Scary Folklore Novels & Stories

"I don't see anything" "You are not supposed to till you step into it. It's like a barrier, once you cross, there's no way back. It's either you are stuck there forever or get tormented by a ghost" she shivered at the moment of meeting a real ghost, she had only read about them and she could not say she fancied the idea of meeting one in real life. The fairy went over to the she-wolf's side, clenching unto her arm like glue. "I am scared of ghosts" Skylar rolled her eyes. "Of course you are"

“I want to understand you. You will teach me how to understand you,” “I have a new theory.” Faye slumped on the couch beside Selene who was getting ready for her work. The seemingly sunny day was not in sync with her mood, she barely got any sleep and it has been going on for three days straight after she left Domus Malum, feeling bewitched. “So.. I have read about an Irish folklore called “Candies for the Soul” which talks about a supernatural being that lurks in the forest or mountains, it is famous because people are flocking outside till midnight calling for its name to grant them three wishes..”

For this town is special, and its citizens terrifying. Mrs. Hagatha Belfry stepped out of her front door and onto the porch with a cup of tea in hand. Throughout the town, even though it was winter and snowy in the surrounding wood, autumn leaves sprouted from every limb of every branch of every tree, and the fallen leaves were replaced by new leaves overnight. Lilith’s Hollow is graced by the autumn season all year round, thanks to a witch’s spell from one who lived in town long before Mrs. Belfry’s centuries of residency there. After all, this was the town that Halloween built. Mrs. Belfry, along with all of the werewolves, zombies, mad doctors, monsters, ogres, and more mythical creatures

Sophie The moon hangs high in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the fairgrounds. The usual joyous atmosphere twists into an eerie tension as Damian's secret unravels before my eyes. I stand frozen for a moment, my fascination momentarily overpowering the fear that should consume me. The tales of werewolves have always been distant echoes, whispered warnings from from my grandmother to keep curious minds like mine at bay. Yet, here I am, on the front lines of a supernatural battle, witnessing the transformation of humans into majestic, fearsome creatures.

Some don’t. There are a lot of specifications that come with it. Roman would be the man to ask about the particulars. Defense is his job, while keeping shit together is mine. Carpathia has always been well known for a wealth of superstition. Modern day or not, the folklore and rather untouched wilderness of the black mountain remains at the very least superstitious. Unlike a lot of other countries humans here are very aware of our existence. Whether they fully accept or admit to the fact that Vampires, Werewolves, and Witches walk among them or not, every single one of them knows that we’re the only ones who are going to save their assess when weird shit goes down.

According to her, it was a story used to scare and caution children in their times, but with time nobody heard of these stories again. Stories of scary creatures coming out from the pit of hell to torment mankind. Creatures who once rose from the darkness - seeking domination over the earth, wanting revenge on mankind. It was just in tiny pieces because she didn't recall the full story but she remembered the mark and the creatures who bore them. It was a magical mark - and the names of these creatures are Vorlak.

“And yet, like all good folklore, it has its darker side. The festival also speaks of caution. The stories warn of the dangers of straying too far from the safety of the village during the full moon.” Another slide appeared on the screen, depicting an old woodcut of villagers dancing beneath the moon while shadowy figures lurked in the forest’s edge. “These figures,” Elena continued, pointing to the shadows, “are often described as protectors... or predators, depending on the tale. Some say they were wolves blessed by the moon to guard the forest. Others claim they were cursed beings, drawn to the festival by its energy. And some versions even suggest that these beings were once human.” The

Willing to break the silence again, Stone cleared his throat before asking, “what the hell is even a soul harvester? That sounds so made up.“ Everest chuckled at his plain disgust, “It’s a terrifying bed time story parents of the Gareth pack would tell their kids in order to put the fear of the unknown into them. It was, still is, our version of the boggie-man*.” Stone nodded, his calculative look returned. “But how do you know it isn’t real? Most bed time stores are myths and most myths are very real.” He waved at the four of them, “most humans think we are myths.”

She knew she’s told him about the suppression spell having just been removed. “This creature reminds me a lot of some of the native tales about horrors in the woods. I always thought they were told to keep the white man away. Now, however, I’m wondering how many people died during pioneer times because they didn’t listen to the warnings of the native folk.” Franco was flipping through a printout from Ebony’s mother about the wight.

"I'm looking for information about the town's history, particularly anything unusual or supernatural." She peered at me over her glasses, her eyes narrowing. "You're not the first one to come asking about that, you know. There's an old legend that's been passed down through generations. Some say it's just a tale, but others believe there's truth to it." My curiosity piqued, and I leaned closer, eager for any tidbit of information. "What legend?" "The legend of the Silverwood Curse," she whispered, her voice tinged with a mixture of caution and excitement. "It's said that those afflicted by the curse turn into vicious beasts under the light of the full moon. They become... werewolves."