Scary Stalker Stories Novels & Stories

After two days of high temperatures and intense boredom, he remembered the three books. Sam pulled out the one with the Mummy on the cover, because it looked the most innocuous. It was entitled the Ninth Pan Book of Horror Stories. He wasn’t the least bit prepared for what he found inside. The first three stories involved emasculation, murder and burning at the stake. In his fevered state Sam felt he was not only watching the characters’ suffering, he was experiencing it along with them. He flung the book at the wall and then hid it again, wishing he could burn it like Jinnot, the young girl in the third story who was burned alive.

I grabbed a cold water bottle from the fridge and pushed the heavy closed. I forced myself not to stare at the exit where the strange man had just disappeared. My hands trembled against the cold plastic as I tightened my silk robe again, trying to hide the flush of arousal on my skin. A paralyzing new horror washed over me. “What kind of bloody business is my brother actually running?” I stared blankly down at the red blood on the tile, realizing with terrifying certainty that the stalker hunting me wasn't the only threat in my life. I had crossed the country searching for safety, only to sleep in a house completely full of monsters.

Some of them stand in packhouses and call you the reason their mate is dead. And some of them, maybe, are not monsters at all. Just stories. Just fear. But I do not know which story is true. And that might be the scariest part. --- Night falls. The group makes camp in a valley between two mountains. The guards give me more bread and a blanket. I curl up in the corner of the wagon and try to sleep. I cannot. The stories circle in my head like angry bees. He killed ten rogues with his bare hands.

But Liza’s thoughts stopped again when Hunter spoke again. “As for the case of whether I am your stalker or not, well, I guess you could say that yes, I am a stalker.” Liza’s eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her lips, and she thought, ‘I was right! He is a stalker!’ And the moment she thought of Hunter being her stalker, fear slowly crept up. She’s heard many dangerous and scary stories and rumors about stalkers doing unimaginable things to the people they are obsessed with. Some of it even resulted in killings.

“All of which I could forgive if you didn’t set me up with an anorexic Mexican who believes he is a fictional character; ruining one of my favorite romance novels with the experience! Now you won’t have to worry about the big city swallowing my midget body whole, since the proper schizophrenic you gave my personal information is stalking me!” I stamp my foot with a sharp intake of breath. “He’s a stalker, Nicky! You know how I feel about stalkers! They are up there with being late, daisies and Hitler! ” I heave in a shaky breath, battling down the panic.

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I furiously said. “Why would I tell you? I’m not slow. Whatever I say will be against me. So, letting you figure it out makes things more interesting— don’t you think.” Brad began to laugh. Every time we moved closer, Brad gently squeezed the trigger. We are dead if we try anything. I glanced at my coworker, who was on the ground bleeding from the back. Fuck. “Why stalked women?? Why those people specifically?” I asked. “Stalking is such a strong word; I prefer INTENSE RESEARCH OF AN INDIVIDUAL,” Brad stated as he pulled the trigger. I fell onto my knees— I began to black out.

Ken asks while trying to make the conversation a little lighter. "I swear, Ken. Big huge hairy creatures that shift between men....and ugly wolf-men hybrids...They also talked about vampires at the place they held me for four days. We don't live in the world we think we do...I swear on mom. The girl I escaped with...they shot her in the back of the head. To escape from the basement I made the furnace explode...I killed people to get away from them, Kenny. I became a monster to escape monsters. I would never make that up," I declare, and Ken's eyes widen as he digests my words.

"Do you know Stacy Conway's story?" Now my stomach did back flips. "Yeah, I do." Stacy was a model. Her stalker served two years in prison. A week after his release, he killed her. No- that wasn't exactly correct. He slaughtered her. "She was mine." That brought me out of my horrible thoughts. "Yours?"

Epilogue: Now that I have written several of these stories, I find that my old ghosts have started to haunt my dreams yet again. It is amazing that once things are written down, they begin to take on a life of their own. Just remember, if you don’t want things to go bump in the night, don’t tell anyone else about them.