Horror Stories To Write About Novels & Stories

I feel my hands sweating with nervousness. I can hear the cars stopping in front of the house. Slowly I walk to the wall-size windows, and I peak out. I am curious to see my future dear husband. One thing is for sure. He should sleep with one eye open because I might kill him in his sleep and become a black widow. I have no problem with that. I close my eyes, shaking my head. I think my books have a bad influence on me. This would be a good plot. I make a mental note to write that story. A mafia story. Who knows. It might even be a best-selling story.

She start off bringing out her packed up project stuffs, with no idea what am going to do next, I move to her and we start arguing on the topic we should write on. “I solely vote we write on something romantic…” she demonstrated her words. “Nahhh, that will be too common. Let write about something unrealistic, like a town full of murder, mystery, crime and a lot more. U get me,” her blank face shows her disinterest in my suggestion. “Let write on something we both don’t want then,” she told her both arms together. “Yeah, and that’s supernatural,” I scoff rolling my eyes. “Supernatural is it,” she pick up a two pieces of paper, and hand me one with a pen.

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.

He was lying face down, and face up, all at once. I live in that house now. I am the village "fixer." And every night, I listen to the scratching beneath the floorboards. I don't fear the ones that crawl. I fear the ones that wait. Because now I know that the most terrifying thing in the world isn't death—it’s a corpse that refuses to close its eyes.

I was glad I won’t stand out too much. We arrive at Xander’s house after a few minutes. His house was more of a dark side kind of house. It was gothic and gave you the creeps. Old cold men stood as statues lining up the way to the front door. Music thumped inside the house. It felt like a high school monster party. Okay maybe I watch too much Ant farm and paranormal movies. This would be a good beginning for a horror story where Zombies come attacking. No, zombies don’t have brains to plot this. Better yet, Vampires.

"so causing all those pains to me and my parents was because you wanted to get a chance to live. "you see some years back most of us was captured including myself by a means we don't know, we where promised that they will help us find bodies so that we could live again which is the most tempting offer a ghost can receive, they kept us in a world that seems to be separated from normal world, a world filled with darkness and ravenging madness, they thought us to be a human we need that, but not long ago, they came and told us to prepare to be human again which was the best news for us.

Marisol’s eyes go to Cleo’s round belly, a sudden thought causing her to pause in her drinking. Marisol had studied humans to an obsession and knew that a human can hemorrhage and bleed out very quickly when pregnant with a normal human fetus, and that risk was nearly ten times more when a vampire fetus is concerned. She also remembered an old vampire wives' legend that states: for vampire couples that are having trouble having a Vampire can, by using the pure, innocent blood of a Dhampir to paint certain ancient symbols over their wombs and having both male and female drink that same Dhampir blood, conception was heightened to near guaranteed.

“Oh, so you won’t come out? Fine. Then I’ll smash all your d*mn flowers!” He stormed forward and stomped the flowers into pieces. At that moment, I suddenly remembered something Lucas once told me. In horror games, players who refused to participate usually died horribly. Back then, I thought he was just making up stories, but it seemed like maybe I really should’ve believed him. “Sir, wait, don’t–” Before I could finish my sentence, the crushed flowers suddenly regenerated. On top of that, they grew larger and larger until the enormous petals swallowed the man whole. A scream rang out, and then silence fell. All that remained on the ground were two severed limbs and a pool of blood.

“Back before you were a world-famous author, huh?” Brad laughed. “Yeah, back then I was working for my hometown paper writing obituaries.” “So your work hasn’t changed too much; you’re still writing about death.” “I suppose you could look at it that way.” “I’ll confess I haven’t actually read any of your books. I know of you by reputation, but I’m a bit too squeamish for horror. A mystery, on the other hand, suits me just fine.” “Hey, to each his own. Or her own. I like mysteries, too; in some ways they share similar elements with horror.”

BEFORE I KNEW IT, I FINISHED WRITING In total darkness. Back then, the night was silent and, of course, scary. Normally, I don't really mind writing on a dark night or finding myself in the middle of a dark place yet as if I was watching the ending scene of a horror movie, all my senses turned on and scared the hell out of me, especially when my story ended in such a morbid conclusion. You know that feeling when you suddenly thought of something scary while you were pissing in the bathroom with no accompanying light around you. Yeah, that shuddering feeling that goes along with the pleasure of releasing some juice, I felt that.