Novel & Cerita Spooky Stories To Tell In The Dark

Epilogue: Now that I have written several of these stories, I find that my old ghosts have started to haunt my dreams yet again. It is amazing that once things are written down, they begin to take on a life of their own. Just remember, if you don’t want things to go bump in the night, don’t tell anyone else about them.

“Oh. So if I want a pudding, all I smell is that?” He nodded, leaning forward on the table. “Yes.” “When you said other paranormal,” My thoughts went to Connor and Reed. “Did you mean fairies, vampires, ghosts, satyr and werewolves?” All the people in the room audibly gasped and turned their heads to our table, fear written on their faces. I looked around nervously and flinched. Uncle Al shot out of his seat. “Sorry about that,” he chuckled then said, “there are no Forbidden here.”

It was cool, slightly sweet, and soothing against my tongue. Eloise sat across from me, her hands wrapped around her glass, her posture relaxed in a way that still surprised me. Widowhood had hollowed her once. Now, slowly, life was filling her back in. “The blood moon always scared me as a child,” she said suddenly, lowering her voice as if the moon itself might hear. “My mother used to tell us stories whenever it was close.” I smiled faintly. “What kind of stories?” “The creepy kind,” she said, grinning. “She said spirits walked freely during the blood moon. That the veil between realms was thinner. That wolves who weren’t careful could lose themselves forever.”

“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.

Shayla resisted longer, peppering me with last-minute questions about whether clouds slept and if frogs had birthdays. Lucas waited until the others were settled before speaking quietly. “Can you tell a story?” Something in his tone—hopeful, vulnerable—unlocked a memory deep inside me. “My mother used to tell me stories,” I said softly. “Would you like one of those?” Three heads nodded eagerly. So I began. I told them about the moon that fell in love with the sea but could never touch it, about the brave girl who taught the stars how to sing, about the fox who tricked winter into leaving early.

“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.

🥹❤️🌙 First of all, I just want to say a HUGE thank you to every single person who has opened Dark Tales of Midnight: A Collection of Taboo Stories and decided to take this journey with me. Honestly, seeing people read my stories, leave comments, react to chapters, and come back for more means SO much to me. 🥺💕 Every single view, comment, vote, and bit of support reminds me that all the time I spend creating these stories is worth it. ✍️📖💗

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.

"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."

asked one of them. “I have some back in the room. It’s for the sleepover.” replied the other. “I’m so excited!” “Me too! I can’t wait for the Bloody Mary! I will be the one to try it out first!” “Oh my gee! Are we going to read some creepypasta stories for the scary parts?” “Yes! And I heard Nympha will also tell us some true supernatural stories when she was still in the Philippines!”