Paranormal Suspense Novels & Stories

But if you've been waiting for paranormal erotica that actually delivers on the monster part, welcome home. You've been warned. Now enjoy.

If the candle does not flicker, start over. Jennifer left Ellen’s feeling safe. She went home and was sitting in the study reading a book. The wind started blowing hard. The rain was pounding on the tin roof and the thunder was shaking the windowpanes. She heard a glass scatter on the floor. When she turned around, a picture of herself had fallen off the mantle and broken. She reached down to pick up the glass from the floor and her finger started bleeding. As she walked across the floor to put the glass in the trash, the floor began to shake. She immediately went to the bedroom and light the candle and stood looking into the mirror. The candle blew out. She was consumed with fear. The rever

I protested as I quickly looked to see how many evil stares I was getting as a result of his attention. To my surprise and relief, they were all too preoccupied with conversation that sounded high pitched and argumentative to pay any attention to me. “Paranormal does not mean ghost hunter. It denotes events or phenomena that are beyond the scope of normal scientific understanding,” he offered. “I would say that getting impressions from places or things falls in that category. Wouldn’t you?” I thought for a moment and then nodded. “What have you gotten from this place?” he asked.

I left it charging, so they could use it for as long as they wanted, and if what ghost hunters said was true, they could also draw energy from the battery at the same time. Back to the kitchen, I put to cook, wondering what I could watch over dinner. YouTube kept suggesting me a compilation of the best paranormal evidence captured by the infamous Haunters. No matter how many times I tapped the option to not show it anymore, it kept popping up. So after checking there was nothing interesting to watch anywhere else, I decided I could always have a good laugh and sat to have dinner and watch the rockstars scream like little girls. The moment Brandon Price started his weird off-camera narration,

he said pointing to a file of papers on the desk. “What is it all about?” Olivia asked, picking up the file casually. “There have been a few suspicious killings in a remote town in Norway, four to be precise, over the past three weeks. The Paranormal Authority has flagged the incidents. They suspect foul play… you know…as in supernatural involvement. So I have approved the mission,” he explained. “How can you be so sure? Could be a psychopath on the loose,” Olivia said, reclining in her chair.

Then giving me a smile of thanks she added, “I appreciate you giving me time to kick this thing out of me. This is our first case. I would have felt terrible being left out of it.” I thought on how I’d managed to solve most of my cases with clues that I got from sitting down and getting what I thought were visions from rooms and objects. Then, I remembered Lance’s definition of paranormal. According to my long lost husband, I’d been dealing in the paranormal for some time. It just wasn’t with ghosts and goblins. Looking directly at my friend, I asked, “Are we actually new to the paranormal? Are we really?”

Others sound like the beginning of horror novels. I drag a hand down my face with a quiet sigh. It’s like trying to find truth in fog. I click on another link. More confusion. A forum of self proclaimed “paranormal experts” debating everything from moonstones to blood rituals to royal bloodlines. My eyes skim paragraph after paragraph but none of it helps. If anything, the internet is only adding to the unease curling in my chest.

A promise. “You do not belong in her story. Not in her light.” The wolf stepped closer, it’s massive bash making the air around her tremble. Then it raised its left paw, slow, deliberately, and hovered it over her face. A claw the size of a dagger glinted in the lightless void. Marisa screamed. High, raw and primal as the paw began to lower toward her. —————— She jolted awake with a sharp cry, heart pounding, drenched in cold sweat.

Nothing happened, though, and relief instantly filled me. Every other time as soon as ink had gotten onto the page, I would be transported into the book. However, this time nothing happened, which might be because I hadn’t used the quill since the ink just spilled. No longer frozen, I recalled the knock on the door and rose from my desk. I was about to take a step when suddenly my living room dissolved into inky blackness. An inky blackness that had only been in a couple of times when the three musketeers of assholes paused my story. Which means I was in my book, 1001 Dark Tales. I instantly started praying that for once those three weren’t in the books with me. In the next second, I realize

” He sighed. The rest of the morning crawled. He avoided the fifth floor completely—refused to run linens up, refused to answer any call that mentioned suite 512. Every time he turned a corner he checked behind him. Every shadow in the hallway felt like mist curling at his ankles. Every time his thoughts drifted back to crimson eyes and blood-smeared lips, a fresh wave of paranoia hit: ‘Can he read my mind? Is he watching right now? Is that prickle on my neck him?’ By the time his relief arrived at 8 a.m., he was vibrating.