Real Ghost Stories To Read 소설 & 이야기

asked one of them. “I have some back in the room. It’s for the sleepover.” replied the other. “I’m so excited!” “Me too! I can’t wait for the Bloody Mary! I will be the one to try it out first!” “Oh my gee! Are we going to read some creepypasta stories for the scary parts?” “Yes! And I heard Nympha will also tell us some true supernatural stories when she was still in the Philippines!”

“Why is that your first thought? Of all the supernatural things, you jump straight to ghosts?” “Yes, ghosts!” she shot back, crossing her arms. “We live in a world where vampires, werewolves, and witches are real, Lia! Ghosts aren’t that far-fetched!” “Okay, okay, fair point,” I conceded, holding up my hands. “And don’t even pretend they’re not real,” she added quickly. “I’ve heard too many stories to believe otherwise.” “Stories, huh?” I smirked. “Let me guess, you heard about some haunted house from a ‘friend of a friend’?”

In 1983 a Mrs Carson of New York was laid out in our coffin, presumed dead of hear disease. As mourners watched, she suddenly sat up, alive as you or I. Unfortunately her daughter dropped dead of fright on the spot. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon.

She just wanted to leave this place as soon as possible. Travis Blake suddenly stopped, but he didn’t put her down. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he said, “Are you afraid of watching horror movies? What about ghost stories? Imagine countless hands reaching out from the cemetery graves in the middle of the night. They grab your feet, and behind the tombstones lie the ghosts of the dead.” Hailey looked at Travis Blake, horrified. With such a blank face, this man was talking to her about horror movies and ghost stories in a cemetery!

the old man continued, eyes gleaming, “but a creature—ancient and starved—that disguises itself in bark and moss. It waits. Hungers. And when the moon is thin, it feeds.” He ended the story with a dramatic swish of his cloak and sat back down as the fire popped and sparked. Ryan leaned toward me, smirking. “Ten gold coins says that story’s based on a real thing.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re probably right.” After some time, I stood. “I need to… step away for a minute.” Ryan nodded. “Don’t get eaten by any whispering trees.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I slipped away from the firelight.

Any act of kindness out here was worth acknowledging. Soon enough, they started to talk. Stories, some funny, others dark. One spoke of a creature that prowled these woods, an ancient spirit that hunted lonely travellers and fed on their voices. Another swore that he once saw a woman in white walking just beyond the trees, her eyes hollow, her fingers covered in blood. The rider shivered and moved closer to me. But I didn’t move. I only listened, watched, and tried to determine whether these stories were meant to entertain us or warn us.

Why did he look at her as if he were starving? The candle on her bedside table flickered, even though there was no breeze. Her skin erupted in goosebumps. She didn’t believe in ghost stories, not really. But she knew danger. And Lucien was the definition of it. She had grown up hearing stories of the Ravagers—ancient beings who fed on more than blood. Their touch burned. Their presence altered fate. But those were myths. Warnings. Fairy tales meant to keep girls from wandering too far from the village. Right?

The maid made a gesture of silence to another maid. I stood at the door, dumbfounded. What were they just talking about? Did Ragnar’s fifth mate also see a female ghost at night? Did the ghost also demand the ring? And she was so terrified that she passed away on the spot? So everything I saw the previous night was real. Was there really a ghost haunting the Nightfang family?

I am nineteen and still in my nightshift, with my heart hammering so hard that my tits shake. I never believed the stories. The old women whisper about him around winter fires—the devil in the pines. He comes when you have nothing left. He arrives when death scratches at your door and desperation makes you stupid enough to call his name. The stories say you would give anything. You would offer your soul, your body, or your firstborn. He would take it all with a smile. I think it is crap. These are fairy tales for scared children. Then my brother almost stops breathing that afternoon, and I scream a name I do not even believe in. I scream it into the empty cabin while his chest goes increasin