Houses Of Horror Book Mga Nobela at Kwento

I hoped the walls were soundproof, as I didn’t want to overhear any funny business between Silas and his girlfriend. Climbing onto my bed, I reached for my bedside drawer, pulling out a large book with thick pages and a brown cover. It was a book on vampire origins, and basically everything one needed to know about them. Bill had gifted it to my mom as a moving-in present, thinking she might need it living with two vampires under the same roof. If only he knew Mom didn’t read books. Even when I was a kid, she’d make up my bedtime stories on the spot. She found it funny to tell me horror stories before bed.

“Hey, you two—pack up time! Let’s go!” No answer. She frowned and slowly turned the doorknob. The door creaked open. Inside, the light was dim and the air stank of rot and blood. Louisa stepped inside, and her eyes widened in horror. She froze. Bodies. What was left of them. The walls were painted with blood. Shadows slithered across the ceiling. Twisted shapes hunched over the torn-apart remains of the family, feeding like wild dogs—demons, glistening and slick, with eyes that glowed like molten coals.

His wrinkled face looked like it was crawling with countless wriggling worms. I shuddered and stepped back, whispering to Silvia, "Good thing I've got you. This place is terrifying." She snorted and suddenly shoved me forward, straight toward George. With an icy laugh, she said, "This pretty boy will make a great offering. You're going to love him." Before I could react, George gestured, and several eerie puppets stepped forward to pin me down and drain my blood. A sharp bell rang out, echoing through the night.

Later, alone in my mausoleum bedroom, I lay in the knife-edged sheets and stared at the ceiling and replayed the look on Claudette Harrow's face when I had not flinched. It was a small thing. Nearly nothing. A tiny, private refusal in the middle of a performance of total compliance. But something in the dark of my chest recognized it as the first evidence that the thing waking up inside me had already begun to act. Nights were the worst. Lying in that perfect bed, tracing ceiling patterns until my vision blurred, the house's silence pressing down like a burial shroud. Sometimes I could swear I heard the walls breathing, in and out, as though the house itself was sentient. Watching. Waiting f

But the fear that had been gnawing at her for days pushed her forward. She opened the book. The first pages were cold, filled with business notes and travel schedules. But as she flipped forward, the handwriting changed—it became jagged, frantic, and deeply personal. Her eyes landed on a single sentence near the end: Some ghosts don’t stay buried because they were never dead. A chill crept down her spine, turning her blood to ice. Before she could process the words, the lights throughout the estate flickered once, buzzed, and died. The house fell into absolute, suffocating darkness.

I marched straight to the house where the Swans were staying and pounded on the door. They opened the door, annoyance written all over their faces. "Spit it out!" "Where's my handbook?" I questioned. "What does that have to do with us?" Afro and the others lived just next door, and they watched us with interest. It wasn't hard to guess that they had already joined forces. They wanted to see whether losing the handbook would be the trigger that would cause any monsters to appear and devour me. That way, they could figure out how to complete the final objective of defeating the final boss.

I steeled myself and opened the door. The hallway was awash in red. Smears and spatters of bright and dark blood covered the walls, the floor, and my door. My head reeled. What the hell happened? Why was there so much blood outside my door? Hadn't the guy in 603 seen it through his peephole? I couldn't help looking toward apartment 603. To my surprise, the door stood half-open, and it was dead quiet inside. I picked my way past the bloodstains and made my way to apartment 603.

"So sure." The book spun faster under his touch. Pages blurred together until they were just streaks of light and shadow. Then it stopped, settling on a page that looked like all the others but somehow wasn't. "She borrowed and returned the Bloodline Codex." "What is that?" "It is a book that records all supernatural houses. The ones that matter at least." My phone chimed. I fumbled for it, nearly dropping the stack of books in the process. The message was short and impersonal.