Horror Halloween Stories Novels & Stories

Epilogue: Now that I have written several of these stories, I find that my old ghosts have started to haunt my dreams yet again. It is amazing that once things are written down, they begin to take on a life of their own. Just remember, if you don’t want things to go bump in the night, don’t tell anyone else about them.

A murmur spread through the hall — someone laughed, someone asked, “What do you mean, sir?” Raghavan replied, “We will tell stories. One by one. Stories of fear. But remember — every story must carry the scent of truth. Because fear… does not live in lies.” A cold shiver ran through the room. Some students protested, but the professor only smiled and said, “If you don’t believe me, let’s begin with my story.” And slowly, he sat down. The candlelight flickered across his face — and he began to speak.

"And you have pissed me off." He believes me. Suddenly he believes every horror story he has been told since he was a little boy. That they were all true: the dead things hungering for the warm living flesh; the bony hand coming out of the closet in the black of night; the monsters from another page of reality, the unturned page--who could look so human, so cute. He reaches for his gun. Too slowly, much too.

We also agree to make it quick and clean, with as small a death count as possible—which we would generally try to do on a Zoo Project anyway, but we will have to be extra-economical under the current circumstances. To assist with our need for speed, we assign several Halloween-themed homework assignments over the next few weeks, with the intention of getting a better look into the mind of Derek Johnson. One of these—a creative writing assignment to write a horror story—proves to be just the jackpot we were looking for.

She found it funny to tell me horror stories before bed. I remembered once returning the favor. I told her about Terry the ghost, a boy who’d died in an accident on the street across from our house. Terry’s ghost wandered our neighbor’s house where his family had once lived. Mom hadn’t slept alone for weeks after that, and she never told me another horror story. My mom was like me in some ways—she was terrified of the paranormal, or anything religious. That’s why her engagement to Bill had been such a shock. But even Mom had gotten braver, so why couldn’t I?

** My hands were firm on the steering wheel as Mikael and I journeyed through the darkened road. It had been one hour of us in the car, the city turning into country and the road transitioning into dirt and moist earth beneath my car's wheels. We kept conversation minimal the first hour because we were both nervous. Mikael, however, was more anxious than I was. He had never been to the Bayou of the Shunned, but like everyone else, had heard tales about the cursed swamp and the witch that ruled over it as its Supreme Sorceress. Sajida was the bedtime story mambos and houngans told their kids about to keep them in line; in the black community, Sajida was "that" woman that the children of voodo

"What were your parents thinking when they bought the house you're living in. I swear it's haunted, at least that's what the rumors say. You should see how creepy the place looks on Halloween night. It's fucked up." I laughed, the fear in her tone shining through, "My father loves projects for one and as for Halloween, you haven't seen scary. My dad goes all out." It was a holiday that technically celebrated him so of course, he did. Making sure everything was as scary as it seemed. I had read that Dark angels were strongest at midnight, the start of Halloween. My father confirmed it, considering how stupid mortals are, wanting to conjure up demons and whatnot. The amount of fear that loomed

The air in the library was thick with the scent of old books and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Sadile Marconi, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders like a river of flames, sat at a secluded table, her green eyes darting between the pages of her textbook and the clock on the wall. The numbers seemed to mock her, ticking away the minutes until her next class, a class she was dangerously close to failing.

Death awaits you, your darkest pleasures hitchhiked on the highway. On a rainy night at the police station between highways, reservations, between the mountains, following a highway, amidst the crimes of the dawn, among the nights of stars, among the crimes, the policemen death asked for a ride; Being that it's a collection of vampire/werewolf stories, investigation. Several horror tales, among several characters that pass through the city of Lovecraft County. So, follow the supernatural world, between changes, attacks of beasts and supernatural worlds, lives of terror and nightmares.

When I stopped, I was breathless. "I think I'm broken," I whispered. "No," he finally said. "You're not broken. You're human. But you are... dangerous." "Dangerous?" "To him. To anyone lucky enough to haunt your dreams." The booth felt too small. Too warm. My fingers curled around the edge of the seat. He leaned closer. Shadows moved behind the screen. "Would you come back next week?" "Why?" "Because I want to hear more. I want to know what happens next."