Horror Bedtime Stories Novels & Stories

“What could be so terrifying that it… killed them in their sleep?” Margaret shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. Anton didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tensed, his gaze darkening as if recalling something he’d rather forget. “They were all afraid of different things,” he finally murmured. “One of them said they kept seeing a woman with hollow eyes standing at the foot of their bed, whispering their name.” “Another swore they were being dragged under the floorboards every time they closed their eyes. Some said they felt hands around their throat, tightening, squeezing, until they couldn’t breathe,” he added.

Renee instantly recalled that rainy night, she was frightened by a dress on the balcony. It turned out that he remembered everything. She bathed early and went to bed. Outside, there was a gale, and the rain was beating against the windows, making strange noises. Even though the dormitory lights were on, she felt so alone and scared. She huddled in the bedsheets, and at this critical moment, a variety of ghost stories emerged in her mind. She was filled with fear. She couldn’t fall asleep that night and she was going to open her eyes till dawn.

Then, in a stage whisper: “I bet you won’t touch the haunted chair.” “What haunted chair?” came Max’s terrified voice. “The one in the corner,” Eddie answered dramatically. There was no haunted chair. It was a perfectly innocent armchair. But this is how sleepovers go from cute to creepy in record time. “Go to sleep,” I warned. “Sorry, Mom,” Eddie called. 9:45 p.m. Claire left, after swearing I owed her a margarita for the trauma she’d witnessed. 10:30 p.m. I heard hushed voices.

]* Bedtime. Not Alex’s room. Not ‘through.’ Our room. Big bed. Knight bed. Day 1 bed. Twins. Middle. Already asleep. Sand in hair. _HOME_ washed off. Still there. Alex. End of bed. Book. _Not_ shark. _Not_ court. _Not_ 11 seconds. _The House That Was Just Home._ Susan wrote it. Last night. 4 AM. “Therapy,” she said. Illustrated it. Stick figures. Us. Bear. No bad men.

My mind conjured a bestiary of horrors: rats with evil, gleaming eyes, scuttling spiders the size of tea saucers, multi-legged centipedes, leathery bats… The space under the bed was a dark, fathomless abyss. ‘Go on. Have a look,’ he encouraged, giving me a nudge in the small of my back.

In 1983 a Mrs Carson of New York was laid out in our coffin, presumed dead of hear disease. As mourners watched, she suddenly sat up, alive as you or I. Unfortunately her daughter dropped dead of fright on the spot. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon.

This morning, I'm still so worried. I didn't get much sleep! I kept having horrible nightmares. In some, I was being chased by a family of zombies through the manor house, in others, I was the Bathory's meal. This food thing is really getting to me. All the little details I've put together is making me reflect on the nature of my hosts. And on the darkness surrounding them. I see Sarah coming to meet me. She looks more rested than I am. It's not very surprising considering...

I whispered with a loving smile, "which story would you like tonight?" Mathew's face lit up with excitement, his tiny hands reaching for his favorite book. "The one about the brave little wolf, Mumma!" I chuckled as I opened the book, a captivating story about a young wolf's grand adventure. Mathew listened with rapt attention, his eager eyes fixed on the pages as I spun the tale of bravery and exploration. By the time I reached the part where the little wolf found solace under the silvery glow of the moon, my son was already fast asleep.

I don't even have his number! "Hello? Who's there?" I whispered. It was like a horror movie. The girl in the forest screaming and running for her dear life. Maybe it is Jordan. He is a douchebag but can he pull such a stunt just to scare me? One thing I learned from the horror movies I watch is never to scream and run so I backed away and tried to be in the shade because the moon was up and bright. I don't want to be spotted or watched by who may or may not be my predator.

“They say dusk is the witching hour—a supernatural time when demons and spirits hidden in the dark emerge. Some take human form, others possess people and walk among us. They might suddenly call your name, and if you answer… your soul gets devoured.” His deep, mellow voice, rich like liqueur-filled chocolate, drifted with the evening breeze, wrapping the tale in a mysterious, magical charm. Candice paused for three seconds, then gasped dramatically, “How scary~~~” “No need to be afraid, just a legend. I thought it was interesting, so I told it.” “It is interesting. But—does it only work if they call your name? What if, say, a kid calls out ‘Mom’? If the mom answers, does that count?”