Bells of Demonio (Kings of Terror #1) Read Online Natalie Bennett

Categories Genre: Dark, Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Kings of Terror Series by Natalie Bennett

Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

(Kings of Terror #1) Bells of Demonio

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Natalie Bennett

Book Information:

Seven days of sin.
It was said to be a celebration you could experience only once in a lifetime. For people like us, lovers of all things strange, twisted, and morally questionable, it was a claim that couldn’t be ignored.
My group of misfit friends and I hopped onto a plane to go and see for ourselves. What we found was a beautiful village that seemed to exist in a world of its own. The locals went all out to ensure our trip was for naught. Their promise to deliver an experience we would never forget went far beyond our wildest expectations.
After chilling haunts, creepypastas becoming vividly real, and the hottest one-night stand of my life, I was more than satisfied with this impromptu endeavor.
It should’ve ended there. One folk tale was all it took to turn a celebration into a nightmare.
Eight of us went into the woods that story warned us never to enter. Guess how many made it back out?
This a short prelude to a dark RH standalone. Contains mild drug use, knife/blood play, and heavy PNR elements.
Books in Series:

Kings of Terror Series by Natalie Bennett

Books by Author:

Natalie Bennett



Ashnikko—Halloweenie IV

The Plot In You—Enemy

The Rigs—Run Baby Run

Elita—Sour Switchblade

Hozier—It Will Come Back

BMTH—Hospital For Souls




"Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil."



We’ve all heard about the things that go bump in the night. Monsters in the closet and demons lurking beneath the mattress. The malevolent presence that watches you from a darkened corner.

They’re always laughed off, chalked up to paranoia, or something far worse. Sometimes a child’s imagination becomes the scapegoat for what can’t be rationalized or accepted by those meant to protect them.

These terrors are labeled as figments of imaginations or a cry for attention. Suddenly it’s you who can’t distinguish truth from fantasy. If you take it far enough, you earn yourself a diagnosis that allows you to speak to someone who can better assess and deal with what’s inside your head. If you’re really lucky, you can get a complimentary orange bottle with your name on the label.

Our second family was like that at first.

They couldn’t believe that there was a world other than ours.

When the truth became a reality that ensured they knew what had been lurking within the walls of their home, there was nothing they could do to save themselves.

That was the tragedy of it all.

They had nothing but pure intentions and endless love to give when they took in two young girls that had only ever known carnage. No one mentioned the slaughter they survived happened because of them.

We were accused of being soulless, but none who pretentiously claimed to have a soul warned that beautiful couple about the damned and forsaken they’d brought into their home. In the aftermath, they found their voices down on their knees, begging a god that never listened to save them.

If only someone had given us that same chance, listened to what we pleaded for them to understand. Things could have turned out so much differently. Because of them, we stopped believing too.

All that bloodshed, it was their fault.

We couldn’t help what we were or where we came from, incarnations of sin, born from a place that nurtured every vile wickedness known to man.

Terrified screams woke me to a nightmare. The moment I saw the silhouette outlined within the shadows, they ceased. The horrifying sight brought with it the chilling realization that I was back in an all too familiar state of hell.

The figure moved from the darkened corner and began to creep closer to where my body was paralyzed on the bed. I tried to turn my head so that I could check on Bellatrix. She was just on the other side of our princess nightstands.

I couldn’t do it.

It was hard to breathe, like something was crushing my chest. Impossible to scream, as if a hand was wrapped around my throat and applying pressure. Every limb was rigid, tied down with invisible weights. My heart slammed against my rib cage so violently that if I weren’t mortally afraid of the thing moving towards me, I would’ve been scared it was going to fly out of my chest.

It’s not real.

This is not real.

I chanted it over and over again, silently pleading for my body to move, to do something, anything.

If I made it out of bed and into the hall, I’d be fine. Aunt Yvonne knew how to chase the evil away. But I couldn’t even curl my toes. There was no way my legs would unfold and carry me back to reality.

The cross above the dresser fell off the wall, hitting the hardwood with a heavy thud. A shriek tangled in vocal cords that refused to work. The room grew impossibly darker when the hallway light abruptly cut off, a bang echoing throughout as the door slammed shut, trapping my sister and me inside.

I couldn’t see at all now.

I could only hear.

Each heavy footfall brought the apparition closer and closer.

They all said this was a fabrication of my overactive imagination, a horrific conjuring brought on from past trauma. I didn’t believe them, and they never believed me.

This felt too real.

My eyes were wide open, staring into utter darkness. I could feel the chill in the air, sweat dotting my brow. Something awful was burning from down the hall.

I was all too aware when it reached the edge of my mattress. Another scream became imprisoned within my lungs as the bed creaked and dipped, bringing me closer to where it waited.

As a single tear slid down my cheek, it touched me, firm enough that I couldn’t be mistaken yet shockingly gentle. The heated caress was a shock to my system. Clarity swept in with the force of a raging storm.

My lids fluttered, and it disappeared as if it were never there, but I could still feel the impression on my sweat-drenched skin. I jerked backward and nearly fell over, sucking in deep breaths of air.

Was it done?

The door was open and the light back on in the hall, casting a comforting glow across the stripped walls. I had to of waken up. So why was that stench continuing to taint the air?