Who Is Cannibal Wally In Horror Fiction?

Caitlynn Nocella is human. She bleeds, she feels empathy for cute things like kittens in a teacup, she's optimistic and bubbly, and she forgives easily. Blaise Jacobson is a ghoul. A hot-head cocky and careless ghoul who feeds on human flesh once a fortnight and is blunt as hell. When Blaise saves Caitlynn from being killed by ghouls, he inadvertently drags her into a world of ghouls and humans combined. Suddenly everything is different and the ghouls she meet aren't exactly your typical 'monsters hiding in the closet'. Falling for a ghoul is hard, especially when you know how hot-headed and damaged he is, but maybe Caitlynn could change that, but at what cost?

It was a zombie apocalypse. My mercenary leader husband, Hans Luketon, refused to let me set sail to the safe zone just because he wanted to wait for his childhood sweetheart, Winnie Snowe, who insisted on reclaiming her bag that fell into the water. However, the zombies were getting closer to the port, and their roars were terrifying. The survivors on the ship were crying and wailing. I had no choice but to sneak up on him and knock him out. After reaching the safe zone, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was pregnant. Hans became even more gentle with me. On the very day I gave birth, he took me to the basement and threw me to a horde of zombies. As I was being torn apart by countless zombies, I caught his sinister gaze. He said, "If it hadn’t been for you, Winnie could've made it back to the safe zone with us. She just wanted to retrieve her things, what's so bad about that? You took her life, now you'll pay with yours!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment he blocked the cockpit door. This time, I would not assist him in "defying fate."

Fifteen years ago, my parents-in-law were cut into pieces. My wife and I spent years searching for the killer. One day, I came back from the market and found that the neighbor’s family had been murdered in the same way. At the crime scene, I saw the neighbor’s face in the mirror. I rushed out and chased him. I was just about to catch him when my wife stopped and handcuffed me with her own hands. “Drop the act. You’re the killer!”

What is scarier than someone living in your walls? How about finding out the boy in the walls has seen a monster in there? What will the Count's daughter and her two unusual friends do to protect her home? Rated 12+ for light violence, kissing, sexual reference

"Eve Spencer, I just got into an accident. I hit someone, and I think he's your son!" The day after getting her driver's license, my best friend, Esther Lawson, insisted on driving alone to pick up her son from kindergarten. I warned her that the road was full of heavy trucks and told her to practice a few more days. She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I'm a great driver!" She floored the gas pedal and sped off. Not long after, she called me. She was crying so hard she could barely breathe. She said she hit a child at the kindergarten. The boy's face was covered in blood, and he looked like my son. I froze. My son had a fever today. He didn't even go to kindergarten. So who had she hit?

My father died of esophageal cancer. For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones. The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream. "I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make." My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave. The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot. Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband. That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well. "Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor." When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave. However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later. I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy. That evening, my daughter never came home from school. I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her. She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth. "Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry." I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home. That night, my father appeared in my dream once more. "I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me. "New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish." I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking. On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing. Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon. I could not believe it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.