Poems Horror Novels & Stories

Trade with Death The clock was nearing midnight The fog had settled an unusual welcome to the end Mr. Riversane had to fend off the inescapable collapse And this was his last wrap Of centuries-old anguish The veil flickered, swayed with magical presence He crossed the line in haste His senses now highly tensed It was the scene of the night's horror The bearer of everything dark This was the mark of trade He wanted to wade through the reaching flames The souls confined in the fiery pit The screams from River Styx The inferno wild He ached for Pepper Rei's smile

I'd never seen anything like that in real life. If I died chasing a pretty face, at least I'd die without regrets. It was still early. I did the math. I'd have plenty of time to get back before sunset. So I left my husband a quick note and headed for The Gilded Lyre, equal parts excited and nervous. [Naomi's actually clueless. What kind of horror game lets people team up?] [Don't forget, she still thinks this is the romance game she endorsed.] [Am I the only one who thinks Holly's shady? Sabotaging another player is low.]

“It wasn’t just the spook. Off in the woods where I went for safety there were things. Things old and awakened. Things waiting for the end of the world and becoming impatient. They got senioritis, because it’s soon to happen.” Jon remembered. He remembered the sensations of doom emanating from the cemetery visions. There was no arguing it away. “What kind of things?” he asked. “Things with ragged shapes, like half-torn shadows puffed up with poisonous gas and sickly yellow spots of light puncturing through. That’s all I could see. There was more to them, I could feel it, but my eyes couldn’t take it in.” His head shook compulsively as he spoke. As if he were fighting some primeval instinct t

If they survived to a ripe old age, they got to retire, and another family member took their place. Now within the hazy, darkened version of the physical realm. Yolanda watched the shadows for anything out of place. There wasn’t a day or night within this realm. It was always a hazy, twilight. She’d always wondered if the Dream Realm influenced the atmosphere of many black and white horror movies. With the barren trees, mists wafting about in the air without out the wind’s benefit. It was gray and dingy. No moon hung in the air here. She suspected the Fae created this place before the moon was in orbit in the physical realm. They’d made it look like the physical realm. But they didn’t quite

Some appeared as twisted caricatures of human beings, their features warped and contorted, while others seemed to defy description, their shapes shifting and morphing in the dim, flickering light. A sense of foreboding hung in the air, as if I had stumbled into a realm where my deepest fears had taken on tangible form. Whispers, no longer unintelligible, echoed in my ears, weaving a chilling narrative of despair and dread. They spoke of forgotten sins and vengeful spirits, their words like icy tendrils creeping into my consciousness.

I turned and saw Harmony halfway up the ladder to my bed, half of her body crawling under my mosquito net. Her expression was grotesquely exaggerated, filled with fear as she stared at me. I let out a terrified scream and jumped upright from my bed in shock. The following scream came from Harmony, louder than mine, and then there was a crash as she fell off my bed, landing hard on the floor.

Book 1 The Shadow of the Haunter In the darkness of the night Waiting for the light to come When the demons in your mind Remind you of the damage done. Always talking, so much to say Like a haunting ghost from the grave And Heaven seems so far away. —Daughtry, Changes Are Coming * * Sometimes, things have a funny way to happen before you can even realize what on earth is going on. Hi, I’m exhibit A.

When she died, something in him changed, as if the ground beneath his feet had cracked and he was trying to stand on broken earth. Not long after her funeral, the nights turned strange. Around midnight his door would fly open and Horris would burst into the yard barefoot, eyes wild, tears running down his face. His voice carried through the whole of Ashwood. “I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go!” he would scream, fighting against hands trying to hold him back. Men rushed from their homes, women peered through windows, and Kaelith and I stood shaking in our doorways as he struggled and sobbed. Every night it was the same words, the same terror in his voice.

Her body trembled, her muscles tensed as she strained to listen for any sign of danger. The night seemed to press in on her, the darkness alive with unseen terrors. Shadows danced and twisted, morphing into grotesque shapes that played tricks on her terrified mind. Every rustle of leaves, every hushed whisper of the wind sent shivers down her spine, threatening to unravel her fragile composure.

He began to recite a section of the poem word for word. “But first, on earth as vampires sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent Then ghastly haunt thy native place And suck the blood of all thy race There from daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must fee thy livid living corse Thy victims ere they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem.