Novel & Cerita Written Horror Story Writing

If a werewolf had killed or tasted blood, his eyes would turn red and the more blood he tasted, it was likely that his eyes would become brighter. That meant the creature behind me had probably consumed a fountain of it. “Where do you think you're going?” It finally spoke. Its voice sounded like a lonely, yet dep tune played by a lost soul wandering the woods at midnight when children and even adults were asked to not come out. A horror story told to children and most adults to scare them off their nightly adventure. “I said come back here”. I yelled at myself, pushing me out of my imagination. Along with its utterance, came a fast lounge at me. It nearly grabbed me by the collar but I was f

The candlelight flickered across his face — and he began to speak. “This story is about the day I saw a human being die with my own eyes. But it didn’t end there. Because… the very next day, he was sitting in my class again.” The auditorium fell silent. Every gaze was fixed on that man — and inside every heart, something unseen knocked softly… like fear asking to be let in. A faint breeze moved through the auditorium. The candle flames trembled — and every shadow seemed to crawl along the walls like some hidden creature.

Looked like Loren had gotten carried away, Ria thought. "You know, of all the ghosts, the most dangerous are the ones that carry grudges and regrets…" Loren rambled on again. Ria started to think that Loren liked horror topics like this. "What do you mean?" Ria responded while reading through some of the articles she found earlier. “I have a story that my mother firsthand experienced. She once rented an old house that was haunted by a spirit full of regret and anger that almost brought her to an terrible accident…” Loren had already started preparing her story when Ria noticed that the clock already indicated that their next class was about to start.

Or did she? "I always thought," she said, "that if I were to write a horror story, I'd write about the hybrid child, perhaps the offspring of a vampire and a human." "They can have kids?" asked someone on the front row. Mrs. Jackson shrugged and winked in my direction. "Who knows? It's my story and anything can happen. That's the thrill of being an author."

“So, you believe that there is a possibility that they plotted your father’s death and mother’s disappearance. And there is a great chance that your father’s schemes were discovered, or reported by someone… which eventually lead to his death—ordered to be murdered. And that leaves you to find who did it. Whoever stabbed your father in the back could be someone close to him.” “Correct.” Raverine grabbed a glass of whiskey and took it in one gulp. “Could be his friends or foes or… his own family.” I nodded and turned my attention to the computer screen. I typed in vampires in the search bar and mythical stories came up on the search browser first. “I wonder who wrote these articles and stories

Those scary bedtime stories Dad used to tell me about werewolves and how cruel and ruthless they are, and then the books I have read about them that confirmed and go into more detail about their ruthlessness and the gory activities that go on there, were mind-numbing. I recalled those times that sleep would elude me because of those stories, but then again, the deeper Dad went about them, the more the curiosity in my small mind grew. Up until today, I had never met one of them and really wanted to someday, but I read that they used to kill humans by draining their blood and then using their bones to build houses and their skulls to drink more blood or wine. That's some ape-fucking shit that

As soon as he saw me getting up, he pressed his teeth to my neck, biting twice. Conrad, of course, saw the mark. His eyes were full of shock, disbelief, and a hint of confusion. It took him a while to find his voice. "Shirley, you... you two..." I adjusted my collar and tilted my head, looking at him. Wasn't it natural for me to be with my fiancé? Conrad suddenly became angry. "You're not even married yet. Don't you have any shame?" "Conrad, I don't agree." I was about to speak when Horace's voice came from inside. "You've already done everything with that secretary of yours."

It’s a silence with dread, a prelude to an impending peril. I inadvertently turn my gaze to the direction of the balcony. Through the curtains, three dark, hulking figures lurk, their eyes gleaming with a malevolent hunger. “No!” I yell. At the exact moment my word explodes out of my trembling lips, the balcony doors swing open with a violent gust of wind, and a chilling breeze sweeps through the living area. I watch in horrified disbelief as three monstrous figures emerge from the shadows, their eyes aglow with death. These are no ordinary intruders. They are werewolves, their hulking forms silhouetted against the moonlit night. The wolves advance with a predatory grace, their muscles rippl

I was glad I won’t stand out too much. We arrive at Xander’s house after a few minutes. His house was more of a dark side kind of house. It was gothic and gave you the creeps. Old cold men stood as statues lining up the way to the front door. Music thumped inside the house. It felt like a high school monster party. Okay maybe I watch too much Ant farm and paranormal movies. This would be a good beginning for a horror story where Zombies come attacking. No, zombies don’t have brains to plot this. Better yet, Vampires.

His rolled up sleeves reveal the thick veins in his forearms, and the scent of him, that woodsmoke and sharp musk, seems to drift across the rows of desks, clogging my lungs. "Most writers fail because they are afraid to feel," Professor Tyler begins, his eyes snapping back to mine for a split second before moving on. "They describe a scene like a blueprint. But a story is not a blueprint. It is an experience. If you want your reader to bleed, you have to describe the coldness of the blade. If you want them to burn, you have to make them feel the heat of the skin."