Post Apocalyptic Horror Books Novels & Stories

The most toxic of all metals for vampires. He looked past them, and saw additional layers of bars behind them. He had no doubt now that the savage seven were being kept here. Kyle heard a faint rumbling noise. As he leaned in, suddenly a long, yellow claw reached out of the blackness, towards the bars. This was followed by a hideous face, with long, orange fangs, drooling. He could smell its rotten breath, even from here. Ancient, primordial creatures, the savage seven were too hideous too look at, even for Kyle, and he had to turn away. For a moment, he felt relieved that they were locked up, and he second-guessed releasing them.

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.

Come pick a bouquet from these Flowers in a Dumpster. Eidolon Avenue: The First Feast by Jonathan Winn—where the secretly guilty go to die. All thrown into their own private hell as every cruel choice, every deadly mistake, every drop of spilled blood is remembered, resurrected and relived to feed the ancient evil that lives on Eidolon Avenue. Through a Mirror, Darkly by Kevin Lucia—Are there truths within the books we read? What if the book delves into the lives of the very town you live in? People you know? Or thought you knew. These are the questions a bookstore owner face when a mysterious book shows up.

They are afraid the helicopter belongs to the bad groups like they read in the novels these few weeks . The couple had bought many novels and fiksyen books about the backward world and the future world , the apocalypse novel and the cultivation novel . Although most of them are only the writer's imagination still they might get few information about the world they might went to and here they are , at the future world . The apocalypse world. Adrian added two more warrior puppets at the entrance to the office and enters the living room to stay with his wife . The black thick curtains will be able to cover everything inside the floor , outsider won't be able to see anything inside anyway .

"Then Orion must be the one in great danger now. As what have my father said, Nerissa don't kill her preys right away. She plays with their minds first, but after that, she kills them mercilessly. Also, the weaker the mind of the man, the more possibility that he will go insane even after he is rescued. I hope your friend has a strong mind so he it will be easy for us to awaken him from Nerissa's magic later on." We continued walking but moments later, we made an abrupt stop when we heard roara that echoed in the whole place. I turned nervously and my heart started to beat frantically when I saw two giant tigers with two heads and snakes as their tails. They look at us as if they are hunters

The worst possibility came to him almost instantly, tightening his chest. Had Jack kept the bodies as spare rations? The thought made his skin crawl. Every hair on his arms stood upright. But the idea fit too well. In this kind of cold, the ground itself worked as a natural refrigerator. Nothing spoiled. People in apocalypse stories always turned to cannibalism. History held records of famines where neighbors ate neighbors. Years of peace had dulled those memories, but the end had stripped them bare. Cyrus inhaled deeply and steadied his heartbeat. He accepted reality faster than most. He had lived through an apocalypse before. He had been eaten once. He knew what hunger could do to a mind.

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.

There’s nothing left but survival. I stared at the words, my mind spinning. The Burning. That’s what people called it now, the apocalyptic event that had scorched the earth and turned the world into a wasteland. But this person—this scientist—had known it was coming. They’d predicted it. And somehow, they’d ended up here, in this bunker, leaving behind their journal like a final warning. I looked up from the journal, my pulse quickening. This wasn’t just a storm shelter. This bunker had belonged to someone who had known about the end of the world before it happened. Someone who had tried—unsuccessfully—to stop it.

Rowan's territory was indeed remote and desolate, but it was nothing like I'd imagined. Word had spread that Rowan and I were coming, because many beastmen crowded the roadside holding gifts they wanted to present to us. They all looked well-fed and healthy, their eyes bright. Even the little ones and elderly were plump and rosy-cheeked. Since the apocalypse began, all the clans had struggled to survive. Food was barely enough to get by, and many older beastmen had starved to death. Those who survived were skin and bones. However, everything was completely different here.

Every detail was accounted for, every system optimized for efficiency. In the afternoons, she focused on her mental health. She read books from the library, practicing her meditation and journaling about her experiences. She wrote about her past life, her death, and her rebirth. She wrote about Julian, Brenda, and Chloe—their betrayals, their cruelty, their ultimate downfall. She wrote about her plans for the future, the world she intended to build in the aftermath of the apocalypse. The journaling was cathartic, a way to process her emotions and maintain her sanity.