Point Horror Books Novels & Stories

Curiously I opened the book; the first page I saw, it had handwritten writing which looked very old and the pages were almost yellowish, it said “The sun will turn into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and dreadful day of the Lord’s arrival. He will come and claim what is his and the children of the night will bow down to it". I turned the page to read more but the book started to disappear from my hand. My vision went black and I posted back into my room with a pang of pain in my head I placed my hand on my head and my eyes opened wide. What does that mean? I thought. I opened the notes from my phone and type exactly what I read in the book. Children of night what does th

I ask him and he stands and goes over to his bookshelves and pulls out a huge book and brings it over to desk that sits in the corner of the room. I quickly get up and moved to him wanting to see the content in the book. I look at the pages as Travis flips slowly through them and I realize every horror movie made in Hollywood was made from a creature of this book. I began to read a page and Travis went to flip the page to quickly and I reached down to stop him from flipping the page and my hand accidentally brushed his hand and chills went through my body to the tips of my toes and I turned to look at him and he was already looking at me.

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Like I was shopping for bedtime stories instead of trying to decide whether my life had cracked open into impossibility. “Thank you,” I murmured. The folklore section was tucked into a quiet corner near a window that looked out toward the forest. Of course it did. The books there were a strange little army: weathered hardcovers, thin local history pamphlets, glossy paperbacks with titles involving moons and curses and women who looked poorly dressed for weather. I started with the serious looking ones. Northern Appalachian Folk Beliefs, Predator Myths of the American East, Silver, Salt, and Blood: Ritual Materials in Regional Lore. I pulled them down one by one, making a stack against my che

My wolf replied. I shook off the "what-ifs" that held me back and turned back to the towering oak shelves. My fingers traced the spines of leather-bound books, all of them layered in dust that made my nose itch. "Focus," I muttered to myself. "One monster at a time." I immediately admonished myself. I continued to look until I found the books my dad had recommended. I pulled the four heavy volumes from the shelves. The History of Shadow Entities, The Blood Rites of the Unseen, The Search for Shadows and one volume of Pack Lore and Ancient Threats. I carried them to a secluded corner of the library. The dust felt suffocating, but I wouldn't let anything stop me.

It feels like something under my chest are about to explode. The surroundings are so blurry and the next thing I knew is my back hit something before darkness subside my consciousness. ### Amira's POV I excitedly scan my newly bought book from the bookstore lately. It's all about paranormal stories. It was so thick as it consists of different paranormal stories. Since I get so tired of reading cliche romance stories, I have tried out reading horror again since I'm fond of it as well. As soon as I opened the first page, it excites me after reading first sentence.

House Of Night BY P.C. CAST AND KRISTIN CAST Hogwarts for vampires? Yes, Harry Potter had his wizard school, but there are at least two series that give vampire teens their own school. First up: The House of Night series, six books written by P.C. Cast and Kristin Cast, a mother-and-daughter team from Tulsa, Okla. Marked, Betrayed, Chosen, Untamed, Hunted and Tempted. Vampires are chosen almost randomly, and they have to enter special academies, where they go through a program and slowly change — or die. This series is quite well-done, and has a lot of goddess theology and ritual in it.

I reached for the box, dragging it forward—and the box to its left nudged itself politely aside to make room. I stared. “Okay,” I said to no one. “That’s new.” Crown’s ears flattened. From somewhere near the history aisle, paper shuffled itself. A soft whick-whick, like pages turning without fingers. I rolled my shoulders, set the box on the counter, and told myself I was overtired. That the store had drafts and uneven floors and I had a busy imagination. I turned to the horror section to face a stack of hardcovers that had not been there a second before. The titles lined up in strict alphabetical order. My stomach did a small, mean dip.

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.

Everything now seemed a trap, a sinister game orchestrated by unseen hands. With every heartbeat, she thought she heard ghostly footsteps approaching her walls. She clutched the blanket to her chest like a child clutching a comforting toy, but the terror was greater than any blanket, thicker than any wall. Her eyes leaped to the table, where the book still lay. Its dark cover glinted faintly under a sliver of moonlight, as if it were watching her, as if its earlier fall had been a message, not an accident.