Writing Horror Stories Novels & Stories

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.

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.

But the person didn't respond—just persistent banging in reply. I asked again, but got even more banging, which eventually woke Lorena up. She squinted at the alarm clock before running her hand over her face. "Did someone die or something?" Lorena said in sleepy frustration. "It's barely 6am." "I'll go see who it is," I said, my heart beating as I stood up from the bed and walked to the door, fearing the worst. And the moment I opened it, I swallowed. Hard. Because there he was.

Tonight, as usual, was full of a lot more fun than usual. Boys who didn't have to go to the evening class were excited and cheering loudly in the dark, almost like werewolves howling all the time when the moon is full. Outside, the wind was very strong, and lightning and thunder were going off. In this kind of situation, it makes sense to tell ghost stories. The four men went to bed and took turns telling each other stories. They purposely lowered their voices so that they could barely be heard in the dark, which caused even more worry and tension. When they heard this, it was only natural for their heads to feel numb.

by the time the sun shimmers at the horizon behind me and the crescent moon dips below the horizon before me, I have thought of every word I know of to describe really, really, really boring walking. There is absolutely nothing here. I think of the stories we told each other when we were pups. About wraiths that lived beneath the sand of the Barren that would pull you down into their nests. They would paralyze you and then their grubs would feed off you, slowly eating you alive. That was a favorite. There are the roaming packs of wilder-scorpions, creatures that are half beast, half scorpion. Where the beast's tail should be is a scorpion's sting that will cause your skin to turn black and t

I remember when I was in the sorcerer's house in the night almost get carried away by the ghost in the night of Tortuga, I remember when I and my friends where having a nice and enjoyable Halloween Night party with our costumes before the arrival of the Black cults. I remember my parents and started crying...I started weeping but... couldn't weep out as there is no one to be of my aid here instead I would even get into more danger my giving a sound to show that am downstairs to anyone close to where is am. I feel lost, tired, weak as I haven't eaten for three days and the last thing I ate was a fruit, Apple I guess. As I was down depressed, weeping and thinking about my life, I hear a sound

"Many innocent ones died untimely deaths because of bitches like you. They're here to say Hi to you. Now be quiet and let me eat." Hunter drew the blinds again and went inside. The whole night Zara sat against the tree, trying not to notice the movements or the flashes of white swooshing around her. It was the first time in life that terror sealed her throat. She was one to love horror settings like these, but this was something she wasn't prepared for — A real horror experience. ~~~ Zara's third night was spent tied in the woods too. No matter how much she instigated Hunter he didn't put a bullet between her eyes. Or a knife in her heart.

And the loudest warning of them all was; "Do not trust any friendly stranger with pretty eyes." It had been these way for decades, centuries even. Every single child in the town grew up hearing these stories. Unlike other cities where their bedtime stories centers on royal fantasies, and fairies, the bedtime stories they listened to was filled with horror. It was the stories of wolves with glowing eyes, and the shadowy figures that lured you into the trees, only for your screams to echo back hollow, and unanswered. Though the stories had believable theories, not everyone readily believed them. Some called them folklores wrapped in superstition. Some believed they were old stories, made up to

You guys are the best! Another thing... I am thinking of changing the title and the cover of my story so it will look more of horror-romace than pure horror. What do you think? What do you think can boost my views? Your contributions are appreciated.

heather, heather i am a branch of aurora, my body is the vessel of the undead i am a secret that is left to be solved," Gao yu start muttering as the pupils in his eyes started to slowly disappear. What is wrong with him so many student said as they noticed the weird atmosphere that was rising more and more. Actually when professor Snapes started the incantation Gao yu felt himself drawn to a seperate world that he found increasingly familiar. Walking deeper into the world Gao yu who did not know that he was already reciting an incantation keep walking as so many memories of his childhood continued flashing by.