Scary Ghost Stories To Tell In The Dark Novels & Stories

"Don't tell ghost stories in broad daylight!" Zhiluan somersaulted twice on the ground before taking flight again. "I'm not telling you stories! If you look into the mirror and see a long-haired female ghost in red on your back, that means the ghost has caught hold of your life. She's there to make you her scapegoat..." Following Zhiluan's incessant and horrifying storytelling, Qingyu covered her ears. Liu Feiyan stomped her foot and huffed in anger. "Xiao Chen! Aren't you going to control your cat? This place is scary enough without him telling us all these stories!"

"Hahaha! That sounds like a prank a pup would pull!" "Exactly. And when I first got there, I was little and terrified of the dark—scared of ghosts. She stayed up late, wrapped herself in a white bedsheet, and haunted me until I was bawling my eyes out." "And then what happened?" "Then she pulled back her messy hair, her face all red from trying not to laugh, and told me perfectly seriously: 'Look closely. There are no ghosts. And even if there were, they're weaker than people, because no ghost can beat me in a fight.'"

She found it funny to tell me horror stories before bed. I remembered once returning the favor. I told her about Terry the ghost, a boy who’d died in an accident on the street across from our house. Terry’s ghost wandered our neighbor’s house where his family had once lived. Mom hadn’t slept alone for weeks after that, and she never told me another horror story. My mom was like me in some ways—she was terrified of the paranormal, or anything religious. That’s why her engagement to Bill had been such a shock. But even Mom had gotten braver, so why couldn’t I?

By now, we’ve all had more than a few drinks, and we’re halfway between tipsy and passed out. “Let’s tell scary stories,” Laura, one of my friends, suggests. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kara asks. “These woods are spooky at night. I have to be able to sleep, you know.” “Maybe we should call one of those hunky forest rangers for you,” I suggest with a laugh. “He’d better bring a friend,” Laura says. “Or twelve,” Diana, another friend of mine, adds. We all laugh, and Laura starts in on the first story about night walkers, ghostly figures who march through the forest.

“IT’S JUST I HAD a different book in mind when ink spilled on this one, plus what’s left to do in a finished book?” They, of course, ignored me Completely probably deciding if I would not explain, they were just going to proceed. One of the three waved their hand above the inky darkness we were standing on, and instantly a book on a pedestal was in front of them on the floor. It showed off my title, ‘1001 Dark Tales’. I instantly held my breath, hoping they didn’t realize what that meant. But if they had, they said nothing. Instead, they just started flipping through the pages of the book, looking for which store to choose.

Sadly, it wasn't so. As the night fell, the dark clouds covering the sky while I returned to my quarters after running a late errand for Savannah, I heard hushed whispers in the corridor, causing me to freeze in my steps. I noticed a shadow pass near my door. With my heart in my throat, I lifted a nearby lamp and cautiously stepped forward. The figure doesn’t run—it simply stands there, waiting. I was scared out of my wits. What the fuck was this? I had already signed off on this shit, so why the fuck was I still seeing things? Perhaps it was just my imagination. Shutting my eyes tightly, I opened them only to still see the figure standing in the same position. Shakily, I turn open the doork

Frank nodded—that was good enough for him anyway. "We're here!" the beggar exclaimed and suddenly stopped, pointing at a nearby hill. Frank stretched out with his senses to see that there was a graveyard halfway up the hill, and that there were people there. To be precise, it was more a curious energy signature that lingered there like when Frank turned invisible! "All the stuff about ghosts and haunting is but tall tales the forefathers told to spook each other," the beggar said.

"The perimeter is leaking, and the undead have already found the seam. Clear the courtyard in two days. Every single one." A chill ran down my spine as I remembered the old northern stories—rotting jaws still snapping long after their legs had been severed, hollow bodies that kept tearing and feeding with no scent and no pain. They never stopped. I swallowed the fear rising in my throat and lifted my chin. "Fine. Give me the weapon."

"Most people don't." "Oh, she definitely did." "Why?" "Because she'd light candles everywhere and tell me it was an adventure." She laughed quietly at the memory. "We'd make hot chocolate." "We'd tell stories until the electricity came back." Lucien listened without interrupting. "What kind of stories?" "Bookshop ghosts." He blinked. "Ghosts?" "The friendly kind." She grinned. "They supposedly rearranged books during the night because they got bored." "And you believed that?" "I was seven." "...Fair enough."

"This place really is cursed. It's a ghost! A ghost!" I slapped my hand over her mouth. She loved horror stories. She was always easily scared, but she loved them nonetheless. Seeing the real thing now, she was scared out of her wits. "Don't be scared. There are so many of us here. What's there to be scared of?" Normally, having so many people around would make ghosts less frightening. But right now, the sky was dark and overcast, and fog was rolling in. Everything was hazy. People couldn't see each other clearly. It was the kind of bone-chilling terror that made everyone's skin crawl and even made their sense of self slip away.