Scariest Stories Novels & Stories

1, edited by Joe Mynhardt Fear the Reaper, edited by Joe Mynhardt For the Night is Dark, edited by Ross Warren Short story collections: Dead Reckoning and Other Stories by Dino Parenti Things You Need by Kevin Lucia Frozen Shadows and Other Chilling Stories by Gene O’Neill Varying Distances by Darren Speegle The Ghost Club: Newly Found Tales of Victorian Terror by William Meikle Ugly Little Things: Collected Horrors by Todd Keisling Whispered Echoes by Paul F. Olson

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.

They did everything together and cuddled in her bed whenever she was lonely or sad . Every time they were together, Juana felt good, but she couldn't hide the fact that her greatest fear was losing her. That is why she was especially scared about the nightmare she had, two weeks to her thirteenth birthday because she thought it might involve her mom

It infuriated Cassy more—with the night that’s the homecoming of the ghosts and horrors. A wicked laugh itched to be out, instead, she scrutinized the height. The distance between her and the ground did not harrow her. It amazed her at how different she’s lurking around where the normal people might not even stare without a wave of nausea washing over them. An urge to smoke-filled her; she fetched a pack from the inside pocket of her dark blue jacket; ignited the flame, mumbling, “Every legendary story is a pent-up frustration of human beings to invoke fear in the minds of those whom they hate. Several against one or one against many.”

It was late autumn when they arrived — the trees skeletal, the air thick with a kind of oppressive stillness that seemed to hum beneath the surface of the world. Emily Carter, a graduate student in folklore and urban legends, had heard the whispers about WildWood all her life. She had grown up just a few towns over and had spent years gathering the old stories: tales of the “vanishing patients,” the “howling trees,” and the “night doctors” said to stalk the forest paths. Determined to separate fact from myth, Emily organized an expedition for her thesis, enlisting a few brave companions:

Telling him the exact old told tale. “Don’t you remember those happy voices in your mind as you sleep? Or maybe the screams you hear of terror in a nightmare. What is a nightmare? Isn’t a nightmare a small prison you’re trapped in, with no hopes of waking? Why? Because you never know you’re asleep. You forget everything, your name, your life, and who you are. The only thing to accompany you are the monsters that laugh in your mind, that taunt you, knowing everything. Your life, your happiness, everything that had been stolen away. But the scariest part of the nightmare won’t be the monsters. They aren’t scary themselves. The most fearful thing of all is that they are yours. That you can hear

The few bears that still roamed the mountains were all hibernating comfortably in their dens. It could have been worse, Nicky and Teri knew—they could have been forced to share a tent with their eight-year-old brothers instead of with each other. But thankfully, the boys were in tents with their dads. The six of them had spent the last couple hours sitting around a blazing campfire, taking turns telling scary stories. Most of the stories were pretty lame, but Teri’s father raised some goose bumps with a tale of a crazed psychopath who preyed on campers, dragging them from their tents back to a cave where he slowly ate them alive. By the time he was done, the youngsters found themselves peeki

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.

I was shaking with fear before I remembered my mother’s words about a proper trigger, and this might just be it. "Werewolves are strong, and they own the whole Serene land; no one can bring me down," I said, standing to my feet and trying so hard to conceal my fear. But the next thing I saw almost brought me back down to the ground. A swarm of skarvs was approaching me. Mum had always told us that skarvs were twisted creatures, accompanied by fierce, heavy winds. They were the scariest things that existed in the forest, but I would have been able to fight them if only I had my wolf. The wind that accompanied the skarvs had separated me from Mum and Elara; now they couldn't hear me or come to

“Fine, we’ll let Hellfire tell us a ghost story.” “I don’t know any ghost stories,” I say. “What about you, Siren?” Venom asks her. “Nope.” “Well, then, it’s time the two of you become good at making up stories,” Intrigue says. For the next couple of hours, while Hacker and Sphinx work in the van, the rest of us make up ghost stories. I have to admit, Raptor is really good at making up scary stories and Intrigue is as well. Megan’s aren’t terrible, but Venom’s are, as they said, pretty stupid. I’m not sure mine are any better, but I made up one about the ghost that lives in the river, and it made everyone glance at the river we’re sleeping beside more than once.