Scary Story Writer Novels & Stories

Playing games with your life is very risky. You might even end up dead. Not much of the Supernatural and Paranormal here today, but quite a bit of terror and fear. And lack of common sense... This is your host and storyteller, The Diwata, about to share a story that happened to one of our own readers online. We hope you learn a lot from his story because Enjoy... ++++++++++ I want to tell the story of what happened in our school when I was in second grade. I guess this is that one of those events that I will never ever forget.

Photos of Garry. How was he able to collect all that in just a day? "I should write a story about this man, Todd... Garry... Whatever..." The writer in him sees a story in this whole scenario... Weird. That's why he's helping me out? Because he'll get some ideas for some thriller book? "So, tell me. What do we have?" "He's not even Todd Gamble..." ****** *********

my whole body was vibrating like i was air itself. Scared i shouted "WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?"... Authors Note: hi guys.so to be frank this is my first time writing.please i want to find out.how is the story going so far.are there some things you think i should work on.if you do,you can drop your veiw at otuekongbassey9@g***l.com .Thanks

“So, you believe that there is a possibility that they plotted your father’s death and mother’s disappearance. And there is a great chance that your father’s schemes were discovered, or reported by someone… which eventually lead to his death—ordered to be murdered. And that leaves you to find who did it. Whoever stabbed your father in the back could be someone close to him.” “Correct.” Raverine grabbed a glass of whiskey and took it in one gulp. “Could be his friends or foes or… his own family.” I nodded and turned my attention to the computer screen. I typed in vampires in the search bar and mythical stories came up on the search browser first. “I wonder who wrote these articles and stories

Like I was part of something bigger than myself. "You sure?" Axel asked. "I'm sure." "The compound isn't exactly I*******m-worthy." I looked around the simple office. Concrete walls, basic furniture, the smell of leather and motor oil drifting in from the garage. "Maybe that's what I need." --- That evening, I posted my first story. A video of me sitting in what looked like a coffee shop, talking about childhood fears and small-town legends. I mentioned growing up where people believed in monsters. How that shaped your worldview.

But they didn’t hit bottom. They landed on a soft, glowing surface—a giant open book, appearing out of nowhere. Near the edge sat a young man in a t-shirt and jeans, a pencil behind his ear. He looked like any student. “Nice catch,” said the young man, smiling kindly. Maya helped Julian up and held the iron key, ready to fight. “Who are you? Are you an Editor?” “Me? No,” the kid laughed, standing up. “I’m the Ghostwriter. The Author hired me when she was too tired to finish your story. I’ve been keeping you alive while the Board tried to delete everything.”

“Of course not. It’s just a house . . . my house, as you said.” “I can’t believe it. You’re Mr. Horror, and you don’t believe in ghosts? How is that even possible?” “Okay, Bias, I’m going to blow your mind with one hell of a revelation about writers and their stories. I’m pretty sure Lewis Carroll never fell down a rabbit hole into a magical Wonderland; it doesn’t seem likely that Anne Rice believes in vampires; and I highly doubt J.K. Rowling has met any real wizards. That’s what makes it fiction and not nonfiction.”

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!”

“What is this? I told you we just need a brief description. I didn’t ask you to make up some bullshit story.” “I added some colour-” “You didn’t add colour,” he interrupts the writer. “You wrote a whole fucking horror story. When did any of our children die? We didn’t pick up exploded elders in the forest. Everything we say needs to be believable. This is not.” “I’m sorry, your highness,” the woman says. “I write fiction, not-” “Do better next time,” Johnathan interrupts and shoves the folder back in her hands. “Who has the fact sheet about this man?”

Also, her father wasn’t the only factor that made her scared timely. She tapped Damien, hoping to share a bit of herself since it seemed they’d be together for a while. He readily opened his eyes and sat up, wanting to hear her out. “When I was younger, a scary incident happened to me. That’s actually the reason I get really cranky in situations like this. I had a stalker.” she started. Damien glanced at her then looked away, that wasn’t the story he was expecting to hear. “You overcame the scary incident anyway.” He said.