dead were buried facedown to prevent them from finding their way out of their graves. The modern incarnation of vampire myth seems to have stemmed largely from Gothic European literature of the 18th and 19th centuries, about the time vampire hysteria was peaking in Europe. Vampiric figures appeared in 18th-century poetry, such as Heinrich August Ossenfelder’s “Der Vampyr” (1748), about a seemingly vampiric narrator who seduces an innocent maiden. Vampire poems began appearing in English about the turn of the 19th century, such as John Stagg’s “The Vampyre” (1810) and Lord Byron’s The Giaour (1813). The first prose vampire story published in English is believed to be John

Midnight in the modern metropolis carried with it a chill that no streetlamp or neon glow could dispel. Beyond the polished sidewalks and glass towers, hidden beneath layers of ancient stone, stood a sprawling Gothic palace: its spires carved with gargoyles that scowled into the darkness, its walls veined with moss and lit only by flickering torchlight. Inside this secret stronghold—the council hall of the vampire clans—the air was heavy with incense smoke and the slow, persistent drip of water from unseen fountains. Crimson draperies, brocaded with silver thread in patterns older than any human chronicle, framed tall, narrow windows that stared out like watchful eyes onto the sleeping city.

Would it change the fact that they both fucked up bye the will of destiny? The world of Gothic is not that easy, many secrets are ready to be untold. Be ready. Be brave. The secrets of Gothic, what would it be? Are they ready to discover and get this out of the shed? So many untold questions to be reveal. What really happened, to the forgotten era? *** ©Skies Ambrielle

I sat down, crossing my legs slowly so my short skirt rode up my thighs. At exactly 3:00, Professor Black strode in sipping coffee in a mug that says “Gothic Literature destroys life”.His eyes found me immediately and darkened with raw interest. “Welcome to Advanced Gothic Literature,” he began, his rich, commanding voice filling the room. “Today we discuss obsession. What it costs… what it takes from you… and what it builds in its place.” His gaze returned to me as he slowly asked the question. “Miss Vale,” he said suddenly, eyes locking onto mine. “You’re new so tell the class: what would you destroy to get what you truly want?”