Scary Christmas Stories Novels & Stories

Yearning laced his words, mirroring my own fears of leaving again. "It's more," I promised, but doubt flickered. The holidays would end, duty calling. Yet in his arms, wrapped in the scent of pine and passion, I clung to the possibility. Later, as snow fell heavier outside, we dressed by the fire, sharing stories of lost loves and ranch hardships. His laugh rumbled when I recounted a disastrous state dinner, and I traced the scar on his forearm from a bull gone wrong. "Stay through Christmas," he urged, pulling me close. "Let me show you what real feels like."

That was three years ago and Red has been cleaning up ever since. So instead of screaming, she said softly, “Yes, Mr. Alton.” She finally clocked out at 9:14 p.m. The night air outside was freezing, the city glowing with Christmas lights and careless laughter. She tugged her coat tighter, her breath forming little ghosts in the air as relief washed over her.

It didn't matter to us, it was entertaining to watch when either Starliss or Neo took up the arguments. "Simple, Christmas is the period to dress up in the scariest of costumes in honor of Santa's wife, Draculaura, scare the souls out of humans, and then gather together for trick or treat. No treats, then you devour their souls," Odette said with a proud grin. Neo and I snickered as he took from my bag of banana chips. I didn't buy it for myself. It was kind of a habit to buy the chips and have Neo and Odette eat from them with either of their arms over my shoulders.

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:

Just remember, if you don’t want things to go bump in the night, don’t tell anyone else about them. Even now the shadows in my room play havoc with my subconscious, so I turn the light on and sleep with one eye open. Also, when my computer starts to go on the fritz just as I write a particularly spooky part of a story, I chuck it up to chance and swallow a little harder before checking to make sure that I have only one shadow. It’s amazing that I still get so scared as an adult. You sure would have thought that for someone who makes a living scaring people, I would know better, right?

“Apparently, I can’t leave my restaurant unattended without chaos breaking loose.” He chuckled. “That’s because you run a tight ship.” She softened. “Maybe. But I don’t regret it. I’m glad we came home for Christmas. I needed that time.” “Me too!” Laya chimed in before yawning so wide her eyes watered. “Best Christmas ever.” She rubbed her face. “Daddy, can you tell me a bedtime story again tonight? The one about the brave princess?” Jordan nodded instantly. “Of course I can. Bath and PJs first, then Momma will bring you the phone. And tonight, that princess might get a dragon.”

“Your world is full of surprises.” Wolves crowded in the hallway outside. Whispering loudly. Wolves do not whisper well. “She talked to the Christmas tree.” “She thinks lights are fairies.” “She screamed at the heater.” “She is terrified of snow.” “Poor thing.” “She smells like magic.” “Old magic.” “She fell from the sky.” “What if she is powerful?” “What if she is chosen?” My ears burned. I curled into myself. “Stop staring at me,” I whispered. “Please. Stop staring. I do not know this place. I am scared. Everything is wrong.”

Jones stared at Claire as she whispered, “What happened next?” Suddenly, she was a little girl again. He used to tell her scary stories about werewolves, vampires, fae, and warlocks. May hated it, but he couldn’t say no when his little niece looked up at him with big eyes and asked so politely for a story. He would always stopped at the climax, sighed dramatically, and say that it’s too scary. She would grab his hand and say she wasn’t scared, that she would be brave. She would ask, so excited, “What happened next?”

Part One: Eyes of the Wolf Jamie Dalton lifted the grocery bag filled with Halloween candy and took a moment to inhale the aroma drifting from it. For most people Christmas was their favorite holiday but Jamie had always loved Halloween. From the time she was nine years old she made up fanciful stories about the night, stories of goblins and ghosts and all manner of creatures. As she got older the stories became more intricate, the characters more detailed. By the time she was an adult she was weaving in erotic scenes and drooling over the heroines she created.

Here's your breakfast, eat up before they get cold" she said happily, thank you we all said, just then she was about to open the windows, I vamp sped towards her and held her hands "How did you do that she asked surprised" I was about to compel her but I asked myself "what's the need of compelling her? I told her the truth about us being vampires of centuries from Transylvania "Wow, are you really serious, I have been doing research on them but all my efforts were in vein, you are allergic to sunlight and garlic bulbs right and mostly feed on human blood and can't resist feeding on them right, I hope you don't feast on us" she said giggling