#SpookyReads

[screamingeyepress]

Dracula’s Guest

By Bram StokerDracula's Guest is a chilling prelude to Dracula that follows an Englishman who, against all warnings, ventures out on a stormy evening near Munich and stumbles upon an abandoned graveyard.

📚 Bram Stoker’s Dracula’s Guest is an underappreciated classic for gothic literature fans. https://www.screamingeyepress.com/pulps/stories/draculas-guest-by-bram-stoker/

[leannareneehieber]

Getting ready for the first convention of 2023! Excited to join everyone at the 8th annual Stupid Cupid Ball in Cromwell, CT, now a 3-day celebration of #Steampunk! See @oddball_newt for tickets! I'm honored to be a Featured Guest alongside amazing talents in the genre! I'll be giving lots of talks on Ghosts, Victorian customs & Spiritualism, eager to sign copies of our acclaimed & bestselling A HAUNTED HISTORY OF INVISIBLE WOMEN: TRUE STORIES OF AMERICA'S GHOSTS! -- #booklife #booksigning #ctevents #History #VictorianGoth #Victorian #womenshistory #ghoststories #authorsofinstagram #ahauntedhistoryofinvisiblewomen #hauntedhistory #haunted #Ghosts #spiritualism #spookyreads https://www.instagram.com/p/CoK_ldxvOas/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[jonathanstroud]

Posted @withrepost • @dhachildrens Are you ready for a spooktacular Book-mas recommendation? Today's Christmas read comes from the brilliant @jonathan.stroud 🎄☠️ JS: Ghosts enjoy Christmas like everybody else, and a good spooky tale is a fine corrective to all the enforced jollity and turkey-fuelled good cheer. Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol fuses darkness and redemption to create obviously the greatest festive book of all. It should be required yearly reading (just as The Muppets’ Christmas Carol is THE essential family watch). But I’m going to go out on a limb here, and recommend M R James’s Ghost Stories as my Xmas pick. These aren’t stories about Christmas, but many of them were written for Christmas. James was Provost at Eton, and he wrote his stories specifically for reading out to friends and pupils on Christmas Eve. You’ve got vengeful spirits, demonic guardians, nasty things hiding in ash trees, white flappy shapes hunting you along deserted beaches, and many other horrors, all hinted at with impeccable Edwardian restraint. In short, they’re the best creepy stories in English and perfect for the season, so take a peek into the midwinter dark and see what’s wandering there. Happy Reading! #christmasreading #christmasbooks #christmasadvent #festiveseason #festivereading #ghoststories #spookyreads #christmasghoststories #kidslit #kidsbooksofinstagram #kidsbookstagram #childrenschristmasbooks #childrensbooks #lockwood #lockwoodandco https://www.instagram.com/p/CmJuwigrbkv/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[twistedroadsofmadness]

Reading a Crimson Hand #Debut #ShortStory #NTT

Reading a Crimson Hand – A card reading turns deadly. #NTT #ShortStory #Debut #Microfiction #TwistedRoads #IndieAuthor #HorrorCommunity #HorrorFiction #SciFiHorror #DaretoShare #IndieHorror #HorrorWriters #ScaryStories

Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt… This is my submission for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday. Reading a Crimson Hand She holds the cards tightly in her grasp and presses her fingers against her temple. She closes her eyes as thin beads of sweat trickle down her brow, desperately searching for a way out. “I—I—Is anything the matter?” Conner asks nervously. She forces a weary…

[harmonyhealinghub]

Queen of Spades Shaina Tranquilino October 29, 2024

Ethan liked to think of himself as an amateur magician. He’d spent countless hours practicing sleights and tricks, reveling in the look of astonishment on his friends' faces. His collection of playing cards was vast, from intricate vintage sets to modern flashy decks, but none had intrigued him like the one he found that evening. It was in a dusty corner of a small antique shop, tucked behind a pile of old books. The deck had no box, just a worn, weathered band holding it together. The cards were old, their once-white faces now yellowed with age. The designs on their backs were mesmerizing—swirls and patterns that seemed to shift slightly if you looked too closely.

The old shopkeeper, a hunched man with sunken eyes, noticed Ethan staring at the deck.

“That one’s not for sale,” the man said, his voice dry and cracked like the deck itself.

Ethan looked up, a half-smile forming on his lips. “Come on, everything’s for sale. I’ll pay double whatever it’s worth.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes darkened, his expression unreadable. “It’s not about money. That deck—there’s something wrong with it.”

Now Ethan was hooked. Forbidden things always fascinated him.

“Tell you what,” Ethan said, “I’ll pay you double, and if something is wrong with it, I’ll bring it back.”

The old man hesitated for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. “It’s on you now. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Ethan left the shop, the old cards tucked into his jacket pocket, and hurried home, excited to try out his new find.

That night, alone in his dimly lit apartment, Ethan laid the cards out on the table. He marveled at how smooth they felt despite their age. As he shuffled the deck, a strange sensation crept over him—a tingling in his fingertips, as though the cards were alive with static electricity.

Ignoring the unease creeping up his spine, he started to practice his favorite trick, The Ambitious Card. He drew a random card, the Queen of Spades, and slid it into the middle of the deck. He snapped his fingers, ready for the reveal, but when he flipped the top card, it was wrong. It wasn’t the Queen.

Odd, he thought.

He tried again, this time shuffling with more precision. The wrong card appeared once more.

Frustrated, Ethan began rifling through the deck, and that’s when he heard it—the faintest of whispers, like wind through dead leaves. He froze. The sound was soft, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. He glanced around the room. There was no open window, no draft.

The whispering continued, and his eyes fell back to the cards.

It was coming from the deck.

Ethan’s mouth went dry. He pushed the deck away, but the whispers grew louder, clearer. He couldn’t make out words, but the tone was unmistakable—urgent, pleading, angry. His heart pounded in his chest as a strange compulsion washed over him. His hand moved toward the deck, almost against his will.

With trembling fingers, he spread the cards out once more. This time, something was different. Each card was covered in words—tiny, scrawled messages, smeared and chaotic. Ethan’s eyes widened in horror as he realized the words were names. Hundreds, maybe thousands of names, written in a frantic, desperate hand.

One name stood out among the rest. His own.

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and his breath quickened. He flipped the Queen of Spades again, and this time, something else was written on it:

LISTEN.

The whispering swelled around him, turning into something darker, more malicious. The room felt colder. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, and the air itself seemed to thrum with malevolent energy.

“No…” Ethan muttered, trying to break the grip the deck had on him. But the whispers surged, hissing now, urgent and guttural. His head throbbed, and his vision swam.

Suddenly, his phone rang, piercing the oppressive quiet. He scrambled to answer, his hands shaking.

It was his friend, Matt. “Hey, man! You okay? I was just thinking about that magic trick you showed me last week. The one with the cards?”

Ethan’s mouth was dry. “Matt… the cards…”

“Yeah, that one! Funny thing, though… I remember the card you showed me was the Queen of Spades. Same one you showed me the week before. Weird, right?”

Ethan’s heart sank. “Matt, stop—”

Matt chuckled. “Anyway, I was wondering if you still had those cards. Thought maybe you’d let me borrow them for my party tomorrow?”

Ethan looked down at the deck. The whispers were almost deafening now, swirling around him like a storm, and then, with chilling clarity, they stopped. Silence.

He stared at the cards, his pulse racing.

Matt’s voice on the phone changed, his tone dropping to a hollow rasp. “Why don’t you bring them by?”

Ethan felt a cold hand grip his heart. “Matt?”

The voice that answered wasn’t Matt’s anymore.

“Bring them. We’re waiting.”

The line went dead.

The cards lay in front of him, their ancient patterns swirling, mocking. And then, for the first time, one card slid out on its own, face up.

It was the Queen of Spades.

Her dark eyes gleamed, and the whispers returned.

[victoriagleasuredesigns]

“The dead don’t walk. Except, sometimes, when they do.”

T. Kingfisher, What Moves the Dead

Happy Halloween everyone! 🧡👻 We are excited to hand out candy tonight. It is always a treat to visit a local bookstore for some spooky reads. I recommend picking up a T. Kingfisher book for all the Halloween vibes. Shop local to avoid tricky shipping, I recommend @bookferretnc

We are having a quilt sale on some of our thrilling quilts! So check out our Etsy shop at VictoriaGDesigns or www.victoriagleasuredesigns.com 🧡

[wickedwitchreads]

Book date of the day !

[reenas-life]

Book Review

Small Town Horror by Ronald Malfi ⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 3 out of 5. Overall Impressions The book hooked me from the start, delivering an eerie and unsettling vibe. However, certain parts were a bit confusing and felt like a drag, slowing the pace down. Key Takeaways It felt like a classic, old-fashioned horror story, packed with twists and plenty of secrets shared between friends. As the title…

[current-words-publishing]

THE MOST TERRIFYING BOOKS TO HAUNT YOUR SLEEP

We want to carve you. Just a little.

Here at Gravelight Press we have to add to Fulcher’s list with this little gem: Have you been sleeping too well at night? Then you will want to get your hands on this book today! BUY GRAVELIGHT PRESS BUY AMAZON I want to carve you….

[leannareneehieber]

Darlings! Freshly signed copies of A HAUNTED HISTORY OF INVISIBLE WOMEN: TRUE STORIES OF AMERICA'S GHOSTS are available via the fine folks @bnunionsqnyc! Huge thanks to their amazing staff for being so lovely! Reminder, this book is on the preliminary ballot of the Bram Stoker Awards for "Superior Achievement in Non-Fiction so if you are a HWA voting member, be sure to check us out! Happy Haunting! -- #ghoststories #womensstudies #womenshistory #spookyreads #ghosts #haunted #hauntedhistory #gothsofinstagram #gothstagram #ahauntedhistoryofinvisiblewomen (at Barnes and Noble, Union Square, Manhattan) https://www.instagram.com/p/Coftzu2v2Z_/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[mashawrites]

Qotd: what do you consider to be cheating on your partner? ... Beneath the Door-Book1 of the Chrysals Saga is an exceptionally written suspense. I enjoyed guessing throughout the book. It has a slow pace though but nonetheless It was a good read. I like the characters and the dialogues that went on between them. Most of all, the book has a lot of suspense! You can guess all you want like I did but at the end i realised I was terribly wrong. Totally recommend to mystery and suspense lovers. Que consideras que engana a tu pareja? ..... #antiqueacademia #spookyreads #bookishbeennaija #bookstaly #darkacademia #forthethrillofit #spookybooks #bookstababesx3 #bookishbuddyread #bookishladiesclub #bookblog #bookwyrm #hyggebookstyle ⁣⁣ #booworm #bibliotecas #bookobsessed #reading  #yalit  #booksandchocolate #booksandcoffee ⁣⁣ #kanuribookworm  #alagowriter #libraryofinstagram #inquisitivefulanichica #bookstagramafrica  #simpleandstill #cozyvibes #booksoverboys #thehausagirlthatreads https://www.instagram.com/p/CpH4g1nL5xK/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[twistedroadsofmadness]

Not His Monster Story #Debut #ShortStory #NTT

Not His Monster Story - A creature awakens, facing terror and strange truths. #NTT #ShortStory #Debut #Microfiction #TwistedRoads #IndieAuthor #HorrorCommunity #HorrorFiction #SciFiHorror #DaretoShare #IndieHorror #HorrorWriters #ScaryStories

Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt… This is my submission for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday. Not His Monster Story The creature stirs. It rolls its head to the side and lets out a gentle murmur, its eyes slowly creeping open. With a weary lift of its arm, it tries to shield its gaze from the room’s light. It murmurs again, louder this time, and with a curl of the lip and a…

[harmonyhealinghub]

The Cursed Locket Shaina Tranquilino September 7, 2024

James Cartwright was an antique dealer of some repute, known throughout London for his discerning eye and the uncanny ability to procure rare and valuable artifacts. His shop, tucked away in a narrow alley of Covent Garden, was a treasure trove of history. Shelves groaned under the weight of dusty books, ornate candelabras, and delicate porcelain figurines. But it was the jewelry section that held James' true passion—rows of rings, brooches, and necklaces, each with a story waiting to be uncovered.

One rainy afternoon, a man in a worn trench coat entered the shop, carrying a small, velvet-lined box. His eyes darted around nervously as he approached the counter, his hands trembling slightly as he placed the box in front of James.

"Interested in buying?" the man asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

James' curiosity was piqued. He opened the box to reveal a gold locket, intricate and old, with an ornate filigree design. The locket was heavy in his hand, and as he examined it closely, he noticed a small inscription on the back: "To E., Forever Yours. 1889."

"Beautiful craftsmanship," James remarked, though his mind was racing. The inscription rang a bell, something he had read long ago. "Where did you find this?"

The man shifted uncomfortably. "It belonged to my grandmother," he lied. "She passed away recently, and I need the money."

James nodded, sensing there was more to the story, but not pressing further. He offered a fair price, and the man accepted with a relieved sigh before hurrying out into the rain. As James watched him disappear into the mist, a nagging feeling tugged at the back of his mind. There was something familiar about that locket.

Later that evening, after closing the shop, James retired to his study. He poured himself a glass of brandy and settled into his leather armchair, the locket resting on the table beside him. He reached for an old book of unsolved mysteries, a collection he had inherited from his father. Thumbing through the pages, he stopped at a passage that made his heart skip a beat.

The Disappearance of Elodie Blackwood, 1889.

Elodie Blackwood had been a celebrated socialite, known for her beauty and charm. She vanished without a trace one autumn evening, leaving behind a scandal and a mystery that had never been solved. The last known item she was seen wearing was a gold locket, a gift from her secret lover. The inscription in the book matched the one on the locket now sitting on James' table.

The coincidence was too strong to ignore. He picked up the locket, and as he did, a sudden chill ran through the room, causing the candle flames to flicker. The locket felt cold in his hand, unnaturally so. He tried to open it, but the clasp was stuck fast.

Undeterred, James decided to investigate further. The next morning, he visited the local archives, where he spent hours poring over old newspapers and records. Every detail about Elodie Blackwood's life and disappearance pointed to the locket as the key to the mystery, but nothing explained what had happened to her. The locket had never been found—until now.

That night, James was awakened by a strange noise, like the whisper of fabric brushing against the floor. He sat up in bed, straining to listen. The noise grew louder, and then he saw it—a shadowy figure standing at the foot of his bed, the outline of a woman in a flowing dress.

"Elodie?" he whispered, though he wasn't sure why.

The figure did not move or speak, but the air around him grew colder. James' eyes darted to the nightstand, where the locket now lay open, though he hadn't been able to pry it apart earlier. Inside was a small, faded photograph of a woman, her face hauntingly beautiful, her eyes filled with sadness.

The figure raised an arm and pointed toward the locket. James felt an overwhelming compulsion to touch it again, to delve deeper into its past. As his fingers brushed the photo, a searing pain shot through his hand, and the room spun wildly. When the dizziness subsided, he found himself no longer in his bedroom, but in a grand ballroom, filled with people dressed in Victorian attire.

He recognized the scene from descriptions he had read—this was the night Elodie Blackwood had disappeared. The locket was warm now, pulsing with a life of its own as it guided him through the crowd. He saw Elodie, her eyes wide with fear as she clutched the locket around her neck. A man approached her, his face obscured by shadows, and whispered something in her ear. Elodie's face went pale, and she fled the room, the man following close behind.

James felt himself being pulled along as if tethered to Elodie by an invisible thread. He followed her through the darkened halls of the mansion, down a spiral staircase, and into the cellar. The man caught up with her there, his voice low and menacing.

"You know too much, Elodie," he hissed. "The locket—it's cursed. It binds you to the truth, but it will also be your undoing."

Elodie backed away, but there was nowhere to run. The man lunged, and there was a brief struggle before he pushed her. She stumbled, her scream echoing off the stone walls as she fell into an open well in the centre of the cellar. The locket slipped from her neck, landing with a clatter on the floor.

James awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. The vision had been so vivid, so real. He knew now what had happened to Elodie, but the locket still held its curse. It had bound her to that moment of betrayal and death, trapping her spirit in a loop of endless torment.

Realizing what he had to do, James took the locket to the site of the old Blackwood estate, now a crumbling ruin outside the city. The well was still there, hidden beneath overgrown vines and debris. With a heavy heart, he tossed the locket into the well, hearing the faint splash as it disappeared into the darkness.

For a moment, the air was still, and then a breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it a sense of peace. The curse had been lifted; Elodie's spirit was finally free.

James returned to his shop, feeling lighter than he had in days. But as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, a small velvet-lined box on the counter caught his eye. His blood ran cold. The locket was back, sitting there as if it had never left.

It seemed that some mysteries were never meant to be solved.

[keepittoyourshelf]

My Heart Is A Chainsaw - Review

My Heart Is A Chainsaw – Review

I picked this book up over the summer while at a comic convention – I’m not one for gore in movies at all, but the premise certainly intrigued me and gore in books is a little more…palatable, I guess.  Though, note to self, I need to get better about checking didthedogdie.com before buying books.  If I had known this site existed, I’d have saved myself endless trauma (mostly at the hands of…

[wickedwitchreads]

After 2 years stuck on AO3 and so having a giant reading slump (except for fanfictions) I managed to come back to real books awesomely this month. I haven't touched AO3 since mid September allowing me to rediscover the pleasure of reading books. 🤍😏

The breakup is consumed now lol I'm back to my true bookworm self.