Horror Quotation Novels & Stories

Xavier joked. "According to my grandfather, a month after the boy's death, students started missing. They were all found dead in the woods a week or two after. They dubbed the serial killer as Sunnyville Reaper. And, from what my grandfather told me, your parents are one of those kids who bullied him." The student said before leaving. Even Xavier who always care less about anything around him fell silent. He could never imagine that his mother would be involved in something so dark like that.

The misty gleamed red, like the terrible drop of a blood oath, before squirting onto the rotten ground. "Shit, this place is scary; I mean, Hollywood movies are kind of scary," Diana murmured as she noticed the hoary tree knots glaring at her like baleful eyes. She felt like the devil's forest was infecting her with its evil darkness, like it was talking to her; she could almost feel the breathing whiz of the moistened turf. Diana had never encountered these sentiments on her many journeys. She had battled her demons in her nightmare, quarrelling after the dreadful monster in the fathomless bowels and dripping basins of the deepest caves of her dream; however, this forest was scarier.

“The islands are less creepy than this stretch of road,” Quill mutters, moving closer to me. “I keep expecting some ghost girl to show up.” “You’re a werewolf, Quill.” Beth rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you can take on a ghost.” “Are you kidding me?” Quill huddles closer to me. “I’m terrified of ghosts. The piece of land I lived on with my dad connected to this road with open fields on both sides. Do you know the number of accidents that happen yearly simply because of ghosts?”

When I look up, my own blood runs cold: human entrails are strung around the chandelier like some sick decoration. "He's a psycho," Lazar comments flatly, staring at something behind me, and when I turn, a shiver runs down my spine. On the wall, in large letters written in blood, is a message left for me: "Harvey, you think you've won. But next time, I'll write with the blood of the person you love most."

The lights flickered as it always did, adding to the creepiness and scary factor of the basement. “Its just a rat. Its just a rat.” Carson chanted to himself to calm him beating heat. “There is no such thing as ghosts. No ghosts. No ghosts.” He continued chanting while searching with the torch. The unrhythmic flickering lights were unreliable so he made sure to keep his torch pointed towards the direction of his vision.

Grand Viper descended the stairs, step by step, wearing a twisted grin on his face. "Brat, I may not be able to kill your old man, but taking out a little rat like you? That's nothing." Quinton shrank back, crawling in a panic. "You damn bastards, all of you—may you die horrible deaths! I swear, even if I become a ghost, I'll haunt every last one of you!" His screams were filled with panic, regret, and hatred. It was the sound of a man who finally realized just how badly he had miscalculated.

The sharp, piercing sound of the door opening made Harriet feel a little flustered. She hurriedly lowered her head and dared not look inside the door. But inadvertently, she saw a bloody handprint on the door handle! Next to it was an inscription - "Those who enter, die!" Marc intentionally broke the awkward atmosphere between him and Molly, so he joked, "This sentence really ruins the atmosphere and makes this haunted house seem not scary at all!" Unexpectedly, Molly responded with a light laugh, "Yeah, this sentence does indeed ruin the atmosphere." The three of them weren’t afraid, but Harriet was.

But the light was very weak, it made the corridor seem like it stretched for eternity. Uri looked at the hazy space in front of her, subconsciously remembering the usual corridors of hotels or apartment buildings in horror movies. Although there were lights, the last point could not be seen clearly, the surrounding space therefore also became strangely murky. At times like these, from the darkness will suddenly appear the silhouettes of white shirts or some bloody horror face.

“But there aren’t any monsters in this movie.” “Stop doing that.” “Doing what?” “Taking everything I say literally. The monster is a metaphor okay, a metaphor for horror. I want the audience to bring the horror home with them.” “I’m sorry, I’m just not buying it. I’ve seen too many arty horror films and read too many short stories that ended inconclusively. They don’t scare me, they just leave me dissatisfied and annoyed that I’ve wasted time and money on them, when they couldn’t be bothered to tie up all the loose ends.”

**“Sanguis antiquus, voco te…” (*Ancient blood, I call you…*) **“Per lunam et per ignem…”** (*By moon and by fire…*) **“Solve sigillum dormientis animae!”** (*Unseal the sleeping soul!*) My body convulsed. Veins burned. Bones groaned. The night screamed with me. She pressed her bleeding hand to my mouth again. “Repeat after me.” I tasted lightning. And obeyed. “Sanguis antiquus… voco te…”