Scary Stories Long Novels & Stories

The Taboo Chronicles is a curated collection of dark, twisted, and unapologetically erotic stories designed to push the boundaries of conventional desire. From the sacred halls of a silent church to the high-stakes shadows of obsessive power plays, these stories explore the raw, unyielding side of human hunger. Whether it’s the thrill of a secret shared in the dark or the surrender of a soul to a dominant force, nothing is off-limits.

“Strange. Overtaken by the waters?” “No. Have you ever heard of the Moonlink pack?” “Who hasn’t?” I say. “An old nursing tale used to scare young wolves.” “And what if I told you the tale was true?” I turn to gape at him and a thrill runs through me. Was he always standing so close? “I would tell you you’re ridiculous.” I say, getting back on track. He smiles, a baring of teeth really. “They are real.” He says. For the umpteenth time in only so many hours I’m shocked.

My heart was beating so loud, I was scared the waiter could hear it at this point. As I approached them, feigning confidence I didn't have, I noticed their eyes wander from my face to my breasts to my thighs, whispering in each other's ears and smirking right after. The whole thing was making me so anxious—I was so scared I'd mistakenly miss a step and fall in these goddamn heels. Of all nights? Why today, dear lord? “Shirley!” Damian says out loud when I’m barely a feet away from them, his eyes dropping to my popping breasts. “Haven’t seen you in ages. Where the hell have you been? You look sexy as fuck.”

“Fine, we’ll let Hellfire tell us a ghost story.” “I don’t know any ghost stories,” I say. “What about you, Siren?” Venom asks her. “Nope.” “Well, then, it’s time the two of you become good at making up stories,” Intrigue says. For the next couple of hours, while Hacker and Sphinx work in the van, the rest of us make up ghost stories. I have to admit, Raptor is really good at making up scary stories and Intrigue is as well. Megan’s aren’t terrible, but Venom’s are, as they said, pretty stupid. I’m not sure mine are any better, but I made up one about the ghost that lives in the river, and it made everyone glance at the river we’re sleeping beside more than once.

he growled against my neck. “I….I love…crazy.” I stammered. “Good.” He backed away from me, and in the dim light walked to a cabinet in the corner, pulling out a cuff and a blindfold. My breath caught as the metal of the cuff glinted faintly. I had watched videos of girls being tied up, blindfolded, and fucked, but I had never actually done anything like it. Lee had always preferred his sex safe and calm. Not dark and dangerous.

And here I was, the unluckiest person alive. I just sat there, frozen stiff. Not because I wanted to, not because some invisible thing was holding me, but because my legs, these two things that carried me for nineteen years, just wouldn’t move anymore. They were stuck to the dusty floorboards, heavy and lifeless. My mind, though, was spinning like crazy with all sorts of scary thoughts. Alpha. Wolves. Real wolves. The kind with fur and sharp teeth and that hungry look of something that hunts. Not from fairy tales, those comfy bedtime stories where heroes always win. Not from Halloween movies, where the scares are fake and the monsters are always just some guy in a rubber mask. No, these were

“Oh? Well, get some rest. I won’t disturb you.” He raised a brow. “Did I say you were disturbing me? “ “Why no, but...” “I said you can talk to me as long as you want. So, talk about whatever you want until you get sleepy. I’m all ears.” I smiled. “I appreciate that.” He leaned back in his chair. “How long have you been afraid of c thunderstorms?” “Pretty much all my life. Hell, I don’t even like to drive in them. I’ll pull over on the side of the road and wait it out.”

Before there were doors between worlds, there were stories. They whispered from hearth to hearth and ship to ship— of wolves that ran like midnight wind, of foxes with nine tails and nine more tricks beyond that, of fae who looked like carved moonlight and smiled like knives. Humans loved those stories—as long as they stayed in books and bedtime. The moment a story breathed, the moment a pair of eyes glinted from a tree line or a shadow stepped out of the corner of a room, humans did what humans do best when they’re afraid.

It infuriated Cassy more—with the night that’s the homecoming of the ghosts and horrors. A wicked laugh itched to be out, instead, she scrutinized the height. The distance between her and the ground did not harrow her. It amazed her at how different she’s lurking around where the normal people might not even stare without a wave of nausea washing over them. An urge to smoke-filled her; she fetched a pack from the inside pocket of her dark blue jacket; ignited the flame, mumbling, “Every legendary story is a pent-up frustration of human beings to invoke fear in the minds of those whom they hate. Several against one or one against many.”

by the time the sun shimmers at the horizon behind me and the crescent moon dips below the horizon before me, I have thought of every word I know of to describe really, really, really boring walking. There is absolutely nothing here. I think of the stories we told each other when we were pups. About wraiths that lived beneath the sand of the Barren that would pull you down into their nests. They would paralyze you and then their grubs would feed off you, slowly eating you alive. That was a favorite. There are the roaming packs of wilder-scorpions, creatures that are half beast, half scorpion. Where the beast's tail should be is a scorpion's sting that will cause your skin to turn black and t