Writing A Horror Novel Novels & Stories

I did not look back at the troughs as I cleared the steps. The script of the novel was completely gone. There were no neat acts or heroic chapters left, just a messy, suffocating reality where the villains and the victims were breathing the exact same black smoke. There was no grand confrontation waiting for us, just the long, dark walk up to the Great Hall through the grease and the ash, with the midnight deadline closing in like a trap.

But I already knew what I needed to do. I grabbed a small knife that another player had thrown away and, using all my strength, stabbed it into Jack’s temple. His eyes widened in shock before he collapsed limply. At that moment, a fierce wind blew from outside, and the castle’s main doors were blasted open. A blood-red moon hung in the sky, adding to the eerie atmosphere. Then the castle began to twist and distort. It gradually became that lightless room. It became the place where I had died. Ding-dong!

I stumbled back and gasped, my eyes snapping open to meet Horris’s burning gaze. “Do you want to get yourself killed?” he demanded. Rising from the chair, he moved closer. His eyes blazed with a fire I had never seen—not even in his strangest moments. Fear crawled through me, settling deep in my chest. I trembled and stepped backward, but he advanced, closing the distance. “Ho—Horris, it’s not what you think,” I stammered, my voice shaking despite my attempt to sound calm. “Then tell me what I think it is,” he said, tightening his grip. The pressure made my heart hammer in my chest. His expression was nothing like the calm, distant Horris I knew. This was someone else—dangerous, relentless,

“Come into my lair, soup brain. I’ve got just the thing.” She followed me to the counter, plopping down on the stool like she was melting. “Writing not going well?” I asked, pulling jars from the shelf. “It was. Then it wasn’t. Then I saw Noah talking to a blonde in town, and suddenly everything I wrote turned into a horror story where people get their hearts stomped on.” I raised an eyebrow. “So, the usual romance process.” She groaned. “I’m not proud of the jealousy, Sienna. It just… appeared, like some green monster hijacked my brain. Then he disappears again for days, and I start questioning everything.”

It gave us enough time to plan everything. There was a sharpening feeling of pangs in my stomach as I played the execution of our plan over and over in my head. The most of it was brought by fact that I was to act alone and Billy will only provide transport to and from the battlefield. I had to be scared. I was just a girl who came to the world class African city to enrich my mind with knowledge and make my family proud. Not to kill people. Immediately I thought of the reward. As sickening as it sounds, me being able to secure Billy as my boyfriend and MINE alone gave me enough courage and will to want to get rid of the problem. I deleted the fear from my mind by placing Billy’s face in it.

I got up as quick as I could after that happened. "Is it because of power outrage?" I asked myself as I tried to peak at the nurse's table, but she was not back yet. Of course, if she was, I would have known since I'd hear the door opening. I sighed. This darkness surrounding me makes me feel a little nervous. What kind of story is this now? If before it was a poorly written teen drama, now this scene looks like it came out from a horror movie. Where there would be something that would come out of the—

I couldn't see anything as I tried to find the light switch. I didn't remember seeing one the last time I was here so I was on my own trailing my fingers on the walls looking for the switch. I could see a dark figure rise from the far end of the study and begin approaching me . My heart beat quickened and my breathing became heavy . It was at that moment that all the scenes from every horror movie came into play as the figure became taller the closer it became. I didn't know what to do so I did what anyone would have done in my situation.

As a means of continue writing, he keeps his grandparents close to his heart and mind for always encouraging him to not give up. Brandon Ebinger Brandon Ebinger is a horror/dark fantasy author who lives in upstate New York with his fiancé and two cats. He holds a BA in creative writing. He enjoys horror films,Gothic rock and punk music and video games. He is a huge fan of haunted attractions, and spends October as a haunt actor. Brandon has written four horror/dark fantasy novels, Ash, Hollow Hills, The Afflicted and Rose. He has also published a handful of short stories within the genre. He has recently finished his most recent novel Broken Night and is at work on a new one.

Therefore, when I asked him to give me a pass on the rule to ask her out, he agreed, convinced that I wouldn’t be able to stay the night. ‘Well,’ I thought, ‘let’s check this out.’ Walking up to the front door, I was careful of the cracked cement path and picked my way up the broken steps that led to the entrance. Standing there, I felt a chill run up my back and laughed as a breeze brushed past my face tousling my hair. I could see how Brian must have let his imagination run away with him. This setting was perfect for a horror movie. Placing my hand on the tarnished doorknob, I had to use my weight to force open the front door. The hinges cried with disuse as I pushed the door open to enter

PATHETIC DRAMATIC melted and re‑formed. SCARED CREATIVE “I made horror because I was scared,” I said. “Not because I was weak. I wrote bad things happening because bad things *were* happening, and it was the only way I could stand to look at them without going numb.” Memory flickered behind my eyes unbidden: me at thirteen, hunched over a spiral notebook while my parents argued in the next room. Me at sixteen, typing frantically after my sister had rolled her eyes at something that had gutted me. I'm hiding in horror books because at least *there is fear that had shape and rules and endings.