Horror Anthology Novels & Stories

My heart is furiously beating as I type the word nonhuman. Many articles pop up so I just click on the first one. There are so many definitions. Sirens,witches, vampires , demons and yes, Angels are there too. Apparently the term is used to describe people who are not exactly humans, people with unusual gifts or powers. The following article says nonhumans are just a myth and that no such thing exists. One says they were real during the eighteenth century but we're destroyed and are now extinct. I keep on reading and even click on the images. The images are a bit scary and definitely not human. The thought that I could be one of those things is more than scary.

I was too curious to remember that I was supposed to be unconscious. As soon as we made it to the ring, we saw the many, many fans all looking shocked, horrified, excited, and downright terrified. Soon I found out why as well. Haydon was standing over a dead Troll. His long-elongated claws and fangs were covered in thick blood. His eyes were bright red instead of hazel. He had this rabid look. I could hardly even recognise him. Honestly, he looked like one of those vampire-monsters that you would see in those horror movies...only Haydon looked even more attractive in this state... That was not the point though.

In dedication to Born By Power is a series of poem fixed within chapters of the book. The first was relating to Chaos And Apocalypse, which pretty much revealed a lot about the uprise of hell. This is the second and is themed on the horrific nature of Halloween and written with relativeness to hell. What does this hold to unviel? Who knows. Screams of Halloween Halloween, Halloween, Soft screams of blood chime, The period of dark, The day of ghouls, demons and imps,

His first novel Brotherhood of the Dragon contained another Amun adventure, while 2020 sees the release of his WW1 trench murder mystery, Golgotha. Brandon Ebinger: Brandon Ebinger is a horror/dark fantasy author who lives in upstate New York with his fiancé and two cats. He holds a BA in creative writing. He enjoys horror films,Gothic rock and punk music and video games. He is a huge fan of haunted attractions, and spends October as a haunt actor. Brandon has written four horror/dark fantasy novels, Ash, Hollow Hills, The Afflicted and Rose. He has also published a handful of short stories within the genre. He has recently finished his most recent novel Broken Night and is at work on a new

When I stepped into the hall, Jason caught my arm. “Aria....” “I’m going to the library,” I said. “There’s a book. In the restricted wing. On Binding Hungry Spirits.” He stared at me. “You can barely walk.” “I can remember,” I said. “And that’s enough.” The library was empty. I found the book hidden behind a false panel, its pages brittle, ink faded to rust. It spoke of the Hollow Revenant: born from the first soul denied burial, bound by blood-oaths, sustained by external animus.

The Rennar symbol. She snatched the key. The metal was cold. Without a backward glance, she fled. The Rennar library was a tomb of forgotten truths. She went straight to a section blocked by a frayed red rope. The Forbidden Collection. She found it: Instinct and Transformation: Observations on the Lycanthrope. She carried the heavy tome to a table, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The pages crackled with age. She skimmed past charts of moon cycles and dietary notes until her eyes found a heading that stopped her breath.

I was glad I won’t stand out too much. We arrive at Xander’s house after a few minutes. His house was more of a dark side kind of house. It was gothic and gave you the creeps. Old cold men stood as statues lining up the way to the front door. Music thumped inside the house. It felt like a high school monster party. Okay maybe I watch too much Ant farm and paranormal movies. This would be a good beginning for a horror story where Zombies come attacking. No, zombies don’t have brains to plot this. Better yet, Vampires.

I turned the light back on. The scream that tore from my lungs wasn't human. The attic was packed. Hundreds of them. Not just my collection, but things that had crawled out from the eaves, from the crawlspaces, all wearing the faces of dolls I had never seen. They were all staring at the light, their pupils shrinking in unison, a sea of black dots vanishing into porcelain voids. They didn't retreat this time. They flinched, but they kept coming. "Don't look," a voice whispered from directly behind my ear. It sounded like Lady Genevieve. "It hurts to look."

I could feel something staring at me from the darkness behind my back. “He’s here…” I forced myself to stay calm long enough to ask, “Who?” “The boss. The most terrifying existence in the horror game.” I nearly forgot how to breathe. My head turned, mechanically, like rusted machinery grinding into motion. In the distance stood a man dressed in black robes. Half of his face was hidden beneath a bronze mask as he silently watched us. Every step he took caused the mandrake flowers embroidered on the curtains to glow brighter. By the time he got to the center of the stage, black-red liquid began dripping from the flowers, releasing a thick metallic stench into the air. With a raise of his hand,

Slowly… slowly… Until it stood right above her head. Anusha froze with fear. She turned her head slightly— There was no one in the room. But on the wall… the shadow stood. And then— The shadow’s head moved close to her ear and whispered— “I have come…” Her eyes widened. The next second, the lamp went out. The room plunged into darkness. And someone grabbed her shoulder— Cold… icy… not human at all. Anusha screamed and fainted. When she woke up in the morning, the guest house was normal.