Scariest Stories Novels & Stories

“Better than those dirty stories you write in your diary?” I winked at her and saw the coldness in her countenance. “I only write, I have never really experienced them.” “What do you write about then? Your fantasies?” “Even better…I write about how I fanstasize other people having sex.” I was dumbfounded. “Oh my goodness, that is the horniest thing I have ever heard.”

I'm now watching p**n in the bedroom and masturbating. I was so amazed by what I did to Samantha earlier.. Especially the part where her legs were shaking while she was coming out. That's fucking hot. "Frank?" Suddenly someone knocked on the room. I immediately put on my boxers and turned off my laptop. "Frank, son?" I cleared the lump in my throat before speaking. "Come in." The door opened and my Mom entered. "Come on, we're going to watch some horror movie." she said.

… [all men do is lie] … I nod, deciding to trust him. We sit in the silence for about a minute. I simply can’t process any of this. The world, as I know it, will never be the same after his explanation. The scariest part is that it is all true. As a child, I have been told stories about the supernatural. We would gather around a camp fire, and a teacher would tell us scary stories with monsters as main villains. Now, here I am, fast-forward to a couple of years later, I’m sitting alone with the man who created all my nightmares.

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.

He whispered coldly in my ears. My eyes widened up as he said. My brow arched, I couldn't believed my ear. Oh my God! What is he trying to do with me? The fear of losing myself to a monster like him rushed a spine into my whole body system. Too young for this phase I was passing through. No! He wouldn't get down on me so easily.

If I had to guess, they probably didn’t get very many visitors down here. “Usss too.” It said back to me, and I swore I could hear a hint of sadness in the piercing voice. The answer left me confused, and even more shaken than I already was. These were the beings my village told ghost stories about. Horrible, malformed, and endlessly vicious creatures that had tried to kill their own mothers. They were the things that went bump in the night, and attacked without a second thought. What would they have to be scared of?

. Like👍 before reading please. . 💔Hidden Scars💔 (Pain within😭) . . ✏Written By: _____Authoress Kamara✍_____ . . 😍Episode 23😍 . . 🌹Natasha🌹 "I should stop? Nat, when will you stop being so afraid of him? I know what he's doing to you but why won't you talk". He yells at me. "That asshole of a stepbrother is just using your fear against you by doing those horrible things".

Her mouth gaped as she stared at the muscular wall clothed in a once immaculate white shirt that now had streaks of purple unwanted designs. “I…” The words got struck in her throat as the air became more dangerous by the minute. She couldn’t even look up to see the face of this fearsome monster that reminded her of the blood-sucking humans in ‘vampire diaries’. Her entire body quivered. Her legs were jittery and unable to move. She just stood there transfixed with a quivering body. After what seemed like eternity, someone pulled her roughly to the side where she stood still unable to get a grip of herself.

Everyone was happy until they played a game which they shouldn’t have The fun they were having wasn’t enough for them, they desired for some scare and that they got. They decided to tell each other spooky stories. The oldest kid among them told the story of what happened to the owners of the house—of course he didn’t tell it as it happened because no one knows what exactly happened and so to fill that void he added more than he should to the story to make it spookier—it’s not like you could blame the kid

It coiled my nerves and spine, weighing in the air like something tangible. I remembered Mom telling me stories when I was younger. Some were just simple bedtime stories to help me sleep, but others were scary ghost stories goaded on by Leo. Wanting to be brave like my older brother, I begged for them too. She was a silver-tongued narrator. Whether it was Goldilocks and the Three Bears or an old Italian ghost story, Mom painted pictures so vividly it was as if she’d experienced them firsthand. And I knew what she was about to tell me was a firsthand experience, and she was going to weave an image that would likely keep me up at night wondering if Mattia was going to appear standing over my b