Scary Stories Book Novels & Stories

A murmur spread through the hall — someone laughed, someone asked, “What do you mean, sir?” Raghavan replied, “We will tell stories. One by one. Stories of fear. But remember — every story must carry the scent of truth. Because fear… does not live in lies.” A cold shiver ran through the room. Some students protested, but the professor only smiled and said, “If you don’t believe me, let’s begin with my story.” And slowly, he sat down. The candlelight flickered across his face — and he began to speak.

WARNING‼️ THIS STORY IS A PARANORMAL STORY 🔞 Chapter 1 My skin felt sticky from sweat as I peeled off my damp shirt and stepped closer to the tall antique mirror I had dragged out of the closet earlier. I wiped sweat from my neck and stared at my reflection, for a second everything matched. Then my reflection smiled a heartbeat after I did. My pulse jumped. I blinked hard and shook my head I was just tired that was all. I turned away to grab a towel but something made me glance back. My reflection stared at me, eyes darker, lips parted.

“Yes, of course, I remember you. What can I help you with?” “I was wondering if there might be an open spot in your auction.” My words are tentative and sound slightly scared. I’m terrified but desperate. I can almost hear the smirk in her voice when she asks, “Do you like Halloween?”

But soon, she would understand the consequences of being miserly. One day, while Greta was mocking me as usual, Hilda gleefully watched on. She walked into the living room with a glass of water to keep her throat hydrated. However, her movements were cautious, and she shuffled around nervously. As she was about to sit down, I suddenly shouted, "Ah!" Startled, she plopped down onto the chair, and there was a loud popping sound. Hilda let out an ear-piercing scream. Trembling, she glanced downward and saw that her pants were completely soaked. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fainted on the spot.

Standing up from the bed, I dragged my feet to the bookshelf and picked out a history book from there before going to sit on the bed. Opening the book, I almost screamed my lungs out at the image I was welcomed by. There were pictures of wild animals and some were humans with dangerous and scary faces, some had long teeth in their mouths, while some of them had some part of their eyes painted bloodred. I gulped down the lump in my throat, as I flipped the book page by page, checking out the images which getting scarier.

I can tell Uncle Leo we aren't ready yet. 'I'm sure. I don't think it will help us, but it won't hurt either.' She said. I picked up the book. It was an old, deep brown, leatherbound book with the title in gold leaf. 'Tales of Olde'. It was heavier than I expected. Uncle Leo hadn't told me the title of the story so I skimmed the contents page. None of the titles mentioned an unnamed wolf. I sighed.

It isn't the same spiral he used to communicate with me in Alaska, but I know a Thatcher spiral when I see one. I sit down on the couch and wait as Thatcher begins to write in his new red book furiously. He must have a lot to say because it is taking him much longer than usual. Finally, after almost three minutes, Thatcher passes me the book, and I immediately read. "Amber, this is very serious. The world is about to get messy and dangerous. A war is about to erupt between Werewolves and Humans. To protect you from what is to come, your father and I have to make some big decisions. Our enemies are multiplying. You need to trust us and back off. We don't have time to entertain you or answer y

This body’s got a mind of its own. “Uh, just... reading,” I stammer, grabbing a random book to hide my panic. My fingers fumble, and it falls open to a page about magical bindings. Fitting, since I feel bound to this plot. Ardyn’s smirk grows, and he leans against the table, close enough that I catch his scent, sandalwood and sin. My heart’s doing cartwheels, and I’m torn between squealing like the fangirl I am and bolting.

One time at work I'd even heard a co-worker called me the-Squidward-from-spongebob. Exactly why I hated them. That morning I'd just gotten up and, traditionally, said my good mornings to Sam triple zero eight, then the story stroke up. We were having a conversation of a book I'd just finished reading, 'No, Mr Harry Botter, do not turn me into a witch.' Believe me, it was a real book alright. The author was named Harry Botter, so he was the main character of his novel. Stories like that, what do they call them again? Paranormal stories, they were always fun to read. Partly because they were stupid, other part, they were nonsense. Nothing but ridiculous lies.

For this reason, I decided to move all then into strange short stories, that is already a storybook of different themes. The w******l policy does not allow me to remove or delete those books, so they will remain there but as a "paused" book. You can find only the introduction of those books on w******l and no else more. But there you can find some covers I made for those stories and that I can not upload here. The stories of a single chapter will continue to be published, of course. Each volume of Strange short stories will have 3 medium-sized stories and about 10 short stories.