Weird Stories Novels & Stories

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.

I said, laughing at a joke that she cracked. "I know right, I want to ask you something. Have you heard about werewolves?" She suddenly asked and I gave her a weird stare. Why did she suddenly ask me that? "Of course, I have heard a lot of ancient stories about them." I replied as I ate my waffles. Who wouldn't know about werewolves? I have read up to like a hundred different stories about them. They are all fictional stories that made childhood fun. It was also fun arguing with the other kids then, when we were still young about some creatures that didn't exist.

The forest drank the light. June pushed through veils of thorn and creeper, her booted feet sinking into the soft, rotting loam. The air was thick and cold, carrying the scent of wet earth and something else, something ancient and metallic. The stories called this place the Cursed Wood, a place where hunters did not return. June clutched the haft of her throwing axe, her knuckles white. She was not here for game. She was here for the beast, the shadow that was said to tear livestock and men apart with equal indifference.

Little did I know, the spark was about to become a raging inferno, courtesy of something far beyond the mortal realm. It started on a rainy Friday night. I’d come home exhausted from a long week, my blouse clinging to my skin from the downpour outside. I kicked off my heels, letting them thud against the hardwood floor, and poured myself a glass of merlot. The apartment felt emptier than usual; my last girlfriend had left months ago, citing my “workaholic tendencies” as the reason. Truth be told, I missed the warmth of a body next to mine, the soft curves and whispered promises in the dark. To distract myself, I rummaged through the old box of junk in my closet— relics from my rebellious pha

Jade stayed in Ohio with her grandfather, Johnathan and his brother, Garwin. She was nineteen years old and came visiting for the holidays for the first time in years. The small town, Haborsville was rumoured to be invaded by night creatures that were responsible for the death of atleast three people on a daily basis. But Jade visited still. She only believed it was mere superstition and the only thing killing people were either plagues from poor hygiene, an unknown disease or people themselves like thieves.

"Do you know stories about werewolves?" "Hmm, I know, and I've heard some," Noreen said. "But I don't really like reading fantasy stories like that. I always feel that they're too absurd and don't have much wisdom. It's not good for children's mental development when they're children's stories. They become convinced that supernatural creatures really exist and often want to be like them." "Do you think werewolves are also supernatural creatures found in fantasy stories?" Thiery asked seriously. "Yes, of course," Noreen said firmly. "Werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, witches, wendigos—oh, there are so many strange creatures told about by people with overly imaginative minds."

As we headed down the stairs toward the kitchen, my mind was filled with a storm of thoughts I could barely control. This was wrong on so many levels. Jake was my husband’s brother. He had come to stay for a whole month while my husband was away. I should not have been moaning his name while I touched myself. Yet the ache between my legs refused to fade. I wondered if he had also heard my pleading moans. A part of me felt embarrassed from the thought, but another part felt a dangerous kind of excitement at the idea that he might have heard me begging for him.

or, you know, life. It’s okay that he’s talked incessantly on the drive to the hotel about his new business idea. The one that has no actual plans attached to it and consists of “well, weed is legal now in some states” and “I know some guys.” And it’s okay that even at thirty-eight, he’s still so good-looking that the clerk at the front desk looks like she’s in a bit of a daze from his focused attention. I know the feeling, sister. It’s how he got me pregnant at sixteen.

“I love black holes.” I squirmed in my seat. “What are you doing?” I looked around. We were near the back of the planetarium with no one around them, but we were still in public. When I felt Kai’s hand slide inside my pants, his fingers finding my wet folds, I let out a hiss. I gripped the armrests as he slipped up and down my slit. “Kai, we shouldn’t do this. Not here.”

The air in the library was thick with the scent of old books and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Sadile Marconi, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders like a river of flames, sat at a secluded table, her green eyes darting between the pages of her textbook and the clock on the wall. The numbers seemed to mock her, ticking away the minutes until her next class, a class she was dangerously close to failing.