Stalker Scary Stories Novels & Stories

Hendrix POV After that weirdo's silly bedtime story about end-of-the-world cults or something, I could tell Anna's resolve was breaking down. Those weird creatures and their horrifying objects were like living nightmares come true. They had twisted bodies and soulless eyes that looked right into your mind with cold malice. Their rude and inappropriate presence made me lose even my normal confidence. But giving in to fear was the first thing that led to loss. And there was no way in hell I was going to be added to Scar's crazy plan to kill people from our family tree.

I know for sure that my stalker has arrived. To my surprise, a shadow appears from the front, approaching me, and each step makes my heart skip a beat. I can feel my skin crawling as the shadow appears closer and closer, revealing its terrifying self. My eyes are widened with fear, astonishment lingering on my face. My lips are turning white, and my face is becoming pale. “You -” I murmur. Feeling like my voice is stuck at the back of my throat, a lump forming there.

I felt a shiver run down my spine as I ran my fingers over the embossed title: Nightstalkers; Hunting the Creatures of the Night. As I opened the book, I felt a shiver run down my spine. The pages were old and worn, their corners curling up from years of use. The illustrations within were both beautiful and terrifying, depicting hunters fighting against the creatures I had come to learn about; werewolves, vampires, and other beasts of the night. As I read through the book, I felt my heart racing with excitement and fear. I learned about the different types of hunters and their techniques for tracking and killing these dangerous creatures. Fear overtook me as I thought of Dorian, fighting ag

I finally had it and cut his words, "The bloody box, Grady, what's in it?" "Oh, that...dead mice, probably store-bought. You know the one reptile keeper buy for their snakes and such. The sick psycho smears its blood on the box. We are having the box examined, but until we find our stalker, you're not going anywhere alone. I prefer having you here, and now that you're sick I think it's better if you rest."

“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.

Stacy took her seat again and had a sorry look on her face. “Don’t look like that, its an Nogitsune, a Kitsune who has turned vile, they feed on chaos, pain and strife, please whatever you do, be careful hunting this thing, they are ancient and unforgiving.” Nikki no longer had a bite in her voice; she was truly worried for her friend. “Nikki, what aren’t you telling me?” Stacy asked noticing the tears welling in her friends deep brown eyes. “I think it may be the same one that killed Raul.” the tears were no longer being held back; instead they were flowing free down her cheeks and dripping to her tank top.

After two days of high temperatures and intense boredom, he remembered the three books. Sam pulled out the one with the Mummy on the cover, because it looked the most innocuous. It was entitled the Ninth Pan Book of Horror Stories. He wasn’t the least bit prepared for what he found inside. The first three stories involved emasculation, murder and burning at the stake. In his fevered state Sam felt he was not only watching the characters’ suffering, he was experiencing it along with them. He flung the book at the wall and then hid it again, wishing he could burn it like Jinnot, the young girl in the third story who was burned alive.

"The link... it’s dead, Elena. I'm just… empty." I squeezed his hand, pulling him closer until his forehead rested against mine. We were huddled in the shadow of a jagged outcrop, the Harvester’s prismatic dome shimmering like oil on water just a few feet away. The elite Stalkers stood in a perimeter, their rifles leveled at us, their visors dark and unreadable. They were waiting. Vance wasn't rushing. He wanted us to feel the weight of our own helplessness.

I was the girl who poured their drinks, cleaned up their crumbs, stood off to the side with my head low. But I listened. Every night, I listened. And my favorite stories—the ones that sent chills down my spine—were about the rogues. Greywin would say, “They don’t walk like us. They stalk. They don’t breathe like us. They sniff, they growl. And when you hear a branch break in the middle of the forest, child, don’t run… they already know where you are.” I remembered the way the girls would huddle closer, giggling but scared. But I wasn’t giggling. I was barely breathing. I always held my tray tighter and leaned closer to hear more.

Not until I felt it. A ripple in the air. A presence that wasn’t there before. And then I knew. The Dread Stalkers. They were Zerathos' hunters. The realization sank into me like an endless out. Dread Stalkers. The creatures that fed on fear. That grew stronger the more their prey panicked. That meant they weren’t just attacking. They were waiting for us to be afraid. They could sense the fear and then more they picked us off the more that fear grew.