Horror Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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The Husband Who Poisoned Our Love
After my tenth miscarriage in five years, I believed my body was broken. My husband, Barron, was my perfect, doting savior who had rebuilt my life after destroying my family's company. Then, I overheard him on the phone. He confessed to poisoning my tea every night, methodically murdering our ten children to repay a debt to his mistress. A life for each year she'd spent in prison for him. My entire world wasn't just a lie-it was a gilded cage built by my family's destroyer. He thought he left me to die in a fire. He was wrong. Now, with a new face, I'm back to burn his empire to the ground./0/80700/coverorgin.jpg?v=11d96be88ceef379ca1b20aef54a051a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Monster in My Sleep
Our wedding invitations were chosen, promising a beautiful future with Mike, my college sweetheart of eight years. Then, Mike arrived, face ashen, eyes haunted. He thrust an envelope at me: "I can't do this, Sarah." Pure terror consumed his face as he fled. That was just the first loop. Friends whispered about "what they saw" and abandoned me. I lost my job to "disturbing incidents." My beloved cat mysteriously died, then my mother collapsed, eyes wide with paralyzing fear. My father, seeing something monstrous in me, whispered, "It's better this way," as he smothered me. Each time, I woke on "breakup day" again, trapped in a horrifying cycle. Everyone I loved vanished, terrified of *me*, yet I had no idea why. What was I? What was happening when I slept that drove them to such profound fear? Desperate, I wired my apartment with hidden cameras. The footage I played back shattered my world: *I* was the monster. Crawling on all fours, vacant eyes, unnatural speed, guttural sounds – it was utterly terrifying./0/61882/coverorgin.jpg?v=65120d33cced1b9865866b3eda79f594&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Revenge Bound on My Father
Here’s the translation of the text into English: When I was fifteen, getting married no longer required a birth certificate. My dad was overjoyed and decisively poisoned my mom. On the day of my mother's funeral, my dad brought home his new wife, whom he had just married. She had red lips and white teeth, stunningly beautiful, a wealthy girl from the city. That night, my dad generously gave me a piece of meat. "Er Niu, from now on, she will be your new mom." "Take good care of her. If she tries to run away, come tell Dad." "For every time you report her, I'll let you have meat once." I swallowed hard and obediently nodded. Later, I pushed my dad to the ground, leaving him in a sorry state. I looked down at him, holding a knife in my hand, and smiled. "Dad, I won't make the same mistake again." "This time, it's either you or me."/0/82330/coverorgin.jpg?v=867bbca1e75457cd423857f5904193d6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Havenwood's Dark Blessing
The Seattle rain washed away the dust of our suffocating hometown, Havenwood, as my sister Emily and I embraced college life, finally free. Then Dad' s call came, urgent and raspy: Mom was gravely sick, and we had to come home. But Havenwood wasn't sick, it was dead quiet, shrouded by the sinister "Harvest Maiden" festival, and we found Mom locked away, bruised, forced into a lie. Our father, driven by his own failing health, was willingly sacrificing us, his daughters, to a ritual that wasn' t a blessing, but a monstrous con: a horrifying exchange where health was stolen from newborn babies, twisting life into grotesque old sickness. Witnessing a "cured" mother gain youth as a healthy infant withered before our eyes, and hearing Pastor Thorne declare we were next, a chilling rage consumed me; trapped, we had to expose this unspeakable evil before it devoured us all./0/82338/coverorgin.jpg?v=75e261a6597fa411888c28e1c836ab71&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Husband's Deadly Game
I was just days from my due date, nesting in our Bay Area home, full of anticipation for the arrival of our child with my beloved husband, Ethan. Without warning, I woke up blindfolded, hands bound, struggling for air in a damp, cold forest, my heavily pregnant body pressed painfully against the earth. Over hidden speakers, I heard Ethan's voice, transformed from loving husband to callous ringmaster, casually discussing a brutal "performance art" with his mistress, Chloe, and acknowledging my water had broken. He then ordered agonizing electric shocks, bet ten million dollars on my death, and unleashed vicious dogs before I was dragged to a makeshift table for a forced C-section, sans anesthesia, all for their twisted amusement. How could the man who once wore a simple silver locket, a symbol of our shared journey from nothing, now orchestrate such monstrous betrayal, turning his pregnant wife and our unborn child into pawns in a deadly, public spectacle? After enduring unimaginable tortures and surviving a coma, I miraculously awakened, not to forgive, but to ensure that the man who stole my child and desecrated my love would face consequences, and I would finally find a fragile peace far from his shadow./0/60601/coverorgin.jpg?v=59adda3b4949c83d0b314a8802ab492f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Blood-Infused Tea
I sell a special type of tea in a tea room. This tea, when added to food, makes it incredibly delicious and addictive, like a drug. Countless high-end restaurant owners come to me seeking it out. But I know that this tea is made by watering the plants with the blood of addicted individuals./0/86558/coverorgin.jpg?v=fb170803f1cbe3385c6022cf3a6a6f5f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Identity Was Stolen
The last thing I felt was the pillow smothering my face, the cheap floral scent filling my lungs as my struggles grew weaker. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Ms. Davis' s chilling hiss: "You crazy girl, how dare you disrupt the young lady' s party! I' ll kill you!" She wasn' t lying. My life, so bright just hours before, was ending in a dark, dusty storage room. It all began on my graduation day, Sarah Miller, the valedictorian, standing on stage. But when I arrived at my family home for the lavish celebration, the doors were shut, my key wouldn' t turn. Inside, through the window, I saw Emily Davis, my guardian' s daughter, wearing my dress, accepting congratulations from my friends, being called by my name. A cold wave of nausea washed over me. I pounded on the door, screaming, "Let me in! I' m Sarah Miller! That' s an imposter!" No one believed me. They saw a frantic, disheveled girl and a poised, elegant young woman inside. Ms. Davis slapped me, shrieking, "How dare you disrupt the young lady' s party! I' ll kill you!" They dragged me away, threw me into a windowless storage room, and locked me in. Hours later, Ms. Davis returned with a pillow. "You just couldn' t leave it alone, could you?" she whispered. "You make too much noise." Then, she pushed it down. My consciousness dissolved into suffocating blackness. Then, I gasped, shooting upright. Sunlight streamed through a familiar window. I was in my bed, in my room at the Davis house. My heart pounded. The floral scent was gone. No pain, no darkness. My phone rang, a shrill, insistent sound. The screen lit up with a date. It was the day my college admission results were announced. I wasn' t dead. I was back./0/40489/coverorgin.jpg?v=2fad16e6803251532dbdd97098e5ffa5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Grandes High School (Leslie)
Leslie Felicia ... a 17-year-old teenager who was forced to change schools because she followed her parents. Grandes High School is the school Leslie chose because it is the closest to her apartment. But unexpectedly, her presence at school was not expected by all her classmates. Every day they bullied Leslie, hoping she would leave the school soon. Leslie feels increasingly miserable at her new school, especially after she finds out that the school is very haunted and full of curious ghosts that inhabit it. Leslie's life changes completely when a mysterious teacher discovers her secret that she is an indigo girl. Leslie could not refuse when the teacher asked for her help to calm and return the curious ghosts to their realm. This is the story of Leslie Felicia ... a teenager who can see and communicate with invisible creatures .../0/40490/coverorgin.jpg?v=8ea6f48cd3b6432b454decc52f03f8b2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Grandes High School (Angie)
Angie Megan ... a woman who was born into a family of psychics. She is frustrated at not having the ability to see and communicate with ghosts, so different from her father and grandfather. To hone her skills, she chose to study at the Grandes High School which is famous for its awesomeness. Her life changes when she meets a girl named Sylvia who can see and seal ghosts. Their friendship begins and together they seal the ghost that is plaguing the students of Grandes High School. Until one day Sylvia mysteriously died and Angie could feel that Sylvia's spirit still haunted Grandes High School. Angie is determined to find out the truth even though she has to involve her student and now best friend, Leslie. Together ... Angie and Leslie try to appease the curious spirits, not the spirits that roam freely in Grandes High School, but the spirits that Sylvia used to seal. How will Angie and Leslie's struggle solve the ghost's problem? Can Angie succeed in uncovering the truth of Sylvia's mysterious death and finding her ghost that still haunts? Find the answer in their story. NB: This story is a sequel to the first series Grandes High School (Leslie)/0/40492/coverorgin.jpg?v=3620d89226d07cd5a9b5d111efbbba44&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Grandes High School (Leslie And Sean)
Leslie and Sean have graduated from Grandes High School. Now they are studying at a university. Initially, their life was going smoothly, until some problems related to ghosts came back to Leslie. Leslie was well aware that her ability would keep her involved with ghosts. However, is it true that only ghost problems will be faced by Leslie and Sean? It looks like some big problems that will test their romance will appear in this story. Instead of being curious, it's better if you just follow the story. NB: This story is the final installment of the Grandes High School Trilogy./0/20701/coverorgin.jpg?v=8bce9dc9fe109f195f9ff22a13c0cad0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Paranormal All-Stars Presents
Around the mid-2010's, Mab De Narra created a social media group that was meant to be a place where people can share their personal paranormal and supernatural experiences without the fear of being judged by others. They could even find others who can help them with their paranormal questions, spiritual issues, and supernatural problems on this page. Meanwhile, she was eventually included in The Paranormal All-Stars, where she is able to help even more puzzled and troubled individuals. And by sharing these cases and experiences through this book, we hope to help more to not fear what they don't know... ...but to see beyond what their senses tell them. After all, there's always more to these things than meets the eye./0/23298/coverorgin.jpg?v=3cb965e3b0466ec86d8d4c93602a9065&imageMogr2/format/webp)
(THE PSYCHO ANGEL)
I can remove your grief; I can erase your fears; I can ease your pain because I am God’s angel, and I believe that he sent me to a mission and that is to end people's pain; I am Helena, A religious woman, and I can help you end your pain by bringing it back to the Lord. With the help of my boyfriend named Echo, the man that I love and trust most. We accomplished our mission well, but everything came to an end when Brother Ven. A born again Christian. Didn’t believe in my mission. He asked a psychiatrist to help me from my delusional mind because of the dark past that I’ve had. He told the psychiatrist named Dr Castelo; A psychiatrist who has a dark secret, that I have a mental illness. So join me in my journey and discover by yourself if I am God’s angel or a sick psychopath? Who is Echo in my life? And how can my psychiatrist help me if she has a dark secret kept hidden?/0/83971/coverorgin.jpg?v=c546dc34478630189ec19e33e737abcd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Billionaire's Blizzard Bait
I lived a life of enviable luxury in my pristine Colorado mountain cabin, nestled deep in the Rockies. Then, I died, frozen solid just outside my own front door. My last sight was Ethan, my boyfriend, feasting on my food inside, watching me claw at the glass until my fingers bled. His family, the Scotts, laughed as I froze, adjusting curtains to block me out, celebrating my demise. They left me to perish in the brutal blizzard, utterly and completely abandoned. That death was absolute, excruciating, and unforgettable. But then, I jolted awake, submerged in 1200-thread-count sheets, the Rockies bathed in sunlight outside my window. It was ten days before the storm, before my betrayal. A wave of nausea hit me, the phantom hunger and cold still clinging to my bones, but then a cold, hard fury replaced it. This time, my cabin, my wealth, and my meticulous planning wouldn' t be my downfall; they would be my ultimate weapon./0/83323/coverorgin.jpg?v=cdd6fe809b35969aea74793ddc9eb1fa&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Cursed by My Best Friend
Savannah stood at my desk, her smile unsettlingly bright, holding a tiny antique bottle. "For you, Chloe," she purred, her voice dripping with fake sweetness, "a special family recipe for good fortune." But a chill ran down my spine the moment I saw it. The bottle. The smell. The lie. It all came flooding back with agonizing clarity. I remembered the grotesque rash, worse than any psoriasis, erupting across my skin. It was red, raw, and it smelled like rotting meat, coarse black hair sprouting from inflamed patches. Doctors were confused, their creams useless. My own reflection became a monster. Ethan, my boyfriend and boss, looked at me with disgust before abandoning me for good. I was fired from the job I loved, my career turning to ash. I died alone in my apartment, ostracized and broken, the foul reek of my own decaying flesh my final breath. Then I remembered the truth I learned after death: It wasn't a disease. It was a vicious Hoodoo curse, a 'crossing' fed by that very essential oil. A "gift" from my best friend, Savannah. She wanted my job, my beauty, my entire life. And she took it all. But now, I was back. My skin was clear, my body whole. I had a second chance. And this time, she wouldn't win./0/85919/coverorgin.jpg?v=34fdbd4a604a60bcb57fc116ea1bda61&imageMogr2/format/webp)
A Twisted Love, A Dark Ritual
The box arrived on a Tuesday, innocent enough, addressed to me, Ethan Miller, in my college buddy Liam' s messy handwriting. Inside, though, tucked among wood shavings, were human ribs. Unmistakably. My stomach churned, the horror escalating when I found Liam' s note, claiming these macabre remains were from his "weight loss surgery" and I had to make bone broth for "spiritual closure." It was sick, insane, but what do you do when your friend sends you human bones and asks you to make soup? So I did what any horrified person in the 21st century would do: I posted it on a niche online forum, only to receive a chilling private message: "It' s a ritual. Soul Swap. They' re trying to take your body. DON' T DO IT." My blood ran cold, the warning echoing as I stared at the bones. I couldn' t throw them away; I had to dispose of them discreetly. A desperate plan formed: I' d feed the human ribs to the sanctuary bull, fake the soup with beef bones, and send Liam the video. But my girlfriend, Sarah, suddenly developed an unsettling interest in my "bone broth," and a new message from my anonymous guide arrived: "They know you' re thinking of tricking them. The vessel must consume the offering willingly. If you fake it, they will know. The consequences will be worse. Be careful who you trust. Even those closest to you." Watching Sarah hum over the simmering pot, a horrifying truth began to dawn on me: the people closest to me might be the ones I should fear the most./0/86568/coverorgin.jpg?v=1d0e531b81fde70d6d0e2d3a0097f3e8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Painter's Unending Haunt
My best friend, Noah, had my hands broken. He did it so I could never paint again. Then he told my wife, Olivia, that I had lost my mind and needed to be sent away for "rehabilitation." They sent me to what was essentially a prison, where I was starved, beaten, and eventually died alone on a cold floor. Now, I'm a ghost, haunting Noah's lavish party, a celebration of his stolen success. He' s exhibiting paintings that are eerily like my lost collection, while everyone praises him as an art mogul. Olivia, my wife, is there too, looking beautiful but with a shadow in her eyes. Noah's assistant, the one who helped break my hands, even lies to her face, saying I'm still "adjusting" at the center. The arrogance is breathtaking. Olivia stands in the house my stolen art paid for, listening to the lies of the man who killed me. He even fakes an injury to garner her sympathy. It was shocking when a call came through, revealing I' d been secretly flying every six weeks for a year to donate blood for Olivia's rare condition, saving her life. Then the news broke: the "rehabilitation" center I was sent to was a network of abusive prisons where patients died. No one heard my silent screams. My wife even refused to believe the truth, preferring to cling to Noah' s comforting lies, even as she tried to salvage my shredded art from the attic. But then my real parents, billionaires who had been searching for me for decades, showed up. And Noah, my murderer, embraced them, pretending to be their long-lost son. He wanted to steal my inheritance, too. "Mom? Dad?" he said, holding out the locket my birth mother gave me. My wife's refusal of Noah's marriage proposal was a small flicker of hope, soon extinguished by his manipulative feigned heart attack. But then the funeral home called, asking Olivia to pick up my remains. My ashes scattered on the floor after Noah fumbled the urn, and my mother-in-law suddenly revealed I' d donated my kidney to Olivia. That was the moment. She called 911, reporting a murder. My murder./0/80729/coverorgin.jpg?v=fbc3156bd53fe7fa82c09b7c522eafce&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Reborn to Reign: A Mother's Fury
My name is Sarah, and I remember the cold. Not the chill of winter, but the stainless-steel table against my back. My sons, Michael and Gabriel, were gone, their screams replaced by silence. My husband David, blinded by ambition, led us to that abandoned clinic. His sister, Veronica, craved an heir for her powerful husband, Senator Harrison. She believed my "Legacy Fertility" and my children's "vital essence" could help her. A quack "expert" performed monstrous acts on my seven-year-old twins. Then it was my turn; they brutally harvested my ovarian tissue. I was left to bleed out on a filthy floor, my insides torn. I died there, a vow of revenge frozen on my lips. Later, I saw Veronica on the news, pregnant and glowing with what she stole. But then, warmth. Sunlight. My eyes snapped open to my own familiar bedroom. Michael was on my chest, Gabriel curled beside me, both alive, young, and whole. The calendar read October 14th—the very day it all began. The memory slammed into me: David's averted eyes, the isolated building, Veronica's cold voice, Michael's terror, Gabriel's whimper. This wasn't a dream; this was a second chance. Veronica, triumphant in my first life, had risen on my family's ashes, her belly swelling with a lie while mine was emptied by her greed. No. Not again. This time, I wouldn't just survive. I would take everything she had, everything she wanted. Her husband. Her position. Her future. My revenge would be absolute, and my children would live. The game had begun./0/83325/coverorgin.jpg?v=fe7e5b945aa013a011bdb310dd863f1a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Second Shot at Life
My app, GatherGround, was a hit, and my launch party was buzzing. It was also my birthday, a night meant for celebration. Then, my best friend Jess and charming boyfriend Ethan gave me a "special" gift: a vintage instant camera. What followed was a nightmare. My mother died in a freak accident, my dad suffered a debilitating stroke, my company was cyber-attacked and destroyed, and Ethan coldly abandoned me. As I stared death in the face, a horrifying truth flashed before my eyes: the camera wasn' t a gift-it was draining everything from me, giving it to them, to Jess and Ethan, who flourished as I withered. But then, I gasped, the party music pounding again, and saw Jess walking towards me with that same cursed box, moments before it all began. I was back, and this time, armed with knowledge and burning rage, I would rewrite my fate./0/80405/coverorgin.jpg?v=00020fbeaf8ea1c45afe50a437d74b94&imageMogr2/format/webp)
I Was the Monster, They Were the Lie
The splintered wood of the floorboards pressed into my cheek. Another girlfriend gone, another brutal beating from my father. Each woman I brought home to Redwood Creek, to seek the “blessing” at our family’s Pioneer’s Home, emerged twisted with rage, screaming that I was filth. My step-brothers found happy marriages after their girls went inside; I was almost thirty and still a pariah. My father, Jedidiah Thorne, the town’s esteemed mayor, finally showed me why. He strapped me into a chair in a hidden room beneath the Pioneer’s Home, then played a horrifying video. On screen, a figure with my very face, my movements, was brutally torturing animals, then attacking my terrified girlfriends. He confirmed it was me, every single time. My world shattered. I was a monster, a broken thing deserving only death. I sought release in the old quarry, a plunge like my mother’s alleged accident. I survived, but the narrative was set: Ethan Thorne, unstable, suicidal. My father reinforced it, holding me captive, ever-monitored. I faked insanity to finally be institutionalized. Numbed by medication, I accepted my cage, a safely contained monster. Until one grey day in the drab yard, I saw her. Sarah. My first love. The girl I was told I’d killed years ago. She was undeniably alive. And her eyes held a fierce, angry truth that ripped through the fog, promising to expose a horror far greater than I could ever imagine./0/85921/coverorgin.jpg?v=fa14b5ffb94c8ca76496c59781b156fb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
