Really Scary Story Novels & Stories

she commented. “Well… actually there is more…” I laughed feeling awkward about throwing everything on her at once. Fortunately, she was way to excited hearing about my quite supernatural stories to tell me to stop. I even thought she might have been memorizing my words for the sake of writing scenarios in the future. Unfortunately, there was nothing romantic about my last night's experience, it sounded more like a scene from a horror movie. I kept trembling even reminiscing those moments I was Immara.

I watch in horror as the beautiful man in front of me transforms into a huge red beast with rippling muscles, his eyes glowing red and horns that could easily tear you apart. I gasp in shock as I cower on the tiny bed. Fuck, someone wake me up, this is a dream, it jas to be. Monsters don't exist, right? ……… I hope your enjoying the story so far, hold on things are about to go a little crazy.

“Once the Stalker knows your name, there’s no escaping it.” The silence after her story was deafening. No one dared to move, as if the smallest sound would summon the very thing she’d described. The bonfire crackled ominously, and I felt a shiver run down my spine, the eerie weight of the tale lingering far too long. The story settled over me like a weight, the dread thick and suffocating. A sharp image suddenly flashed through my mind—blood splattered against walls, guts and entrails spilling across the ground, and lifeless faces staring into the void.

Or if the weather was on the colder side, we’d sit deep within the woods hurtled around a warm campfire, marshmallows burning and scary stories flowing allowed tears to well in my eyes. Back then some story of a monster hiding in a cabin ready to eat people was the most frightening thing I had heard, but I was unaware of the real nightmare I would be faced with, I didn’t have a monster in a cabin hunting me, but a real life monster who was sat around that once happy campfire.

I couldn’t go back to sleep, I was scared of my own mind, having an overactive imagination turned to be a curse in lonely nights, every sound, every murmur my brain translated and turned into a monster hiding in the darkness. “A story, but you are the writer between the two of us,” she says in a reply with a chuckle, she’s right usually I’m the one who makes up the stories, I’m the author, and I’m really proud about it. “I know, but tonight, I need you to do it,” I say in a sad voice, it was more of a whisper, I can’t tell her a story, not with how scared I’m feeling right now, my story would be one about ghosts, fear, demons that lurk outside your home and not the one under the bed ready to

Hilda Scarlett is halfway through her second helping of blueberry pancakes and telling me a story about how Percy is definitely scared of bumblebees. “He screamed, Mama!” she says, eyes wide, hands flailing dramatically. “And he’s this big”—she stretches her arms as far as they’ll go—“and a little tiny bee made him run away! Like this!” She zooms her hand through the air, knocking over her cup of milk in the process. I catch it before it falls, mopping the few drops that splashed over the side. “Maybe Percy just didn’t want to get stung,” I say, trying to hide my smile.

Emory I can’t move as Rainier continues to translate the story about the hybrid. It is nothing but a terrifying monster, a mindless killing machine. My breath quickens as panic sets in, making me want to run away. I want to hide under the blankets of my bed and shut the world out. I don’t want to believe my baby could turn into the beast in the story with no ability to reason and only an insatiable urge to kill.

Hendrix POV After that weirdo's silly bedtime story about end-of-the-world cults or something, I could tell Anna's resolve was breaking down. Those weird creatures and their horrifying objects were like living nightmares come true. They had twisted bodies and soulless eyes that looked right into your mind with cold malice. Their rude and inappropriate presence made me lose even my normal confidence. But giving in to fear was the first thing that led to loss. And there was no way in hell I was going to be added to Scar's crazy plan to kill people from our family tree.

Well, that scared me. I looked behind and … “AHHH HOLY SHIT.” I scream as I practically fly out of bed like a bird and ‘perch’ on the floor. “Stay behind me.” He holds the flip flop tightly and tries to face the danger head on. “Ugheh skejwikkl. What is that.” I made incoherent noises of disgust as I was filled with the cringe feeling similar to that of nails on a chalkboard. This might be much more horrifying than any ghost movie I have ever seen.

He was lying face down, and face up, all at once. I live in that house now. I am the village "fixer." And every night, I listen to the scratching beneath the floorboards. I don't fear the ones that crawl. I fear the ones that wait. Because now I know that the most terrifying thing in the world isn't death—it’s a corpse that refuses to close its eyes.