Haunted Museum In Las Vegas Novels & Stories

Ironically, it sprang from the one horror game everyone else avoided. … To master my craft and do my job well as the horror game's makeup artist, I spent the week studying and trying out different ghost-ready makeup looks. When the summoning device blinked to life a week later, I grabbed my makeup case and stepped into the instance. Before me stood a row of brides. Alongside the Slit-Mouthed Woman were wraiths, ghouls, and vampires.

I couldn't wait for all this to be over. The date had gone well. We had kissed and she made me promise to come see her again. Things were finally as they used to be. “We're here,” Barlas announced, his feet shuffling to a stop. I felt the chill run down my spine. The Valley of the Dead. What the hell were we doing here? From this sunken ground, one could see the pack house perched atop what looked like a huge cliff. No wolf dared come here. Ever. It reeked of death and held the record of the most deaths in one place in all of Lupestone.

"Think about the Harvard Museum of Natural History. They have skeletons and animals stuffed to make them look real and alive. The same applies here. Think of this as a museum for the supernatural." He helped me stand. What I really wanted was to take a Brillo pad to my brain. As much as I wanted to run away, I wanted to move in for a closer look even more. Sort of like when you see a car accident on the road. You feel revolted and drawn to it at the same time. The room reminded me of a gallery, with so much to see I wasn't sure where to begin. Scanning the room, I went from one fairytale beast to another.

A part of me wanted to scream for help, but I wasn’t even sure where I was. There was nothing but a single bulb hoisted above my head. It was able to illuminate the people standing around me, all glaring down at me with hateful and murderous eyes. The rest of the world was engulfed by pure darkness as far as I can tell. When I tried to squint my eyes, I noticed that there were a few silhouettes. They were machines if I was not mistaken. That means I must be in some abandoned factory or something. And the only abandoned factory in Nuvia was the one down St. Anthony Road; it was solely abandoned because it was believed to be haunted for decades.

The thieves didn’t stand a chance. The museum erupted into chaos—shouts, gunfire, and the thud of bodies hitting the ground. My strength took over, every move deliberate and deadly. As we secured the last thief, the police moved in to take control. I allowed myself a brief glance at Williams. He looked just as powerful as ever, not aged by time, but he was clearly shocked to see me. He didn’t recognize me. Good. We exited the museum, heading towards our vehicle—an unmarked, heavily modified SUV we called “The Ghost.” As we made our way through the parking lot, a voice cut through the air, sharp and desperate.

I nodded and patted their shoulder as I walked ahead of them since they weren’t allowed to the next area beneath the security house of the pack. The lights around the space began to get less and flickering. The cemented pavement also changed from a rough to a smooth finish. The walls were filled with random stains of silver, wolfsbanes, greases, and blood. It was a haunted space as there some many deaths that happened here and another one will since my guards were having fun torturing the rogue we held captive. “Argh…please…stop…I…stop…”

That could put her children in danger. “About the project,” Ezra said, breaking the silence, “I found out they’re building a museum, right in the center of New York City.” John looked up sharply, disbelief flickering across his face. “A museum?” he repeated, as he exclaimed. Of all things, a museum. That’s what they chose to build. John thought as he didn't know why it doesn't make sense even though it does. "I don't think this is just a normal museum," “For a while now, Silvermoon Pack’s art pieces have been going missing,” Evelyn began. “And Diane... she chose to frame me for it. All because a Nightshade Pack ring was found in the thief’s hand. And the only person who owns one of those rin

"The Weeping Pines are near the Greenhouse ruins, aren't they?" That subtle shift in tone made Blythe's chest tighten. Vegas nodded. "Yes. And that's not all. The patrol captain claims he saw lantern light flickering from the ruins—though he found no one when he searched." Elder Rowan, eyes narrowed. "I've long said those ruins attract things best left forgotten. That greenhouse was your mother's sanctuary, was it not, Luna?" Blythe, perfectly composed: "It was. Until it fell to time." Vegas interjected, eyes briefly flicking toward her:

"And the way the security system was breached is very unusual. It's not a typical virus or trojan, but some kind of vulnerability we've never seen before. The perpetrator knows the museum's systems inside and out." Hogan's face was grave: "So what should I do next? Should I announce to the public that the dragon-pattern pendant has been stolen?" "No." Amelia raised an eyebrow. "If you say that now, you'll only make the public lose confidence and make the government suspicious of you." "I've already told Mr. Lupton to apologize to the crowd and say that today was just a drill. There's no need for anyone to worry about it." Hogan paused after hearing this: "Alright, we'll follow your instructi

Shantali Mae Cross had been working security at the Metropolitan Museum of Ancient Arts for eight months when her life fractured along lines she never saw coming. It was a Tuesday night in October, 2:47 AM according to the timestamp on her incident report—though she would never file that report. The emergency lighting in the Egyptian wing had been flickering for weeks, casting strange shadows that danced across the sarcophagus displays. As she rounded the corner near the Ptolemaic collection, she noticed what appeared to be smoke drifting from the direction of the cobra-headed canopic jars.