Horror S Novels & Stories

Heather screamed as the dreaded liquid entered her mouth, and she puked. Gathering her energy, she called for the intruder. “Who is there?” The footsteps rushed on the floor above her. Heather heard them clearly. She opted to analyze where they went. ‘Was someone conspiring to kill her?’ She mused. Eager to find the culprit, she signed her fear away for the night and ambled ahead into the harrowing tragedy awaiting her. The sky thundered, but Heather kept going forward with short and hesitant steps, her maxi dress flew with the breeze. Holding the sides in her fists, she continued her mission to search for the terror that surrounded the mansion. She scrutinized every nook and corner. Her hea

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.

I only hope I don't have to be murdered in order for that to happen. Arlo drives me home and the moon follows us. I hate Halloween, what used to be costumes and fun. Is now fear, panic, and an asshole laughing in a Haunted House. Nothing is scarier than this Halloween. As Arlo squeezes my hand, I know I can face the demons and ghosts of tonight with him by my side. To make sure its not in my head, I squeeze his hand and he squeezes mine a little tighter bringing a little bit of happiness back with it.

"In the darkest hours of the night, when you least expect it, my presence will seep into your consciousness like a vile contagion. The specter of your wrongdoing will become a malevolent poltergeist, tearing at the fragile threads of your sanity." The room became a chamber of horrors, a stage set for a grotesque play of vengeance. Shadows danced upon the walls, whispering their secrets of torment and despair. The air turned fetid, tinged with the stench of impending doom, as my threat enveloped the very essence of Leo's being, clawing its way into the recesses of his mind.

“Or with regular light. I never understood why you go around in the dark and still expect to see anything.” “It’s to reduce light contamination,” Brandon explained like I was a first-grader. “If there’s no lights, there’s no shadows.” “Spirits come out when it’s dark,” said Ricky, like reading from the textbook they’d written themselves. I looked at Isaac, sitting opposite me. He leaned back, raising his eyebrows, and ran his hand over his shaved head, like he always did when he was about to disagree with somebody. “I ain’t so sure anymore,” he said. “I mean, that’s not the case here. But let’s agree this ain’t the regular haunting either.”

Horror flooded my senses. Now I got what they meant by warm flesh. They weren't just after my blood. They wanted something else. Something worse.

Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | 18+ | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Pace | Smut | Obsession | Erotic It started with a kiss I don’t remember giving. A rooftop. A moan. Someone’s fingers buried in my hair like they belonged there. A mouth on my throat that said I tasted like something they lost in another life. I wasn’t dreaming.

Damien told me that we had to wait until Samhain6, or Halloween, to teleport us to Hell, because that’s supposedly when the veil between the living world and the dead is its thinnest, and it would be the easiest day for me to attempt teleporting between realms since it’s my first time.

Before he recovered he’d read all three books twice over and had become an irredeemable horror fan. After that, Sam spent every penny he had on DVDs, novels, and back issues of Fangoria, the more extreme the better. Horror gave him a place to put all his anxieties and fears, as well as a way to control and exorcise them. He lost his nervous tics, stopped getting bullied and took up running when he moved to his senior school. He never joined the popular crowd, but he managed to survive boarding school, and whenever things got a bit much, there was always horror.

“Of course. Very serious work.” He passed her the soda. His fingers brushed hers. A little spark—not magical, just human—ran up her arm. The lights dimmed further as yet another trailer started, this one for something involving a haunted house, a mismatched group of friends, and a lot of stylish screaming. “Do you want to skip this one?” he asked quietly. “We can close our eyes and pretend it’s an insurance commercial.” “I write horror,” she said. “I can handle a trailer.”