Scary Sandman Novels & Stories

The faces in the sand were screaming now, begging us to stay, to give in, to let the Sandman have us. And then I saw him. The Sandman himself. He rose from the desert like a shadow given form. Tall, impossibly tall, with eyes that glowed like dying stars. His voice was the sound of wind over graves. "You broke my world, little glitch." He was looking at Mia. "I don't know what you're talking about," Mia said, but I could hear the fear in her voice. "You shattered the nightmares. Freed the prisoners. Defied my domain." He moved closer, and with each step, the temperature dropped. "I should erase you for that. But you're far too interesting."

I replied, and stilled. The scarfed man did likewise. “Stop!” He called out to the others. “What?” The bearded man asked. “The sand moved,” the scarfed man replied. “The sand always moves,” the woman replied. The sand shifted, rising up, and then settling down, as if something large had moved up and then gone down again. “Admittedly, not like that,” she amended drawing her wickedly hooked knives. With a deafening screech, something horrifying surged out of the sand, seized a mouthful of my skeletons, before diving back into the sand as if it were water, scattering bones in its wake.

Her injured hand throbbed like it remembered. She flinched. Then Hank's hand covered hers, warm and steady. He leaned in, voice barely a whisper. "Don't be scared. Just be you. The you from three years ago. The one who lived for this." She shut her eyes. Memories flickered fast and sharp. Then she opened them and started to play. It all came back. The rush. The peace. The stage. Every doubt, every scar, melted away. When the last note faded, she looked up.

A lullaby hums in a voice not your own Sung from the mouths of the buried and dead A faceless thing grins in the wide doorway Stretching its arms, your escort inside Your name is etched on a tomb with no grave A jagged whisperer, an icy brace Your heart beats loud, but not for long Run, run, but your feet won't move The darkness wraps its chains around you I said grin forms in the blackest shade Time runs out, and so will your veins The bells don't toll; the clocks don't chime Only the sound of the end of time Your Shadow melts your hands turn cold The nightmare sings as it takes hold I'm sorry to say, but this is the end Your breath is stolen; no need to pretend A door creaks open; the void

Shyly, she glanced up at him. "I'm sorry," she rasped, her voice hoarse from crying. "I'll wash your shirt for you." "It's nothing," Lex reassured her, gently stroking her cheek. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" Sande sighed deeply, shaking her head with a sad expression. "She's not who I thought she was, Lex. She's a monster." Lex's brow shot up in surprise. "A monster? What do you mean?" "She wasn't even sorry!" Sande said, throwing her hands up in frustration. "She told me she loves Sinjin. Can you believe that?"

As the pack prepared for the looming threat, Sandra found herself torn between her duty to the pack and her personal quest for justice. In the depths of the night, under the silvery glow of the moon, Sandra sought solace on the pack's grounds. She wandered through the familiar territory, her thoughts a tempest of conflicting emotions. The scent of pine and earth filled the air, a comforting backdrop to the tumult within her. As Sandra strolled, lost in contemplation, a figure emerged from the shadows – Beta Damien, a trusted member of the Eclipse Pack and Sandra's secret confidant. His eyes, a shade of deep amber, reflected concern as he approached her.

Enraged at the people that sold me, I set the orphanage on fire. That's when the story of my existence started to circulate. They had called me The Reaper. After I started the fire on my old orphanage I was seen by the whole Brakstone City perched on the burning building, holding the scythe with a cloth coiled around my face. It was the same scythe that I had killed my father and the same cloth he'd worn as he died. And it hadn't matter if I'm just a child at that time their fear had made me an enormous monster in their eyes.

But even in the midst of this uncertainty, I hold onto Xavier's promise, his determination to save me. The door opens, and I'm pushed into a room. My eyes widen as I take in the scene before me. Sandra stands there, a sinister smile playing on her lips. Sandra's laughter slices through the tension like a serrated knife. The sound is a chilling symphony, a testament to her sadistic pleasure. My heart races, each beat echoing the dread coursing through my veins. The device she holds in her hand, a bomb that could end everything in a heartbeat, is a surreal and terrifying reminder of my helplessness. As much as I would like to be strong right now am not sure I want to survive this.

There, her foot was coming up. This time there was no pop of release as she expected, only a long squelch, and as she pulled her foot slowly up she saw, to her horror, that attached to her ankle were a mud-colored hand and arm. The arm came from somewhere down below. "Oh, hell no," Cassandra huffed as she stared at it in disbelief. Suddenly it yanked harder and her whole leg went into the mud. Now she could scream. Her hands crawled desperately at the earth, but it crumbled wetly away. She felt herself being pulled down to the waist. Hearing her screams, Vasilisa rushed back to her through the mist. There was no time for the sorceress to conjure up any spell. She grunted as she used her stre

I don’t know the voice before I recognize the face. “Fuck”, I say under my breath, “Brandon". He is one of the few kills in my career that I couldn’t accomplish. He stares at me with deep brown eyes fixed inside deep sockets. His skin is almost the complexion of coal. 6'9 and all shoulders, he towers over all of us. Muscles from a naturally active lifestyle ripple under his taut skin. He watches me out of the corner of his eye, and I can tell he wants to kill me---shoot me.