Scary Bedtime Stories Novels & Stories

"I'm scared." The whispers called to me again, nudging me forward to the stairs leading to the attic. I hardly ever came up here and it felt almost unfamiliar to do so. Uncle Al told me a lot of ghoul stories to keep me away while my father always debunked them when I asked to spend the night in his bedroom. The fond childhood memories gradually inked into a nightmare. A nightmare?

But instead of seeing her, I saw my bewildered Mother there. "What's wrong with you?" "Mom… I'm scared…" She hugged me. "What scared you, my daughter?" "From other people's stories about our house." I felt her hug on me tighten even more. "Ghosts can't harm us. Those people that are living are more frightening." After my Mom's comfort, I fell asleep as I went to my bed. My mind was so tired with the amount of things that is messing with my mind that day "'Don't!"

I stammered, and he kissed the top of my head. Moments later, Annie knocked on our bedroom door, wanting to stay with us. “Can I come in and sleep with you guys tonight?” She asked her father when he opened the door for her, his eyes shining. “Aren’t you too big to sleep with mommy and daddy?” Jason asked her. “But there's a monster under my bed,” she said with a scared look. “Sweetheart, monsters don’t exist. They’re just stories people made up to sell souvenirs,” Jason replied, but I cut him off gently.

And the loudest warning of them all was; "Do not trust any friendly stranger with pretty eyes." It had been these way for decades, centuries even. Every single child in the town grew up hearing these stories. Unlike other cities where their bedtime stories centers on royal fantasies, and fairies, the bedtime stories they listened to was filled with horror. It was the stories of wolves with glowing eyes, and the shadowy figures that lured you into the trees, only for your screams to echo back hollow, and unanswered. Though the stories had believable theories, not everyone readily believed them. Some called them folklores wrapped in superstition. Some believed they were old stories, made up to

]* Bedtime. Not Alex’s room. Not ‘through.’ Our room. Big bed. Knight bed. Day 1 bed. Twins. Middle. Already asleep. Sand in hair. _HOME_ washed off. Still there. Alex. End of bed. Book. _Not_ shark. _Not_ court. _Not_ 11 seconds. _The House That Was Just Home._ Susan wrote it. Last night. 4 AM. “Therapy,” she said. Illustrated it. Stick figures. Us. Bear. No bad men.

, I screamed. "What??!", I heard dad ask from behind me. I quickly turned to see he was with mum. I sighed a bit in relieve. "We can't stay here..", I started repacking the boxes. "Let's go home..", I was almost pleading. I didn't want to wait and find out what goes on after midnight! Dad laughed a bit before walking up to par my back. "You don't believe those crazy stories do you?". Elmore had always been famous for all it's horror stories.

He asked politely as he looked from me to Tasha for approval. “ Why not? The more, the merrier.” Tasha replied and Arnold stepped in to walk beside us, making me the middle man. “Alright so it's time for some midnight stories from dear Arnold, anything you have for us Arnold?” Tasha asked Arnold, who smiled. He was obviously pleased with her words. “Hm… I could share my experience killing the strange creatures that live here. Okay, what is your opinion of the scariest and strangest creature?” Arnold asked as he folded his arms.

Michael said, “Sakura told me we could play hide-and-seek, or we could tell scary stories.” Akira thought about it for a moment and then said, “You know what? How about we freshen up and change into our pajamas and then meet up in my room. Then we can tell each other scary stories. I know a lot of very scary Japanese ones.” Michael looked excited. “Really? Awesome.” Akira turned to Sakura and asked, “How about it?” Sakura nodded. “Sure, that sounds fun.” She turned to ask Mary and Katherine. “How about you two?”

A meaningful smile sprouted on his mouth as if he had succeeded in his plan, trapping the students in the net of his storytelling skill. "None." He snickered, "well, that's shocking. How come none of you knows about her? Well, everyone knows about her in the highlands of Scotland. Everyone's scared of the name, Baobhan." His voice grimed as he proceeded further. "Mothers are terrified of their crying child when they don't sleep at night. Sleep kid, Baobhan will come and take you away to her favorite spot amidst the darkest wood and will suck on your blood. They would say." The crowd gasped in collaboration, everyone seemed to be impressed by the story, and fully hooked, as their faces sugges

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.