Novel & Cerita Xmas Horror Stories

Stella’s voice sounded in Helen’s head, surprising her, and she went from a wide-eyed stare to pretending to get emotional, covering her face with her hand so Memory wouldn’t think her expression odd. “I’m trying to create an elaborate back story that sounds convincing,” Helen said to Stella, wishing she’d butt out if she wasn’t going to be helpful. “The more lies you tell, the harder it will be to keep track of!” “I’m sorry to hear about your husband. It sounds like he was a wonderful man. With a name like Chris Snow, I’m sure he loved Christmas.” “He did. He really did. I miss him, especially this time of year, but I know he’s in a better place now.”

"Thanks so much." Logan gave the old female some coins before they left and continued their tour. "This is the territory of the Clan of the ghost" he uttered pointing at the huge kingdom before them. "Stop Danny" he commanded and Danny did. "Wow, looks terrifying. Any mortal will shit in his/her pants if they sight this kingdom." "Lol. Nothing is terrifying here. Just vultures, skulls, Red pieces of clothes, spiders, snakes, and rumbling of the sky." "Is that all you see? And who told you there aren't mortals who got phobia for spiders and snakes? Also, do you think it's everyone that can bear the different sounds going on?"

She found it funny to tell me horror stories before bed. I remembered once returning the favor. I told her about Terry the ghost, a boy who’d died in an accident on the street across from our house. Terry’s ghost wandered our neighbor’s house where his family had once lived. Mom hadn’t slept alone for weeks after that, and she never told me another horror story. My mom was like me in some ways—she was terrified of the paranormal, or anything religious. That’s why her engagement to Bill had been such a shock. But even Mom had gotten braver, so why couldn’t I?

But of course, fate was cruel. There was only one empty seat left. Right next to him. I sighed in defeat and sat down. Travis passed me a cold bottle of water without a word, his fingers brushing mine. My heart stupidly skipped again. “Did you guys know,” said Axl, one of Seth’s loudmouth friends, “that there’s a haunted mansion up the hill? Locals say it’s cursed.” “Cursed like what?” Adison asked, wide-eyed. “Like… couples who go there either break up—or come back engaged,” Axl said dramatically.

1, edited by Joe Mynhardt Fear the Reaper, edited by Joe Mynhardt For the Night is Dark, edited by Ross Warren Short story collections: Dead Reckoning and Other Stories by Dino Parenti Things You Need by Kevin Lucia Frozen Shadows and Other Chilling Stories by Gene O’Neill Varying Distances by Darren Speegle The Ghost Club: Newly Found Tales of Victorian Terror by William Meikle Ugly Little Things: Collected Horrors by Todd Keisling Whispered Echoes by Paul F. Olson

CHAPTER 6 Blessed are the Bold “The name means Hill of the Ghouls. Isn’t that messed up?” The black van clunked on through the fading light of day. It was All Hallow’s Eve and rather than get drunk and steal candy from children like their peers, Jon and friends were bundled away in warm winter gear and passing around a bottle of scotch Kathy had stolen from her parents’ liquor stock. “How much longer, you reckon?” Louis asked. “Soon. Maybe twenty more minutes,” Michael answered from the driver’s seat.

What is happening to me? Why am I reacting to him like this? Why him, of all people? Why now, when I should still be grieving the mess my life just became? I curled my hands into my sleeves, staring at the flames like they had answers. One terrifying truth settled in the space between us: Whatever this strange, dangerous pull was… I could no longer pretend I didn’t feel it. And judging from the way he looked at me just now… he couldn’t either. Christmas was going to be a disaster. And maybe… something much worse.

I stood in the dimly lit hallway of the old Victorian mansion, the air thick with the scent of pine and cinnamon from the massive Christmas tree in the foyer. Snowflakes danced outside the frosted windows, but inside, my heart hammered like a drum. At 22, I'd spent months chasing rumors about the Veil Society, a secret brotherhood of influential men who pulled strings in the shadows of our city. They were legends, powerful, enigmatic, and utterly forbidden. And tonight, on Christmas Eve, I'd begged for an audience to prove I belonged.

As the stories got scarier, I noticed a few of the younger pack members huddling closer to their parents, seeking comfort and reassurance. Soon, it was my turn to share a story. Feeling the weight of the moment, I cleared my throat and began my tale. "In a small village, there was a haunted mansion. It was said that the spirit of a vengeful witch roamed the halls, seeking revenge on anyone who dared to enter her domain..." I let my imagination run wild, conjuring spine-chilling scenes and mysterious characters. The pack leaned in closer, their eyes wide with fascination, hanging onto every word I spoke. The suspenseful atmosphere made my heart race with excitement.

The one used in creating the zombies. He shone his eyes in terror immediately. "An X-blood is here. Master must hear of this!" He picked the maggot and a smile curled around his lips.