Haiku Stories Novels & Stories

~ END ~ Author’s Note: Next Story “The Poker Game”

Short terrifying stories that leave you insomnolent . . . definitely a must read to while away time and get sleepless with fear, hahaha. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy! While you're at it, you can check out my other profile @KinahFeels.

“I can just send the pictures directly to your DM.” I yanked his phone from him for the second time today. “Posted,” I said to him. “Naughty girl." he bopped my nose with his fingers. “Well, you can't do without this naughty girl.” I laughed. “I am very happy that we are back together as friends.” “I am happy too. Let us gist. I am bored." “Gossiper!” “It is not gossip. it is gisting. They are two different things.” I hissed. He laughed. God! He looks very handsome when he laughs. I took a moment to register how he looks when laughing in my mind.

He said my name like a prayer. "Please let me cum Taylor, fuck! I'm cumming" Silence followed. my chest rose and fell. Heart racing. Mind spinning. The building settled back into quiet. I stared at the ceiling, dazed. “I just… got off with my neighbor through a wall,” I whispered. "Fuck Taylor, I made a mess, my cum's everywhere but inside you"

She complained, but I could see the small smile tugging on her lips as she leaned closer to me, and I captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. “Then I'll make sure you can't walk on your feet tomorrow,” I muttered against her lips as I flipped her onto the bed and she giggled softly when I placed soft kisses all over her chest. “I heard you every time.” She suddenly whispered and I raised a brow in confusion. “Whenever you jerked off, moaning my name, I heard you. And I… it was so fucking sexy that I touched myself too, while thinking of you. I never told you because I didn't want you to think I was a hoe or a whore.” She explained and I shot her a knowing smile as I traced her bottom lip wi

We emerged clean but marked—hickeys on my neck, light bruises on my hips from Jake’s grip, a pleasant soreness between my legs that reminded me of everything we had done. Breakfast was surprisingly normal on the surface; coffee, pancakes, laughter—but the looks we exchanged were anything but. Every glance carried the memory of tongues, cocks, and shared orgasms. This was only the beginning. I had never felt more alive. 😊

Skye – POV When I was younger, I used to think stories came in straight lines. Beginning. Middle. End. A neat arc that made sense. But now I know they’re more like margins. Scribbled notes between paragraphs. Words written in secret, half in shadow. Sentences we didn’t mean to say, or couldn’t say until the ache made room for them. Rachel’s Place was full of stories like that. Notes in margins. Scraps of lives pinned to walls. People healing in the quiet between other people’s healing.

The apartment smelled like lavender diffuser and fresh coffee every morning, a small ritual they’d fallen into since moving in together six months ago. Mia was the neat one—always wiping counters, folding throw blankets, keeping the chaos at bay. Harper was the opposite: art supplies scattered across the coffee table, guitar leaning against the couch, half-finished sketches taped to the fridge. They balanced each other in ways neither had expected when they answered the same Craigslist ad.

He tells me he loves fucking me because I brought thrills to his nerves, and he loves the thrill. His wife is boring in bed, he told me. We both have the same experience, though. My husband is boring on bed too. 10:30 in the evening was the time he told me. I arrived thirty minutes early and stayed outside their gates. Then I saw Caleb walking out, I got out of my car and met him halfway with a wild kiss. He chuckled then kissed me back, taking no care if someone sees us here. Well, our videos were uploaded on p**n sites, so they probably knew about us.

Infinite possibilities to weave. I am Seraphina. I am the bridge. I am the story weaver. And I am still becoming. The days passed. I continued to weave new stories, each one different, each one unique. I wove tales of courage and hope, of loss and healing, of love and transformation. But I also began to weave stories that were simpler. Stories about the beauty of a single flower. Stories about the joy of a pup's first howl. Stories about the warmth of a shared meal.