Horror Story Writer Novels & Stories

Out there, framed by dimness, she moves like shadow given shape, slow, sure. “The icehouse,” she sighs, stepping inside. “How… predictable. Do you think a childhood fear will stop me? I’ve long since edited that weakness out.” One move ahead from her. Back I go, heel meeting the start of the wet steps. “You’re not a writer,” I spit, the fear sharpening my words. “You’re a parasite. You don’t create stories, you twist them. You’re afraid of real people, of choices you can’t control. That’s why you need your ‘narrative hygiene.’ You’re just cleaning up your own mess.”

Rotimi offered me the chair at the front of the desk, and I sat on it. "Thank you." My eyes wandered to the books on the desk, which belonged to the same author, Gerald Olsen. He was a popular author known for writing horror stories, which means my client was a horror lover. I hate anything related to horror. They make my skin crawl and I could have a heart attack if I watched anything related to horror. "Do what you need to do, Rotimi." The voice behind the desk sounded harsh and stern. It sounds like he was someone with a big problem.

Jessika Sims is an Australian author of fantasy horror. Her nightmarish monsters are the stars of her writing; created by her real-life fears of spiders, heights, and anything resembling horror. Jessika lives in the suburbs of Port Stephens and uses her experience of the changing landscapes she grew up in to create her own world and characters through her own style of writing. Transamagei is her first novel.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Author's Letter Hi it's me, Maple Writes I felt like the world was doubting I could do it. After being scouted by some editors, I was brought to GoodNovel by one of the head and best Editors, who messaged me to write on their platform. A mere 18 year old girl writing a werewolf story with mature and cryptic scenes.

I darted my eyes away quickly-- "You promised," Al said all of a sudden. "What?" I paused in surprise. "No question asked," Al smirked, holding out his hand to me. I was grateful that he didn't ask into it. Night fell. So the thing about horror stories is that-- The fear kicks in only at dark nights when you are alone, not when you are at the crowded theater or on the bright street. Meaning-- I couldn't fall asleep that night. Turns out it's a bit hard to fall asleep when you don't close your eyes because you feel the need to stare at everything with alert.

I was able to shout at them my teeth gritting together with the cold. The girl, Cassidy or whoever she was, moved towards my two servants Ana and Marissa, she stood over them as she motioned her hand to them as if she was choking them and I see them in pain coughing hard again and again their face turning blue as blood flowed out of their mouths. I was terrified. I can feel my heart beating so fast, I'm in a panic. I have to snap out of whatever spell or voodoo this is. Hannah? I told myself this cannot be. I must be dreaming. I closed my eyes trying to calm down while telling myself that this is not true this is just a dream. I breathe in and out. It suddenly felt very quiet. I can feel my

“Yes, well, I can’t say I approve of all of his interests, but he’s always had an independent streak.” “He told me horror films are important because they let people work through their fears.” “That sounds like something he’d say,” she said. “And I suppose that could be true, although it seems to me you could say just as easily that they’re worthless because they revel in exploiting human depravity. Have you seen many of these films, Detective? They’re not only violent, they’re sadistic. Nothing but a parade of bodies being destroyed in every imaginable way. And they’re mostly women’s bodies. You don’t need to be a psychologist to see that they seem more like sick power fantasies than— I don

“Castle. Vampires. Throne with issues.” “Vampires,” he echoed. “Right. Should’ve expected that.” He tilted his head. “You write horror?” I blinked. “What?” “You said ‘horror,’” he pointed out. “Unless you meant your life, in which case—relatable.” A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. “Both, technically,” I said. “But yes. I… wrote horror. Online mostly. Short stories. Flash. Some longer stuff. Nobody important read them.” “Clearly somebody did,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the bus, the windows, the [KEY AUTHOR CANDIDATE: FLAGGED] that had flso long ago. “But hey, that’s metal. My mom hated scary movies; she’d have lost her mind over you.”

Slowly, she stepped back, but the bus just waited, its entrance gaping open like a whale ready to swallow her whole. Willa wasn’t stupid. She knew danger when she saw it. “Hey…” she screamed, but nothing came out. Her voice didn’t go beyond her ears. At only twenty-one, she had become the most sought-after ghostwriter in the country. Platforms like Ellalux, Febnovel, and even the mighty master of webnovels, Koodnovel, had sought her services. Known as the horror-story specialist, she crafted dignified deaths, haunted struggles, and glorified survivals.

As a means of continue writing, he keeps his grandparents close to his heart and mind for always encouraging him to not give up. Brandon Ebinger Brandon Ebinger is a horror/dark fantasy author who lives in upstate New York with his fiancé and two cats. He holds a BA in creative writing. He enjoys horror films,Gothic rock and punk music and video games. He is a huge fan of haunted attractions, and spends October as a haunt actor. Brandon has written four horror/dark fantasy novels, Ash, Hollow Hills, The Afflicted and Rose. He has also published a handful of short stories within the genre. He has recently finished his most recent novel Broken Night and is at work on a new one.