Horror Folklore Novels & Stories

Looked like Loren had gotten carried away, Ria thought. "You know, of all the ghosts, the most dangerous are the ones that carry grudges and regrets…" Loren rambled on again. Ria started to think that Loren liked horror topics like this. "What do you mean?" Ria responded while reading through some of the articles she found earlier. “I have a story that my mother firsthand experienced. She once rented an old house that was haunted by a spirit full of regret and anger that almost brought her to an terrible accident…” Loren had already started preparing her story when Ria noticed that the clock already indicated that their next class was about to start.

Who was he, King Solomon of old? I didn’t doubt the Blotters, but I was getting to think that whatever was in the basement couldn’t be a demon. I mean, not a demon-demon, hooves, horns and a pretty condo waiting in hell. My money was on something down the food chain. Ghost hunters like to investigate places marked by tragedy, like old prisons and abandoned asylums, where negative emotions had left an indelible residual imprint on the buildings themselves. That kind of energy is bound to attract paranormal creepy crawlers like maggots to rotting flesh.

I said, masking my concern. “It’s as good of place to start as any, I guess.” Cas nodded. “I can help, too.” Kali said, quietly. The tension in the air was vibrating at what we’d just discussed as we all glanced at one another. Over the next few days, we dove into the books and the mythology of any and all monster lore we could find. We read about everything from banshees to wendigos, but nothing really seemed to fit just right. The blood drinking was throwing us off. Whatever it was, it was elusive, deadly, and rare.

Some don’t. There are a lot of specifications that come with it. Roman would be the man to ask about the particulars. Defense is his job, while keeping shit together is mine. Carpathia has always been well known for a wealth of superstition. Modern day or not, the folklore and rather untouched wilderness of the black mountain remains at the very least superstitious. Unlike a lot of other countries humans here are very aware of our existence. Whether they fully accept or admit to the fact that Vampires, Werewolves, and Witches walk among them or not, every single one of them knows that we’re the only ones who are going to save their assess when weird shit goes down.

The second one made more sense but it was also the one that I had the most doubt in being the truth because of the duration and everything happening and what I was hearing that I didn't know before. I had given up on finding anything in the local libraries or even on the internet because everything that came up in searches was folklore and creepy stories of people who swear they have seen the undead and everything else parents use to scare us, children, into behaving ourselves. Some of the sites I had ended up on had seriously scared me a lot more than the three men who had turned into vicious beasts and nibbled on a moving car's tyres.

Lovers in secret. But as they read on, darker things begin to surface. The couple repeatedly references something they call The Hollow One. Local legend says, If you linger in the valley after dark, do not answer the voice that sounds like your own. The oldest tales warn of a hunger that waits beneath the stones, formless and patient, thin as a shadow but deeper than the graves. No one says its real name twice. The name appears often. Always accompanied by warnings. Fear. Urgency. One entry reads:

I remember my mother's words to me before she passed at the shores. A darklord exists, who reigns terror in the earth with his army of the dead. Back then, it was a myth. It was a story to keep her cub's mind active. She enjoyed horror stories under a full moon and using the moon's reflection to create images with the shadows of her clawed hands.

“Yes. That book holds knowledge of shadow-born entities, of spirits that can possess the living. If something has taken Varek, its name, its purpose, and its weakness may be within those pages.” Marek’s face paled. He shook his head, disbelief sharpening into anger. “You would dare open that accursed place again? You know what lies in the Hollow. I’ve seen it, Eloria. I’ve walked beneath its canopy of bones, felt the trees breathe against my skin. The ground itself shifts like it’s alive. Skeletons hang from branches like trophies, their jaws stretched in silent screams. The forest doesn’t welcome intruders — it consumes them. And you would drag us back there?”

Those books were older than any of the others in his office. The bottom shelf (the one he’d been searching when he’d first heard the cats playing in the hall) held his collection of horror anthologies. The famed Whispers series, edited by Stuart David Schiff, featuring the varied works of Ramsey Campbell, Stephen King, Charles Grant and so many others. The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror from England. The Shivers series, published by Cemetery Dance. Masques, Borderlands, Shadows, Stalkers, Dark Forces, October Dreams I & II, Corpse Blossoms, Horror Library Volumes 1-5, and Prime Evil. Classic horror anthologies jammed next to paperback collections of slightly lesser repute with titles to mat

“Given the events of the past week, do you really think it’s a good idea to open your drive-in with a horror show?” Skoger smiled slightly and turned to look at the trees that surrounded the back of the house. Yellow ironwood leaves fluttered and whispered in the wind and he nodded as if he were agreeing with them. “You know, my aunt always said the people in this country had a passion for fear. I believe that is still true. Fear is the first and most pure of man’s experiences. It nourishes us in a way. We come to crave it.