Horror Stories To Tell In The Dark Novels & Stories

I was the girl who poured their drinks, cleaned up their crumbs, stood off to the side with my head low. But I listened. Every night, I listened. And my favorite stories—the ones that sent chills down my spine—were about the rogues. Greywin would say, “They don’t walk like us. They stalk. They don’t breathe like us. They sniff, they growl. And when you hear a branch break in the middle of the forest, child, don’t run… they already know where you are.” I remembered the way the girls would huddle closer, giggling but scared. But I wasn’t giggling. I was barely breathing. I always held my tray tighter and leaned closer to hear more.

I feel sick at that. “So it’s hell then?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “No, it’s worse. Hell, you can get to. Darkness, you can’t. They have shadow monsters. That occasionally enter other realms, they feed on the sleeping victims and inflict the most disturbing nightmares that feel so real the victim wakes covered in blood. They eventually go insane from lack of sleep. That is just one of the horrors of darkness.” I suck in a breath and declare I will never sleep again. Also, every light will be kept on. I am not being used for the shadows. I shudder at the thought.

And on moonlit nights, when the wind carried whispers through the trees, the children would huddle close to their parents, grateful for the lessons learned from the chilling tale. And so, dear children, remember the story of 'The Whispering Shadows' when the moon is high and the wind carries secrets on its breath. For even the naughtiest of children may find themselves facing the eerie dance of shadows in the depths of the forest, a fate they can only escape by heeding the warnings of those who came before.

"The perimeter is leaking, and the undead have already found the seam. Clear the courtyard in two days. Every single one." A chill ran down my spine as I remembered the old northern stories—rotting jaws still snapping long after their legs had been severed, hollow bodies that kept tearing and feeding with no scent and no pain. They never stopped. I swallowed the fear rising in my throat and lifted my chin. "Fine. Give me the weapon."

“Fine, we’ll let Hellfire tell us a ghost story.” “I don’t know any ghost stories,” I say. “What about you, Siren?” Venom asks her. “Nope.” “Well, then, it’s time the two of you become good at making up stories,” Intrigue says. For the next couple of hours, while Hacker and Sphinx work in the van, the rest of us make up ghost stories. I have to admit, Raptor is really good at making up scary stories and Intrigue is as well. Megan’s aren’t terrible, but Venom’s are, as they said, pretty stupid. I’m not sure mine are any better, but I made up one about the ghost that lives in the river, and it made everyone glance at the river we’re sleeping beside more than once.

“There’s no bathroom! I was lying.” “Mia! You’re way too evil!” “Thank god… I wasn’t scared,” someone muttered stiffly. “How about we tell ghost stories?” Goselle suddenly suggested. “One person, one story—how does that sound?” Dwyn immediately chimed in. “Sure. I’ll go first. I’ll tell you a ghost story from when I was filming in Aeriflux.” The moment everyone heard it happened overseas, they visibly relaxed. For some reason, as long as it wasn’t a story that happened domestically, it just felt less scary.

By now, we’ve all had more than a few drinks, and we’re halfway between tipsy and passed out. “Let’s tell scary stories,” Laura, one of my friends, suggests. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kara asks. “These woods are spooky at night. I have to be able to sleep, you know.” “Maybe we should call one of those hunky forest rangers for you,” I suggest with a laugh. “He’d better bring a friend,” Laura says. “Or twelve,” Diana, another friend of mine, adds. We all laugh, and Laura starts in on the first story about night walkers, ghostly figures who march through the forest.

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.

Lydia's tone dropped almost to a whisper, Eden almost had to strain her ears to catch exactly what she was saying, fear caressing her words "It isn't just mountaineering accidents and bumps and broken bones like a usual hiking trail. There are... stories. People have been vanishing, without a trace for years in that place. Only a few have come back, and they're, well they're different, not the same people they were when they went.. The things people have said they've experienced there, Shadows of people hiding behind the trees, watching them.... Voices calling to them in the night and footsteps around their campsite. It's not a place you should be, certainly not alone" Eden almost snorted, s

The Taboo Chronicles is a curated collection of dark, twisted, and unapologetically erotic stories designed to push the boundaries of conventional desire. From the sacred halls of a silent church to the high-stakes shadows of obsessive power plays, these stories explore the raw, unyielding side of human hunger. Whether it’s the thrill of a secret shared in the dark or the surrender of a soul to a dominant force, nothing is off-limits.