Novelas y relatos de Scary Stories Books Online

That fear stemmed from the legend of what the papers called ‘The Wandering Stranger’. The Wandering Stranger was a prankster who emerged around Halloween time, dressed in a blood spattered funeral shroud, wearing a blank white face mask, and carrying a plastic knife. He would appear in the gardens and windows of local people, staring at them with an eyeless gaze. When Josephine was a child, she remembered hearing about him appearing at the window of a local rest home up town. He’d stood at the window, causing great fear and distress in the elderly. Their fear was so intense that one of them had a heart attack on the spot. Luckily they survived.

Author's Note This book is a short compilation of erotic stories. Please note that not all entries are heavily erotic—some lean more toward emotional moments, dramatic tension, or character interaction. Also, 99% of these stories don’t follow a traditional plot, so don’t be confused if there's no clear beginning, middle, or end. They’re written more for mood, moments, and expression than full narratives. Enjoy the ride,no overthinking needed. 😉 ********************************************* Kael didn’t wait.

* She moaned softly, thighs pressing together around her hand, the pressure coiling tight. Jax's parting words echoed *Drop your dirtiest reading experience* and she did, typing one-handed: *This story? Made me cum reading it on the toilet at work, panties in my mouth to stay quiet. Now living it. Your turn.* Submissions poured in: a woman detailing her first anal in a club bathroom, the burn and fullness making Zelda's untouched ass clench in curiosity; a guy confessing to jerking off in the car to a similar tale, cumming so hard he stained the seat; couples sharing how they'd role-played it, her riding him reverse while reading aloud, both shattering together.

“IT’S JUST I HAD a different book in mind when ink spilled on this one, plus what’s left to do in a finished book?” They, of course, ignored me Completely probably deciding if I would not explain, they were just going to proceed. One of the three waved their hand above the inky darkness we were standing on, and instantly a book on a pedestal was in front of them on the floor. It showed off my title, ‘1001 Dark Tales’. I instantly held my breath, hoping they didn’t realize what that meant. But if they had, they said nothing. Instead, they just started flipping through the pages of the book, looking for which store to choose.

I couldn't sleep again immediately after Milo’s call so I reached out to my nightstand and picked up the book I’d started earlier in the week: an anthology of paranormal romance stories. I had continued to read everything I could lay my hands on about werewolf shifters. And recently I decided to buy a few paperback of paranormal romance. I flipped through the pages until I found Story Five. It was just three chapters, I noted with a small smile. Perfect, by the time I finished with it, I was sure I would doze off.

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 don't even have his number! "Hello? Who's there?" I whispered. It was like a horror movie. The girl in the forest screaming and running for her dear life. Maybe it is Jordan. He is a douchebag but can he pull such a stunt just to scare me? One thing I learned from the horror movies I watch is never to scream and run so I backed away and tried to be in the shade because the moon was up and bright. I don't want to be spotted or watched by who may or may not be my predator.

Just remember, if you don’t want things to go bump in the night, don’t tell anyone else about them. Even now the shadows in my room play havoc with my subconscious, so I turn the light on and sleep with one eye open. Also, when my computer starts to go on the fritz just as I write a particularly spooky part of a story, I chuck it up to chance and swallow a little harder before checking to make sure that I have only one shadow. It’s amazing that I still get so scared as an adult. You sure would have thought that for someone who makes a living scaring people, I would know better, right?

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.

She poured herself another glass of cheap red, already on her third, and dropped onto the couch in her pencil skirt and blouse, buttons half undone. The city lights through the rain-streaked windows. Her laptop was still open on the coffee table, case files glowing like accusatory little rectangles. She should sleep. Instead she reached for the dusty old book she’d bought on a drunken whim two years ago at that weird occult shop downtown. *Daemonologie for the Modern Woman.* Stupid. But tonight it felt like the right kind of stupid. She flipped it open, scanned a page at random, and slurred the words under her breath. Latin? Probably, didn’t matter.