Scary Poems Short Novels & Stories

Layla scrambled back in terror, but it was too late. My claws ripped her dress, revealing the pale skin of her back. It was smooth. Flawless. There was no scar. And Myrna... Myrna had a hideous scar running from her left shoulder to her right hip. The scar I had touched a thousand times, but never once asked where it came from. "Moon Goddess," I collapsed. "What have I done?" "You regret it now?" Layla sat on the floor, her eyes filled with malicious glee. "It's too late, Clark. It's far too late."

I watched in helpless horror as they tore at him, his silent screams a torment I could feel in the depths of my soul. The ground beneath Ryder seemed to crumble, his broken body sinking into the dead earth, disappearing into the abyss. A raw, guttural cry tore from my throat, a sound of pure anguish and despair. The chilling echo of Jaxon’s scream returned, closer now, laced with a desperate plea that shattered the oppressive silence. I spun around, desperately searching for him, my heart pounding with a frantic terror. And then I saw it – a flash of dark fur disappearing into the shadows, pursued by a hulking, monstrous figure with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp claws. The image was fleet

All they could do now was wait, poised on the edge of action, ready to spring into motion at the first sign of danger. The silence was shattered by a sudden, bone-chilling screech. From the shadows, the demon lunged forward with terrifying speed, its eyes glowing with malevolent hunger. It was a grotesque creature, with sinewy limbs and jagged claws that glistened in the moonlight. Its form seemed to shift and ripple as it moved, a blur of darkness and malice.

Credits to The Office rolled on my laptop as I sat up in bed, in front of me laid poetry as the wind blew harshly against the house; clicking on 'play' only to be welcomed by the next episode of The Office, I heard something downstairs fall and break. Did I want to be a part of a horror movie cliche? Nope. Wide-eyed I glanced toward my closed bedroom. "Fuck no," Bringing the lilac covers up to my chin, sliding the poetry onto the floor, and bringing the great Michael Scott closer to me. "I am not dying today Satan," Chills danced upon my body as a familiar but transparent scent caught my nose, hair prickled up on the back of my neck, and as another crash sounded, I jumped. My heartbeat picki

But you're different, Can you feel it? I want you to see, The person I see you to be. You're not alone, I see you. Are you scarred? What do you fear? Come closer, I'll tell you a story, And wash all your fears away. Do you see the stars? Billions upon billions of them, Yet you shine the brightest. You're a special kind of star, One that never dies. Are you broken? Come closer let's compare scars. Your heart hurts right? Mine does too,

Maybe іt’ѕ the fear. It ѕееmѕ so dаrk I саn’t ѕее mоrе than a fеw fееt ahead, аnd I nеаrlу ѕtumblе. I start tо раnіс. Mу brеаthіng gеtѕ out of control аnd I want tо scream.

She asked I suddenly remembered the small poem in the book I have shared with Lea "Think of me, our time might come to an end. In a blink, you might be blind to see me." "I am on the brink of the cliff, can you catch me? I am shrinking, will you see me?" "In a wink, there's only one eye. In a heart, there's only one side" I haven't given attention to it but, it did affect me. Little did I know, it was the end

In 1983 a Mrs Carson of New York was laid out in our coffin, presumed dead of hear disease. As mourners watched, she suddenly sat up, alive as you or I. Unfortunately her daughter dropped dead of fright on the spot. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon.

I am engulfed, burning from the inside out, as the inferno dances within, leaving naught but ashes in its wake. There's a haunting beauty in the piercing cry that shatters the silence, a raw heart-wrenching sonnet of agony escaping from the depths of my anguish. My voice, a raw symphony of pain, paints the space with the visceral strokes of an emotion too intense to be confined. My eyes open, embracing bleeding obsidian and clutching at shadows, my breath a delicate tremor of fear. Every unseen whisper becomes a phantom, and the absence of light is a canvas for my imagination to weave tales of untold terrors.

I lie on the bed inhaling deeply and the smell is much stronger here. My heart races with the thought of someone breaking into my home and the dread in me intensifies seeing a black note on the side of the table. Ice grips me as I stare at the cursive words written in red. Caged in a nightmare. Fear the darkness, Unknown to the eyes. The flower spreads poison, just as ocean drowned the love.