very short ghost stories for kids
“You need to leave NOW. We don’t own a clown statue. The children have been telling us they’ve been seeing a clown in their room in the night, and we thought they were having nightmares. Take the children and get out!”
A girl in a pretty white dress and embroidered sweater flags down an old man for a ride. He gives her a ride to her great-grandmother’s house and they have a lovely conversation, talking about the old days, and the elderly man shares some great stories with her. He drops her off at her geema’s house and he goes home. The following day when he gets into his car to pick up some milk and the paper, he realises the sweater is still in his car. He swings by the young girl’s geema’s house to drop off the sweater, and her geema answers the door. He explains why he’s there.
Again he called for his brother to come out and again nothing. Opening the door, the boy tried to peer behind the wall of dresses and coats hanging there. He bent down, but he did not see any feet standing there. He began to rise up and put his hand out into the mass of clothing to feel for his little brother when a small, white, icy cold hand came out, grabbed his wrist, and tried to pull him into the closet.
Variation: The hitchhiker never gets to her house. She mysteriously vanishes from the car as they pass the cemetery gates.
This story is scary enough to get your little ones looking behind their shoulders, but not enough to send them into a fury of screams.
But don’t worry, this isn’t a story they should lose sleep over.
Henry spotted his ball at the base of the hallway window.
Both boys quietly climbed onto the porch roof and made their way down the side trellis one at a time. Their escape accomplished, they ran silently toward the ravine behind their house. The light of the full moon shined brightly when it wasn’t obscured by the passing clouds, but Jimmy brought a flashlight along just in case he needed it.
The girl takes the kids and runs out of the house. They inform the police, who come and arrest the man, who is a murderer stalking the family’s children for months. The children have been telling the parents about seeing a clown in their bedroom at night, but the parents never believed them.
Lots of strange things follow. Along with the buried dead body is a mysterious spooky note, and tickets for a show done by a man called Mordecai. Mordecai claims that he can talk to the dead.
Is your little one crazy for pirates? This is the tale of Captain Kidd and his band of pirates, who bury treasure on the New Jersey shore and then come back to haunt the area on reality TV (just kidding about the last part). Retold by S.E. Schlosser as part of his Spooky New Jersey book ($6.93 at Amazon), this tale will remind you of ghost stories from days gone by.
What if kids could decide when a story gets too scary for them? In Tell Me Another Scary Story… but Not TOO Scary! ($16.95 at Amazon) by Carl Reiner, kids can decide whether to move forward as the story gets scarier — or end it there. This sequel to Tell Me a Scary Story… But Not TOO Scary! comes with a CD to listen along as the author himself reads the story. Perfect for ages 9 and up; even adults will love the creative illustrations and Reiner’s wit.
Ghost stories can add fun and a bit of spookiness to your Halloween party, slumber party, and camping adventures. Ranging from slightly scary to absolutely bone chilling, there is a ghost story to fit any audience. Below is a collection of ghost story resources to read and share, these stories are sure to send chills down your spine.
- Ghost Stories & Pictures – A collection of ghost stories and images from around the world.
- Modern Ghosts – Several detailed ghost stories.
- Halloween Ghost Stories – Tons of terrifying tales to share at your next Halloween party or sleepover.
- Campfire Stories – Creepy campfire stories about ghosts, ghouls, and other things that go bump in the night.
- Family Ghost Stories – An assortment of ghost stories and Halloween tales to spook your family this Halloween.
- Creepy Carolina Stories – Three different ghost stories set in South Carolina.
- Knox County Ghosts – A collection of ghost stories to share around the campfire.
- Romanian Ghost Stories – Ghostly stories written by other students.
- Russian Ghost Stories – Six scary ghost stories sure to make your hair stand up.
- The Moonlit Road – Spooky ghost stories with audio.
- Scary Ghost Stories – A collection of ghost stories for kids.
- Horror Stories & Short Ghost Stories – A great collection of ghost stories for sleepovers, Halloween, and campfires.
- Ghost Stories & Campfire Tales – A list of ghost legends to spook your friends.
- Camping Stories – Ghost stories perfect to spook your friends, including the classic Bloody Mary.
- Short Halloween Stories – A collection of printable Halloween and scary stories for kids.
This one is a classic, and you probably grew up hearing it yourself; a story about a haunted coffin that chases a scared camper, only to be defeated in the punniest of ways.
This one has ghosts! And blood! And fingers! But like the others, there’s nothing in it that will keep kids up in their tents after the fire’s been extinguished. Plus, you’ll find this story on a website with some great resources on it for happy campers, including how to best introduce scary stories to your kids.
Lady Janet acts courageously to rescue her True Love from a fairy queen’s grasp.
A giant with a pumpkin head and a taste for plump children is made into a delicious dish!
I flung myself through the door and vaulted the toppled, long-dead refrigerator that served as an ineffective barricade in front of me. My legs propelled me through the room and into the small hallway on the other side. I couldn’t stop to eat the expired contents of the fridge, appealing to me despite their stench after several days without food. The shrieks of pain and cries for mercy around me spurred my body onward and filled me with unexpected energy in spite of my hunger.We were at war.I came to a halt in front of a small bathroom.A noise. Something behind the shower curtain.My fear heightened and images of the enemy flooded my mind. Merciless beasts wearing human skin, devouring indiscriminately, accepting no pleas and respecting no argument. Zombies.It had begun as we expected, with a virus. The original infected were almost a cliché. There was no humanity left in them. Just mindless rage, twisted bodies, and some primal urge to consume others. Our generation had prepared, with almost obsessive focus, for this monster. The first wave was eradicated with almost laughable ease.We were not prepared for adaptation. We were not prepared for the creature we bred by destroying the instantly recognizable zombie. A creature with more tact.Most of the first zombies were killed at close range, you understand, since longer range attacks were less likely to be fatal. We had trained ourselves, even before the outbreak, to equate “infection” with “death” when it came to zombies. A person “died” when their eyes clouded over and they started biting, not when you put a bullet in their head.The new strain of the virus still controlled the body, yes, but it left other faculties to the host.Maybe you could pull the trigger on a hopelessly crazed caricature of your best friend, your spouse, your child. But what if there was still a soul behind those eyes? If even as they attacked, they sobbed and screamed in their own voice? All the virus needed was a moment’s hesitation.I bet you’d hesitate.I did.Which is why now I could only watch as my arm wrenched back the shower curtain and my hands reached for the cowering child. Why I could only beg for forgiveness before the virus used my mouth to tear ragged, bloody hunks from his body. Why I couldn’t even vomit as my hunger dissipated with the now sickeningly familiar taste of human flesh.We were at war. And I am the enemy.
I bought a new house in the small town of Winthrop. The house was cheap, but the most important part was that I needed to get away from the city. A few months ago, I had a run-in with a stalker. While I had managed to get him arrested, I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes just constantly watching me. I felt like there were eyes everywhere, at home and on the street, so I decided to move out into the country to somewhere with less people, just for peace of mind.The house itself was big and somewhat old, but otherwise very welcoming. The agent who introduced me to the house had been required to mention that a serial killer had lived here in the past, which was why the house was so cheap. However, he, and later, my next door neighbor Sarah, both told me to pay the thought no mind. Four other owners had lived in the house since then, and all of them were very happy with it.I loved the house. Its interior furnishings were beautiful and very comfortable. The people of Winthrop were friendly, often bringing over freshly baked pastries or inviting me over for dinner. “Get-togethers,” they said, “were the key to making sure everyone who lived in Winthrop loved it there.”Yet after a week, I stopped “loving it.” The feeling of someone watching returned, worse than before. I tried to ignore it, but soon I started losing sleep. Giant bags grew under my eyes and I began yawning almost as much as I breathed. Sarah was kind enough to let me stay in her house for a few nights.It was during this time that I heard the legend of Forrest Carter, the serial killer who had lived in my house. While no one knows his exact kill count, Carter, also known as the Winthrop Peacock, was a man with extremely severe case of narcissism. Legends say that he couldn’t fall asleep if he didn’t feel like he was being watched. He was finally arrested for putting up a scarecrow to watch him during the night. Only it wasn’t a scarecrow. Carter had murdered a 17 year old girl, just so her corpse could stare at him.The story gave me shivers, and after I went home, I felt like there were hundreds of pairs of eyes just watching me no matter how I turned.Today, however, was the first day that I acted out. I was cooking breakfast, when I felt the eyes. Instinctively, out of fear, I threw my kitchen knife, which lodged itself into the wall. As I pulled it out, I found myself staring at a pair of eyes, pickling in formaldehyde.I’ve been watching the police peel away the drywall of my house for hours now. So far, they’ve found 142 pairs of eyes in little glass jars. The scariest thing is, each and every one was staring at me.