Little Nightmares Art Book Novels & Stories

I can barely breathe, I’m so stunned—and touched. Arthur shrugs, but I can see the pride in his eyes. “I’ve been working on it for a few weeks. Had to sneak around a bit to get it done without you noticing.” Miles is now examining the bookshelf, pulling out what looks like an encyclopedia on dinosaurs. He gasps as he flips it open to a large spread on pterodactyls. “Look, Mommy! This book has pictures and everything!” I step further into the room, taking in all the thoughtful details. There’s a nightlight shaped like a crescent moon, a toy chest painted with stars, and even a small tent in the corner for reading or playing pretend. Everything is perfect. Everything is exactly what Miles love

Someone recently said those instances were becoming more frequent, and I know with a fact someone else has made the king aware that his sister was caught at the front gate in the early hours of the morning–just standing there, staring blankly. “The dreams you paint,” I begin, sliding my workbook to the side. “They’re not dreams. They’re nightmares, aren’t they?” “You’re practically fluent,” she sighs with a flicker of irritation. Are we close enough for me to tell her she looks like hell? A sleepy, defeated look flashes over her delicate features as she rolls her pen across the surface of the table. “You’re right,” she shrugs. “I dread falling asleep. The dreams–nightmares–have been coming a

I felt simultaneously safer and pinned, like an animal in a fancy display case. That night, in the small apartment I’d painted in colors that felt like hope, sleep came as if it were a favor. But the nightmares were active—Robbie’s voice, the drawer, the feel of a knife. I woke with my throat dry and the taste of copper, and my heart ached with the refusal to be naive.

The dreams where I felt a tiny heartbeat fluttering beneath my own. A child conceived in those desperate, clinging nights after John's death, when Damien and I had sought comfort in the only way left to us. The screaming woke me at 3:17 AM. I found Lila in Alexander's room, thrashing in the rocking chair like a creature possessed. Her sketchbook lay splayed on the floor, the pages filled with horrifying detail, black roses bursting through her brother's bedsheets, thorns piercing his stuffed animals, vines forcing their way between his perfect baby teeth.

The Book of Curse, with its foreboding aura, seemed to cast a spectral presence in the recesses of her mind. The old journal, now placed on the nightstand, carried the weight of its uncanny resemblance to the haunting images from her nightmares. Jette closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would offer respite from the disquieting thoughts that lingered. As the night unfolded, the boundary between dreams and reality blurred, and the Book of Echoes became a silent witness to the mysterious interplay between past, present, and the uncharted realms of the subconscious—a harbinger of a narrative that transcended the tangible pages of a journal and ventured into the intangible realms of the unknown.

NIGHTMARES. A very bad or frightening dream. Anna was starting to lose count of the number of nightmares she’s been having since Josh’s death but whenever she woke up with one, clearing her head with a jog had been working well on her. She lets out a sigh as she turns sideways to stare at the mini alarm clock she had next to her bed. The time read 6:00 am and she hated the fact that she had to be awake at this early hour of the day.

Mom glances over at me with a curious look and then states, "Breakfast will be ready in a minute. I threw some cinnamon rolls in the oven and they still have a minute or two before they are brown." Smiling, I reply, "Oh, that sounds yummy mom. Thanks." Sitting down at the table, I wait patiently as I drink my orange juice. Mom glances over at me again and asks, "Did you have anymore nightmares last night?" "Yes, I don't know what is going on. Ever since Billie gave me Charlie, I have been having this same bad dream over and over. It is so real that I peed the bed, I'm sorry."

I pushed it open silently and entered. It was everything I had expected. The exact opposite of my room. The themes here were black and grey. Black furniture, grey walls, grey and white beddings. The air conditioning was off, but it was so damn cold in here, the air so tight I could hardly breathe. Or it was just the fact that I knew my presence here was wrong. It was much bigger than my room, obviously. And I liked it. I was someone who suffered from nightmares, but paradoxically, the darkness here, was calming.

Valerie said as she shuddered. "Yeah. Well, let me get back out there while these are cooking. Don't worry, Val, I'll be careful if that guy comes back in here." "Alright, girl. I'll talk to you later." Tabitha wasn’t going to tell Valerie about the dreams involving Mark. Those were the real nightmares. They had evolved from just him raping her after being with the man she couldn’t see. There were several where he forced himself on her. She shuddered as she thought about those. That was part of her past that she didn’t care to remember.

After the boys had left my room, I went through my bag and pulled out my favorite book, Night Flame, by Catherine Hart. I sat back in my chair by the window, prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon reading when a shiver ran down my spine. I jumped out of my seat and spun around to see a pair of yellow eyes glowing in the corner of the room. As those eyes drew closer to me, I realized that it was Simon, the fae that came to warn me the other day.