Novel & Cerita Read Aloud Halloween Stories

The date and time when this happened was October 31 somewhere in the 1990s, about 12 midnight to 12:30 AM. Happy Halloween Military Man! +++++++++ So once again, I bid you goodbye, dear readers. This has been your Storyteller, The Diwata, hoping to see you soon here at the Supernatural Spa... Fare thee well!

I hurriedly said, “Are you Tommy Spark’s mother? We’re trapped in the haunted house at Little Tots Amusement Park. “Your son is having an attack! Send someone immediately to open the door!” The silence held for three seconds. Then, uncontrollable laughter erupted through the phone. “Hahaha! So the news about the haunted house got around fast, huh? “You knew someone was trapped in there just now.”

With the bright light that strayed Into the darkened place Slowly, I stepped into space Of glorious gist It was a sight to see For roots came down From the height over my head The flowers too seemed To have capped the lines of the muddy horizon It was funny because the sky was brown and not blue Still a beautiful hue And I saw more people dressed in their best Walking out of their hide It was a delight To finally Not be alone in the case That offered no chase From a sibling And no embrace from the family That I missed, I set aside my sorrow And swayed with the music That tuned in the night of Halloween As the clock strikes Thirteen Everyone cheered in mirth They voiced together Loud synch of

My Grandpa’s story began like this: “Grandpa! I’m glad you came today. Do you have a story to tell me? Make it a scary one! Oh, I know! How about when you were my age, what did you do for Halloween?” “Well, let’s see... when I was fifteen...” “Grandpa!” “What? Oh, right! What did I do on Halloween when I was your age? I don’t know if you should hear this. I mean, it’s not pretty. It’s downright scary as hell!”

The fairgrounds were already packed full by the time I arrived at the Halloween fair the next day. The air smelled like kettle corn and apple cider, and all I could hear above the din of excited students and screaming children was the sound of rides and Carnys trying to sell their rigged games. Ahead of me, a man on stilts dressed as the Grim Reaper terrorized a gaggle of children, and a woman dressed in a skimpy clown costume juggled bowling pins while passersby tossed coins into her hat on the ground.

Once I'm transformed, I let a howl that shakes my entire building. Early the next morning, every other teacher asked about my 25th birthday. I'd usually make up a fantastical lie, but today I answered, "Lonely." Mrs. Dotson quickly interjects, "I have a lovely sister. You two should meet." "Thanks, Mrs. Dotson. Maybe one day soon I'll oblige your offer." All Hallows Night, everyone put out treats and lanterns to deter demons and spirits from visiting their home. It's the ideal night to go to her tomb. My wife was never supposed to be here. My mother told me she could cure me.

Just because he’d told her he loved her didn’t mean he’d refrain from killing her along with everyone else once his monster was unleashed. Silly character. But then, I guess that would mean foolish me too because, more importantly, no one was forcing me to read this. At night. During a thunderstorm. Creepy stories always kept me up, restless and alert to every creak and groan around me, especially when I’d been drinking. And yep, after a curious glance toward the coffee table, I noticed my wineglass was empty. As was the bottle sitting next to it. Sleep would most definitely be eluding me tonight.

“Mommy please tell me a story before bed.” I have my best puppy dog eyes as I cling to my mother’s leg, begging for a story before bed. Mommy smiles at me and I know I’ve won. “Alright Haley, which one?” “The one about the Blood Red Wolf.” “That one again? Oh, alright.” Mommy tucks me under the covers and then cuddles up in bed with me as she begins to tell the story. I have heard this story several times but it’s one of my favorites.

They had heard stories like this before, stories meant to scare people and make them believe in things that weren't real. But as they walked away from the gathering, they couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The old woman's story had left a mark on them, and they found themselves wondering if there was any truth to it. Her final words had been filled with negativity, warning of a rare occurrence that could halt the transformations of the newborn werewolves. The normal story they heard ends “As the night wear on, the werewolves celebrates their newfound powers. They danced and howled under the light of the full moon, reveling in their transformations…”

Before there were doors between worlds, there were stories. They whispered from hearth to hearth and ship to ship— of wolves that ran like midnight wind, of foxes with nine tails and nine more tricks beyond that, of fae who looked like carved moonlight and smiled like knives. Humans loved those stories—as long as they stayed in books and bedtime. The moment a story breathed, the moment a pair of eyes glinted from a tree line or a shadow stepped out of the corner of a room, humans did what humans do best when they’re afraid.