Long Horror Story Writing Novels & Stories

“So, you believe that there is a possibility that they plotted your father’s death and mother’s disappearance. And there is a great chance that your father’s schemes were discovered, or reported by someone… which eventually lead to his death—ordered to be murdered. And that leaves you to find who did it. Whoever stabbed your father in the back could be someone close to him.” “Correct.” Raverine grabbed a glass of whiskey and took it in one gulp. “Could be his friends or foes or… his own family.” I nodded and turned my attention to the computer screen. I typed in vampires in the search bar and mythical stories came up on the search browser first. “I wonder who wrote these articles and stories

I remember my mother's words to me before she passed at the shores. A darklord exists, who reigns terror in the earth with his army of the dead. Back then, it was a myth. It was a story to keep her cub's mind active. She enjoyed horror stories under a full moon and using the moon's reflection to create images with the shadows of her clawed hands.

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.

"I will kill all the members of your family if you do not offer yourself to me. I will bring you to the situation when you will intentionally come to me and plead to save your family members by offering yourself to me." Amara walked helpless towards the haunted mansion. She felt numb and lifeless for the happenings around her. The words of the sage begin to ring in her ears. "It will be the dark night without the moon, the onset of heavy storm and the shrill howls of dogs. There will be an unfathomable clamor present in the atmosphere, the unwelcoming cries of the eagles and the uproar of tumult yowls from everywhere around will be the indication to alert you it was the one and only day in y

“But we haven’t changed much as a basic organism. We’re still hardwired for conflict and adversity, we just don’t face it much these days, thanks to all our modern amenities. We still need someplace to channel those primal urges, that’s what horror is for. I mean, I bet the stories that cavemen told around the fire were all about gruesome fights with cave bears or vengeful spirits and stuff. The ancient Greeks certainly liked a bit of gore, if I think back to my classics lessons.” “That’s what I’m talking about,” said Sam, putting down the bong and blowing out a big cloud of smoke. “The sort of people who think horror is little better than porn, are also the sort of people that think tragedy

-------From the author--------- Hello hello! Your dear author is presenting you a 2k long chapter! Tomorrow is the start of our 2nd quarter, so the author will upload multiple chapters to catch up with other horror contest entries. I think for a week I'll be gone, and be late for the contest which is next month. I'm rushing the story but I promise to make it scary than rushed! By the way, this is my first thriller novel. ---Annie Chan 0:

You guys are the best! Another thing... I am thinking of changing the title and the cover of my story so it will look more of horror-romace than pure horror. What do you think? What do you think can boost my views? Your contributions are appreciated.

I asked her curiously as I sat comfortably on her couch and the three of them sat on the big one adjacent to mine. "Well, I believe that there's nothing to be scared of. The ghosts, vampires, witches, and werewolves are just in the books. Right? Fiction. Not real." My oblivious girlfriend explained, and that made the three of us, supermarket beings, look at each other. If you just knew, Pryce. None of us here is purely human. "Uh, yeah, yeah. They're just in the books. Horror books. They are a product of one's creative minds… and to scare people." Sander agreed with her best friend. Now, I really don't know how we will tell Pryce about the whole truth.

I said. My vision began to clear. The Weaver's logic—the cold, analytical overlay that had been dampened by the sound of Florence's raw cry—didn't return. Instead, something older took its place. The unpolished, messy instinct of a woman who had spent fifteen years ghostwriting stories for people who wanted to feel something real. Stories about billionaire monsters, werewolf mafia lords, and high-tension tragedies where the only way out was to burn the whole book down. I didn't reach for a needle. I didn't reach for a scepter.

“What is this? I told you we just need a brief description. I didn’t ask you to make up some bullshit story.” “I added some colour-” “You didn’t add colour,” he interrupts the writer. “You wrote a whole fucking horror story. When did any of our children die? We didn’t pick up exploded elders in the forest. Everything we say needs to be believable. This is not.” “I’m sorry, your highness,” the woman says. “I write fiction, not-” “Do better next time,” Johnathan interrupts and shoves the folder back in her hands. “Who has the fact sheet about this man?”