Horror Poetry Novels & Stories

The foliage has begun reclaiming sidewalks and parking lots, even poking through the street’s asphalt. But not here. Nothing grows here. “I grew up reading a lot of classic horror, Stephen King, H. P. Lovecraft, especially,” Father Ward says. “Dad did, too. He was a different sort of pastor. A little more relaxed. Anyway, there’s a scrap of poetry by Lovecraft. Goes something like this . . . ” Father Ward closes his eyes and with a thoughtful expression recites: The Thing, they whisper, wears a silken mask Of yellow, whose queer folds appear to hide

There is a click-clack coming down a pathway that is lit in total darkness. The pitter-patter of acid rain drops onto the rugged black surface. In the far distance, there is a howl, yet more like a cry. Thunder roars to create the perfect balance for ultimate chaos and pure raw horror. If you find me walking past your room this very moment, you know that you have landed where nothing real exists anymore. The only reality shall be that of your fear, your own personal agony that you have created for yourself.

Samurai and Other Stories by William Meikle Stuck On You and Other Prime Cuts by Jasper Bark Poetry collections: WAR by Alessandro Manzetti and Marge Simon Brief Encounters with My Third Eye by Bruce Boston No Mercy: Dark Poems by Alessandro Manzetti Eden Underground: Poetry of Darkness by Alessandro Manzetti If you’ve ever thought of becoming an author, we’d also like to recommend these non-fiction titles: The Dead Stage: The Journey from Page to Stage by Dan Weatherer Where Nightmares Come From: The Art of Storytelling in the Horror Genre, edited by Joe Mynhardt and Eugene Johnson Horror 101: The Way Forward, edited by Joe Mynhardt and Emma Audsley Horror 201: The Silver Scream Vol.1 and V

“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.

My sclera are fogged with the dead, bleeding souls of my raven boys, don’t touch the gale of my lungs, for I breathe out ruin and rue. Hold me if you want beasts to devour maidens if you want mountains to quiver like breasts and avalanches to crush, my death blow rips through hearth and home, I am thunderheads, I am hurricanes, never touch your doom, don’t look at the banshee as I clean your death robes, for I gnash, and I devour, and I suck men dry – don’t love the diseased, madwomen are witches. We are not meant for shadowlight kisses, curses

Book 1 The Shadow of the Haunter In the darkness of the night Waiting for the light to come When the demons in your mind Remind you of the damage done. Always talking, so much to say Like a haunting ghost from the grave And Heaven seems so far away. —Daughtry, Changes Are Coming * * Sometimes, things have a funny way to happen before you can even realize what on earth is going on. Hi, I’m exhibit A.

From the other side, it was as if a cold wind was blowing and enveloping the body with the icy breath of lifeless emptiness. There was no sleep! Yarsi groaned again. Vivid images of a nightmare flashed through my mind. At night, he did not feel fear, and now some strange belated horror rolled over, which he had never experienced in his life. But the horror is not that he could die, but HOW to die.

Behind him, the neighing of his devoted friend, full of sorrow and bitterness, could be heard. - Ira, where are you? – Felix whispered. - I beg you, stay alive. I will find you. I promise. His heart was heavy. She ran, lost in the darkness. The dark, moonless night cast ominous shadows on the world, with danger looming everywhere. An owl flying up from a branch almost tore a cry full of fear from Ira’s lips. The night bird seemed like a ghost in the surrounding darkness. The girl put all her strength into running. It wasn't just fear that drove her. She was driven by animal horror, which thrust its cold, clawed paws into her heart. Each blow was felt as a shooting pain in the temples.

Anxiety tightened its grasp on my heart, its rhythm a quick tattoo against my chest. "Is anyone here?" I said tentatively, my voice echoing against unseen walls. A bone-chilling scream pierced the air, instilling primitive horror in me. I bolted, my legs propelling me quicker than reasonable thought, propelled by a dread that outpaced even my own pace. Amid the screaming, I clamped my palms over my ears, vainly hoping to drown out the terror that surrounded me. I ran aimlessly and stupidly, my sole companion the suffocating blackness.

And that night, my real journey began—a descent into the haunted forest, where the main battle awaited me. The place was cloaked in shadows, dense with twisted trees, thick vines, and hanging moss that obscured the sky. I felt eyes watching me, lurking just out of sight. The chill of the night air pricked by my skin, every step filled with dread. Bones littered the ground under an ancient tree, each one a silent warning of the horrors waiting up ahead. In the distance, a scary cave loomed. The thick, damp air reeked of decay and rot. It was as if death itself had settled here and made a home out of the shadows. The smell clung to my throat like smoke, sour and suffocating.