Halloween Horror Book Novels & Stories

I marched straight to the house where the Swans were staying and pounded on the door. They opened the door, annoyance written all over their faces. "Spit it out!" "Where's my handbook?" I questioned. "What does that have to do with us?" Afro and the others lived just next door, and they watched us with interest. It wasn't hard to guess that they had already joined forces. They wanted to see whether losing the handbook would be the trigger that would cause any monsters to appear and devour me. That way, they could figure out how to complete the final objective of defeating the final boss.

I just wanted to borrow one book, and first thing tomorrow morning, I’d return it to where it belonged. I turned the doorknob and pushed it open slowly, stepping into his spacious, pitch-black room. Without needing to turn on the main light, I already knew exactly where his bookshelf was. So, I chose to leave the room in darkness, letting only a faint glow from the hallway seep in through the crack in the door. I walked toward the shelf, assuming the horror book was in its usual spot. But it was empty. Since I couldn’t see in the dark, I finally decided to turn around and head toward the light switch.

There was a table. Books stacked on it. Not like the ones I used to see at home. These looked older. Some of them had markings on the covers I didn’t understand. I walked closer. My fingers hovered over one of them before I touched it. The cover felt rough. Worn. I opened it slowly. The pages were filled with symbols. Not letters. Not words I knew. Shapes. Lines. Things that looked like drawings but weren’t. I frowned. “What is this…?” I flipped a page.

But before my fingers could even touch the metal, the door swung open on its own, slow and silent. It was pitch black inside. I couldn't see a thing. An icy chill spilled from the doorway. It carried the stench of old graves and rot. I stepped into the room, fumbling along the wall for a light switch. Suddenly, a little girl's shrill scream tore through the room. "Aaaaaah—!" A small, soaking wet figure with long, tangled hair lunged at me from the darkness! Her eyes were a dead, lifeless white. Her mouth was stretched wide in a horrifying shriek.

I had no choice, so I dug through every gift Zoe had ever given me, but I found nothing. Just when I was about to give up, I shook a pillow, and a tiny paper figure floated out. Its face was drawn to resemble Lucas, and his birth details were written on the back! The fortune teller exclaimed, “That’s it! The lock and the paper figure work together, and since you've touched the lock, the effect on you is stronger. Luckily, you found it early.” I broke out in a cold sweat. That same day, I slipped the paper figure under Miles’ pillow and instructed my parents to watch him while he slept.

Anxious as they were, they tried their best to maintain their composure just to leave a good impression on my foster siblings. Raymond and Donald exchanged a glance and sneered with disdain. In their minds, I was just an orphan. Where would I suddenly get parents from? Raymond waved his hand in disgust to chase them away. "Get lost, you scammers. Can't even give it a rest on Halloween! Don't delay us. “We are going out to buy our sister a gift and celebrating the holiday!" Just as they were about to slam the door, a large hand grabbed the door panel, holding it open with an astonishing amount of force.

The red-clad female ghost had once slaughtered an entire room of players in three seconds, then hung their corpses upside down from tree branches with red silk, creating a forest of dangling bodies. The Scissorhands monster had skewered more than a dozen people together, stirring their organs with his blades until they dissolved into a pile of flesh. As for the warden, he locked each team inside separate rooms and released over a dozen ghosts among them, forcing them to betray one another in desperate attempts to survive. In the end, every single one of the players was torn to pieces. All the players knew was that the bosses' methods were monstrously cruel. What they didn't know was that tho

Not just words spilling out this time. Scenes. Creatures. Hazards. One thick volume labeled CASTLE HAZARDS struck a stone, flipped open, and vomited a swarm of translucent, wailing shapes—castle ghosts, their eyes hollow, fingers like icicles. They shrieked and arrowed toward us in a ragged storm. Another book, NEON DRONE PATTERNS, burst against a fallen shelf. Drones extruded from the pages like wasps from a nest, metal bodies shining, eyes already lighting up with target locks.

It simply disintegrated, then reappeared back in the car. “Sick bastard,” I spat. He'd been stalking me. I tore a slim black book from the rat pile. Book of Psychopomps was etched on it in gold ink. Numbers, emails, and old-fashioned addresses accompanied names, written in no apparent order. I rifled through the pages: “Old farts: ODIN, MORRIGAN, YAMA, HERMES....” and “New pests: ANAESTHESIA, AIDS, SANTA MUERTE...” A red ribbon marked a page at the back. “Accessories: SHANNON PARKER.”