Scary History Novels & Stories

“These reports are mostly considered fairy tales and morality stories by the majority of wolf-kind. However, a few scholars—and we Oracles—know them to be corroborated historical events.” “It appears that over the centuries, every time there has been a period of significant strife, a major threat to werewolf-kind, a white wolf has appeared to thwart the danger.” I tilt my head. “Wait… every time?” Angelica nods gravely. “Yes. Unfortunately, in the past, superstition has surrounded the white wolves, and the last two were killed before they could fulfil their destinies.” Okay. Well, that’s not ominous at all. "Destiny? What destiny?" I ask, crossing my arms.

My daughter, Amelia Rossum, comes home with her palm pierced all the way through by a pencil. I drop my mop in a panic, hastily change out of my loungewear, and rush her to the ER. At the hospital entrance, my husband, Benedict Rossum, jumps out of his car and immediately lashes out at me. "How could you let this happen to her?" Our neighbor, Lorelei Bates, trails behind him, holding her daughter's hand. She addresses him gently, "Benedict, don't be so hard on Clarissa. Everyone makes mistakes." He scoffs. "Other mothers can keep their kids safe perfectly fine. What's her excuse? I bet she did this on purpose to guilt me into coming home early!" Amelia recoils and hides behind me. Seei

Terrifying" which was released in 1982. Well, it sounds weird. Let's play it!" Hayle was about to put the cassette into the player and brought it closer to the microphone on the podium. "Wait!" Tony walked quickly over to Hayle. "Where did you get this?" Hayle gave Tony a strange look, "From Corrine. Why?" "May I see it?" asked Tony. "Sure." Hayle handed the tape to Tony. Tony looked at the tape carefully. He sensed something was wrong. "You'd better not play it." "Why?" asked Hayle.

She had spent the last three hours entirely immersed in Lucian's personal ledgers, her charcoal pencil flying across the pages of her notebook as she cataloged the volumes in strict chronological order. The initial terror of her morning dream had transformed into a deep, consuming fascination. Reading Lucian's history wasn't like reading a textbook; it was a devastatingly raw encounter with the ghost of the world. He had been there. His elegant, flowing script detailed the paranoia of the European witch trials, the mud and blood of the trenches in the Great War, and the blinding, horrific ash of Hiroshima.

He was trembling and on the verge of getting panic attack. Stopping the black Porsche just an inch away from him the driver gets out of the vehicle as if in a trance. "Come back to Tehran." He snarled on the face of Victor, his face purely white with an ugly black scar right on the middle of his forehead. He went to the switch board fixed to one of the pillars in the parking lot and put his finger into the socket. His body shook with passing electricity surprising Victor and he died on the spot.

" She... She re-opened dad's case? Why? Isn't she the one who told me that I should stop fighting against that invisible enemy of us? Why would she... Do this?" I stood up even if I feel like I would fall in any moment. I accidentally passed by a mirror and saw my scar. The memories that I buried six feet under the ground starts to flash like a flood. The screams in pain, the culprit's laugh, dad's cry in pain, our maids' shouts, and my cries. God, I need to stop this again. If this kept on flashing back, I'll lost myself again. And I don't want that to happen.

“These people—these people aren’t safe. You don’t know what they’re capable of. She blinked. “What do you mean, Hazel?” I let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been in your shoes before. I was stupid, naive—delusional, and it didn’t end well, Liz. It didn’t end well.” “Wait—what?” She replied, confused. The conversation continued, and I told her everything I could, and I meant every word I told her earlier. About the scar. About how she wasn’t ready to face these people. They’d chew her up and spit her out if she wasn’t careful.

I replied, feeling a little embarrassed at being caught in the act of browsing for a book. Miles nodded, his eyes flicking to the book in my hand. “You like history?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face. I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help but smile back at him. “Yeah, I do,” I admitted, feeling a little shy about my interests. Miles chuckled and began to tell me about the history book in my hand. It was called “The Werewolf Chronicles: A History of Lycanthropy,” and it delved into the long and mysterious history of werewolves.

He tried finding his balance but lost it and fell on the long black couch behind him. Beatrice quickly knelt over him, trapping him between her knees, “ what you scared of,” she said in a seductive tone. “ If you really want me to get out, push me off you.” She watched intently, wanting for any sign of resistance from him then brought her lips closer to his lips when she noticed he wasn’t resisting her. “won’t you stop me?” she said as she kissed his lips lightly.

"Not much," I replied with a frown. Tyler hovered over the books. One was an ancient leather-bound volume, its pages yellowed with age and filled with hand-drawn illustrations. The text either appeared to be printed somehow, or handwritten by someone with more patience and consistency than I could ever hope to possess. It was titled A History of Lycanthropy, and it detailed some notable packs, wars and werewolf related incidents of the past.