Written Horror Stories Novels & Stories

It infuriated Cassy more—with the night that’s the homecoming of the ghosts and horrors. A wicked laugh itched to be out, instead, she scrutinized the height. The distance between her and the ground did not harrow her. It amazed her at how different she’s lurking around where the normal people might not even stare without a wave of nausea washing over them. An urge to smoke-filled her; she fetched a pack from the inside pocket of her dark blue jacket; ignited the flame, mumbling, “Every legendary story is a pent-up frustration of human beings to invoke fear in the minds of those whom they hate. Several against one or one against many.”

Dante, with his heightened werewolf senses, realized the scream came from Cassius's basement. They exchanged worried glances, but mustering their courage, they grabbed a flashlight and decided to investigate. As they descended the creaky stairs, the flashlight cast eerie shadows on the walls, making it feel like they were stepping into a horror movie. What they found in the basement was a scene straight out of a nightmare—dead humans scattered across the floor like discarded dolls. Some bodies were fresh, while others were in various stages of decay, the stench of death permeating the air. Dante felt his stomach churn as the gruesome sight and smell assaulted his senses. He couldn't believe

"I'm looking for information about the town's history, particularly anything unusual or supernatural." She peered at me over her glasses, her eyes narrowing. "You're not the first one to come asking about that, you know. There's an old legend that's been passed down through generations. Some say it's just a tale, but others believe there's truth to it." My curiosity piqued, and I leaned closer, eager for any tidbit of information. "What legend?" "The legend of the Silverwood Curse," she whispered, her voice tinged with a mixture of caution and excitement. "It's said that those afflicted by the curse turn into vicious beasts under the light of the full moon. They become... werewolves."

*makes sobbing noises* Thank you for your time and patience and for diving into the world of werewolf stories that I created, where sometimes it’s best to accept that not all love deserves a second chance (or a third). Just like the common saying that says "The grass is greener on the other side", in my werewolf stories collection you can also find that sometimes, the moon is brighter on the other side—and that pertains to the idea that a brighter future can be found in someone else’s eyes. Anyway, keep reading more books (even if it’s not mine). Also, if you’d like to read a sneak peek of my next werewolf romance fantasy collection, just scroll down.

I pulled it from the shelf and sat down at the table, flipping it open. The first few pages were filled with the usual stuff—founding dates, town milestones, and the kind of folklore that every small town seemed to have. But as I read further, the stories grew darker. Mentions of strange disappearances, shadowy figures in the woods, and whispers of creatures that hunted under the full moon. Wolves. My breath caught in my throat as I skimmed over the passages. It wasn’t just talk of wild animals. There were stories—centuries old—of people who could shift into wolves. People who lived among the townsfolk by day but became something else under the cover of darkness.

Birdy nodded in agreement, "It is time for the ghost stories to begin and be spread. Stories of a pack of wolves that live nowhere but everywhere, who rescue the weak, broken, and unchampioned, taking those they rescue away with them and disappearing with no clues to who they are or where they came from." ​Three gods and one vampire nodded in agreement. "Let the fun begin. Go lay the groundwork to make the stories true when our wolves awake," Hyperion ordered. ​Cronos snickered, "This is going to be so much fun. I am glad Gaia is letting me loose to help lend credence to the stories." ​"What good are the stories without those needed to make them come true?" Bob wondered out loud.

It was part of the town's rules which stated that 'the town's library is forbidden after dark. "Wow! It's an intriguing story, long, but intriguing. So nobody has ever attempted the forbidden rule?" I asked. "Of course, a lot of people tried it but none of them came out alive to tell the tale." "This is a strange place, a forbidden library and shapeshifters," I whispered.

Suddenly, Adrian realized that these individuals indeed harbored ulterior motives. Adrian expanded his awareness, and the sight before him left him speechless. The entire hall was now teeming with an array of ghosts and monsters. Among them were towering old men with only one eye, lanterns swaying on a single leg, malformed boys with just one limb each, women clad in white exuding a bone-chilling aura, and skeletal figures draped in human skin...

I don't know if he killed them and I don't care. The way the velvet red sheets I sat on made me think of blood was somehow unnerving like I was in some vampire fairytale where I would surely get myself eaten or drained of blood. Okay, maybe I did listen to Angelina more than I had let on. There really isn't any harm in indulging in a few fanciful tales once in a while. The vampires in her stories were usually the enemies of some other weird mutation of nature. I can't remember the name of them and to be honest, I really don't want to. Sometimes the plots she read to me were downright ridiculous.

"And you have pissed me off." He believes me. Suddenly he believes every horror story he has been told since he was a little boy. That they were all true: the dead things hungering for the warm living flesh; the bony hand coming out of the closet in the black of night; the monsters from another page of reality, the unturned page--who could look so human, so cute. He reaches for his gun. Too slowly, much too.