Novel & Cerita Horror Airbnb Stories

Instead… He was warm. Safe, somehow. Which was weird, considering his new “roommate” was the literal definition of dead. Nathan moved to the counter, took the toast, and gave the air behind him a little nod of thanks. “Y’know… most ghosts slam doors. Throw knives. Ruin your sanity.” He bit into the toast. Perfect, again. “But you? You’re like… domestic horror-lite. Haunted Airbnb with complimentary breakfast.” The light above the sink flickered once.

Sarah replied resignedly, “why are you asking me with that panicked face? Is there something wrong that I should know about?" "No, just a recommendation, whatever you see, just keep quiet, some paranormal things are rumored in this city, which to tell the truth I don't know if they are true, but just be careful" When Sarah heard her landlady's words, she felt A deep chill ran through his body, but he preferred to think that everything that was rumored and said was nothing more than fantasy. At nightfall, his room gave a view of the huge mountain, a beautiful mansion, dimly lit was seen at the top of it, it looked more like an old castle that had been modernly modified.

Story Note: “Room for One More” is a standalone short from my erotic collectiona mix of intense, sensual, and sometimes forbidden stories that explore the raw edges of desire. Each story introduces new characters, new fantasies, and unapologetically explicit encounters. This particular tale features a taboo dynamic between step-siblings, told with heat, dominance, and no holding back. Reader discretion is advised. *************************************************

"Before you took me back, I grew up in this instance. The three bosses here are my family. So tell me—what's wrong with calling this my turf? And if someone orders me around in my own turf, shouldn't they get slapped?" Laughter immediately erupted around us. One veteran player even wiped tears from his eyes from laughing too hard. "Little Missy, did your dad hit you so hard you went stupid? You actually dare say the three bosses of Happy Home are your family?" Not a single person believed me. After all, the survival rate of this instance was terrifyingly low. The red-clad female ghost had once slaughtered an entire room of players in three seconds, then hung their corpses upside down from tr

everything just got worse. We were headed to the only place I found away from the city that was worthy of the great Theodore Linden-Hawthorne—a ridiculously expensive Airbnb in the middle of nowhere. Of course, he approved the booking. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any suitable hotels. Everything was fully booked, no doubt because it was still early January. The owner, a very kind short, and stocky woman, was waiting for us at the entrance. She showed us around the place, and I was grateful for how big the place was. The photos online didn't do it justice.

I said, looking at the young girls and their parents who were starting to panic. Taraji was already scrolling furiously on her phone. "Wait! I’m checking the local maps. There’s a short-let, like a vacation rental, literally two minutes away from here. It’s on the high ground behind the bakery." She turned the phone around to show us. It was a large, old-fashioned house that had been converted into several small apartments. "It says they have a 'Direct Booking' sign in the window," Taraji said. "It’s close enough that we can run there before the worst of the lightning starts. Why don’t we all stay there? It’s better than sleeping on these plastic chairs."

Too many ghosts. The porch creaked under my weight as I stepped closer. Light glowed faintly through the small window. Someone lives here now. I knocked. At first, nothing. Then, the door cracked open. A woman stood there. Dark hair with purple highlights. Oversized hoodie. I knew her. The lady from Airbnb. And now she was standing in my doorway. Her eyes flickered with recognition. “You.” “Me,” I breathed. She studied me for a moment before tilting her head. “What are you doing here?”

According to the stories, a wealthy industrialist had murdered his young wife here in 1897, and her spirit had never left. The master bedroom was enormous. A massive four-poster bed with tattered silk curtains stood against one wall. An ornate fireplace sat opposite, and tall windows overlooked the neglected garden below. Moonlight filtered through the cracked glass, casting eerie silver patterns across the dusty floor. Harper unrolled her sleeping bag on the bed, changed into a thin white tank top and soft black sleep shorts, then sat cross-legged in the center, sipping whiskey from the bottle. “Honestly, this is kind of boring,” she muttered to the empty room after twenty silent minutes. “

It feels like something under my chest are about to explode. The surroundings are so blurry and the next thing I knew is my back hit something before darkness subside my consciousness. ### Amira's POV I excitedly scan my newly bought book from the bookstore lately. It's all about paranormal stories. It was so thick as it consists of different paranormal stories. Since I get so tired of reading cliche romance stories, I have tried out reading horror again since I'm fond of it as well. As soon as I opened the first page, it excites me after reading first sentence.

I shrug. “People think the place contains psychic traces of ancient people and times. And there’s no end to the ghost stories. From a lady in a white hood who haunts Avebury Manor, to a rock that crosses the road at midnight. Sounds fun but it’s far from it.” I gaze into the kitchen corner then back at the camera. Bringing up ghosts makes me uneasy.