Spooky Bedtime Stories Novels & Stories

Suzan’s POV "After an exciting night of trick-or-treating with my brother's best friends—Jack, Beth, and Simon—I was ready to head home. As I rummaged through my bag for a piece of candy, hoping to savor the last moments of the night, Simon’s voice cut through the cool air like a blade, sending a chill down my spine." “Hey, what do you say we visit the witch’s cabin?” he asked, flashing that mischievous grin I hated. “I heard she’s more active on Halloween. If you knock three times on her front door and one of her windows shatters, that means she’s home. Wouldn’t that make tonight way more interesting?” My blood ran cold at the mention of the cabin. I was only eleven, and the rumors about th

I whispered with a loving smile, “Which story would you like tonight?” Mike’s face lit up with excitement, his tiny hands reaching for his favorite book. “The one about the brave little wolf, Mumma!” I chuckled as I opened the book, a captivating story about a young wolf’s rand adventure. Mike listened with rapt attention, his eager eyes fixed on the pages as I spun the tale of bravery and exploration. By the time I reached the part where the little wolf found solace under the silvery glow of the moon, my son was already fast asleep.

“And no scary movies! He acts all tough, but then I’m the one getting woken up at three a.m. because he’s convinced a ghost is living in his closet.” I nodded, trying to keep up. “No soda after seven. He gets hyper. And he’s going to try to convince you that marshmallows count as a vegetable. They don’t.” “Copy that,” I said. “No ghost movies. No sugar demons. Marshmallows are not a food group.” She squinted at me. “And bedtime?” “Ten.” “Nine.” I smiled. “Nine.” Her expression softened slightly. “He’s really excited. He wouldn’t stop talking about it last night.”

The vision fades as quickly as it came, leaving me with that hollow feeling again. Sleep, when it finally comes, is filled with dreams of glowing wolves and the sound of a woman's voice singing about the moon's blessed children and the gifts they carry in their blood. I have to stop reading books filled with old wives’ tales before bed.

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."

“Mommy.” I looked at him instantly. “Yes baby?” “Can you read me a bedtime story please?” he asked sleepily. “Sure baby,” I quickly sat by him. “I’ll read it offhand. Is that okay?” He nodded. I went on to tell him a few stories I could remember from my childhood and by the time I was done, he was already fast asleep. I leapt to my feet and snuck out of the room. When I got to Malcolm and my room, he was not there.

That I also used that spoon just moments ago? My face heated up, and I avoided his gaze. “I'm going to the bathroom.” I quickly tell him and then I run out of the room, so as to not make a fool of myself again.. ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ That night, before I left, Sophia and Franklin asked me to tell them a bedtime story. Even though I had experiences in putting Xavier and Clayton to sleep, I only knew of the story of the three little pigs and of course Cinderella but my boys weren't ever interested in that second one.

"Most people don't." "Oh, she definitely did." "Why?" "Because she'd light candles everywhere and tell me it was an adventure." She laughed quietly at the memory. "We'd make hot chocolate." "We'd tell stories until the electricity came back." Lucien listened without interrupting. "What kind of stories?" "Bookshop ghosts." He blinked. "Ghosts?" "The friendly kind." She grinned. "They supposedly rearranged books during the night because they got bored." "And you believed that?" "I was seven." "...Fair enough."

he murmured, writing it like it was a mission objective. She watched him. Focused. Serious. Intent. Like a determined father trying to memorize a world he had missed. “And he likes stories before sleeping,” she added softly. Reid paused at that. “What kind?” “Adventures. Brave heroes. Silly monsters. Anything where someone protects someone else.” He nodded slowly and wrote: Bedtime stories – protective theme. The room felt different now. Not heavy. Not tense. But quiet. “You already had lists for me too?” she asked after a moment.

he commented as he took a step forward. Shoving every single thought that was crossing my mind to the farthest place, and swallowing any comment that I could have made about his appearance, I cleared my thoughts. "That's because that's exactly what is going to happen. I'm going to read you a bedtime story,” I said confidently. However, I realized how absurd that sounded as soon as I said it. Can you believe it? The Night Reaper, in his pajamas, having a bedtime story being read to him. The universe would have had to gamble some of the ozone layer just for those words to even be placed in that order.