Haunting Eyes Novels & Stories

She managed to say as she stared down as usual. Surprisingly, even at what she'd seen just the night before, she was still unfazed on staring down the edge. What if she'd see such wild creature again? Or was she just hallucinating as she'd thought? But, either of both theories, she was strangely still eager to catch a glimpse of it again. She remembered the red and hazel eyes she's seen and it was then she realized that the hazel ones belonged to Reid while those hellish red ones obviously belonged to 'it'.

Hayley finally saw the landscape beyond the road. Across the open grassland, pairs of pale, gray-white eyes lit up, one after another. Dozens. Then hundreds. Eyes appeared from every direction, all of them locked onto the convoy, closing in. The eyes were filled with excitement, hunger, and greed. At the same time, countless gray points lit up at the edge of her perception. A massive horde of zombies was crawling out from every direction like ants returning to their nest. It looked like a whole parade of the dead.

"Sir Mark, since you are so good to me, I would like to tell you her secret. If one day you will finally meet Calla, and you see that she's not your type, do not look directly at her eyes." "Her eyes?" I repeated, wondering what sense there was in avoiding her eyes. "Yes," Cynthia looked straight at me, collecting my full attention. "She can win any man she fantasizes through her eyes." "What do you mean?" I asked, not realizing both my hands were gripping the edge of the table as I glued my eyes on her. To my frustration, she smiled and shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. This is not the right time to tell you about it."

Her words immediately captured our attention. We all stared at Emma, who took a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing, "That day, Anastasia was washing her face in the dorm. I saw her reflection in the mirror, looking down at her. Her reflection stared back at me from the mirror. When she finished washing her face and looked up, her reflection returned to normal. Anastasia smiled at me, and so did her reflection in the mirror. I was so scared that I was sweating all over." "Are you saying something's wrong with my reflection?" I asked.

The irony makes me wanna scream. “There we go,” I breathe out. “Nice and easy, babe.” Don’t look. Don’t you fucking look. Too late. My eyes flicker for half a second—and yup. There it is. The outline. The thing. Floating like a cursed sea monster beneath the bubbles. Fuck me sideways. My pupils are cursed. “I saw it,” I whisper to no one, maybe to God. “My eyes are fucking cursed.” “Hmm?” Dante’s voice is a low rumble, amused. “You always make that face when you bathe me, wife?”

I shut the window immediately, locked it and ran to the bathroom and locked it too. Luckily, there was no window in there so I felt a bit safer. But the terror I felt when I looked at the creature wasn't because of its size or the fact that it could be a rogue or what it could possibly be doing outside this little cottage at this time of night. No, what scared me was it's eyes. Those same eyes that haunt me in my dreams, those eyes that have been scaring me for the past 17 years of my life. Gray-blue eyes filled with hatred and anger. I leaned my head against the toilet and I don't know how I managed it, but I fell asleep. I fell into a deep troubled sleep ...

All I knew was that a much bigger problem had appeared: a player who clearly had no intention of letting the ragdoll or me walk away. - 'Are you a player?' He was tall and broad, built like a tank, with eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. My hair was braided now, and aside from being a little pale, I didn’t look much different from a player. But his mouth curved into a strange, knowing smile. 'You have beautiful eyes.' Players had black eyes. Only monsters had gray ones. He had already figured me out. 'I never thought an SSS dungeon would have such a pretty ghost. I wonder what you feel like under me.'

The kind that says I see you and I am glad and this is everything and I will not make it weird. When she pulls back her eyes are doing something. "Do not," I say. "I am not doing anything," she says. "Your eyes are doing something," I say. "They are fine," she says, blinking rapidly. "Completely fine. Dust." "Hackney dust." "Notorious for it," she says.

The nightmares are eating me alive as the days passed and I need an end to all of this. The most troubling thing is the enigmatic golden eyes of Ralph that’s haunting my dreams even on broad day light. I know I had a soft spot for him in my heart when I was like three but how can his eyes effect me now? It’s like he’s pulling me towards him, forcing me to believe that he’s with me all the time. How can I feel his presence around me when he’s not alive? Or did he become a ghost? Ridiculous! The nightmares are enough to put me on edge but his eyes are taking my soul out of my body. “Living in hell”

Trigger warning: emotional abuse, imagery of torture and child abuse. Aralyn’s POV My nightmare was playing out in front of my eyes. Is this for real? Shivers and raw dread broke out through every pore of my body. This time, however, Larissa and Malleteagan weren’t fighting against each other. My life appears as a ball of strings that were so bloody tangled. And now the puppeteer is pulling strings on these catatonic creatures. I am still trying to wrap my head around the idea that my father wants me dead, and now…my mother, the only person who cared for me, appears to also be hellbent on killing me. But then I saw it. They all looked controlled and as if they departed from their own accord.