Scary Stories Long Novels & Stories

I sighed and fetched us sandwiches, promising myself I'd sneak in something resembling a vegetable tomorrow. We sat cross-legged in the tent, munching on our gourmet picnic, while Eddie launched into a long, meandering ghost story about a haunted basketball and a boy named Kevin who disappeared because he refused to brush his teeth. "And then," Eddie whispered, flashlight under his chin, "they say you can still hear Kevin's mom yelling from the woods: 'I told you to floss, Kevin!'" I burst out laughing. "That's not even scary!" I said. "Terrifying for Kevin, though."

"The perimeter is leaking, and the undead have already found the seam. Clear the courtyard in two days. Every single one." A chill ran down my spine as I remembered the old northern stories—rotting jaws still snapping long after their legs had been severed, hollow bodies that kept tearing and feeding with no scent and no pain. They never stopped. I swallowed the fear rising in my throat and lifted my chin. "Fine. Give me the weapon."

Even with the sun warm on her back, she shivered. There was no choice but to step into that forbidding place. She knew it, and yet she couldn’t quite bring her feet to move- her sturdy leather boots stayed planted on the pale, spring-green grass like she’d grown roots. It had been a hard winter. She’d gotten skinny during the frozen months, and if she wanted to keep herself in coin and bread, she had to bring in game. She needed space to know the extent of her powers space too away from the goblins and wolves. This black, dark forest was the last place they might be. People avoided it on principle; there were tales of beasts, here. Demons as big as horses and strange, twisted deer-gods with

Everyone was happy until they played a game which they shouldn’t have The fun they were having wasn’t enough for them, they desired for some scare and that they got. They decided to tell each other spooky stories. The oldest kid among them told the story of what happened to the owners of the house—of course he didn’t tell it as it happened because no one knows what exactly happened and so to fill that void he added more than he should to the story to make it spookier—it’s not like you could blame the kid

Without warning, she pushed both fingers deep inside me in one smooth thrust. I gasped loudly, my head falling back against the wall. Lena immediately covered my mouth with her free hand. “Shhh,” she hissed, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. “You don’t want Maya to hear her precious best friend getting finger-fucked by her big sister, do you?”

My Grandpa’s story began like this: “Grandpa! I’m glad you came today. Do you have a story to tell me? Make it a scary one! Oh, I know! How about when you were my age, what did you do for Halloween?” “Well, let’s see... when I was fifteen...” “Grandpa!” “What? Oh, right! What did I do on Halloween when I was your age? I don’t know if you should hear this. I mean, it’s not pretty. It’s downright scary as hell!”

Her conscience sensed something dangerous about to happen. Everybody in the house had gone to watch a movie in the theatre. Alexander had gone to meet his friends. Amara was alone in the enormous palace. She stared at Princess Veronica's picture. "Is the monster still buried in the sepulchre? It is too long a time....three hundred years. Does he still stay there without using his evil powers? He shouldn't ever come out. But what if he does?" Amara mutters her anxious words standing before the princes's picture.

Tonight was our first official sleepover in the treehouse, and we'd dragged up sleeping bags, flashlights, and enough snacks to last a week. "Tell me a scary story," Avy said, settling into her sleeping bag. "I don't know any scary stories." "Make one up." "Okay, um..." I pointed my flashlight at my face for dramatic effect. "Once upon a time, there was a girl who read so many books that her eyes fell out." "That's not scary, that's stupid." "Fine. There was a boy who was so bad at football that the football grew teeth and ate him." Avy giggled. "You're terrible at this."

It was late autumn when they arrived — the trees skeletal, the air thick with a kind of oppressive stillness that seemed to hum beneath the surface of the world. Emily Carter, a graduate student in folklore and urban legends, had heard the whispers about WildWood all her life. She had grown up just a few towns over and had spent years gathering the old stories: tales of the “vanishing patients,” the “howling trees,” and the “night doctors” said to stalk the forest paths. Determined to separate fact from myth, Emily organized an expedition for her thesis, enlisting a few brave companions:

There was food everywhere, balloons I distinctly remembered telling her not to buy, and a giant cake sitting untouched on the counter because apparently turning nineteen was a national event. I stayed near the kitchen mostly. Safe distance. I was avoiding him. This morning's events still playing over in my head. He was different. Very different and I got scared. I didn't know what to do or who to talk to. Who am I kidding, who am I going to tell that I am scared of my best friend's nineteen year old son who I have been having sex with since last year. A woman who should know better. And yet all I could think about was being on my knees for a nineteen year old a few hours ago.