Beach Mystery Books Novels & Stories

It is barbaric. Silently, I wonder if our Goddess feels their pain. Feels the sins of her people each time they decide to take fate into their own hands. I force my eyes open, not ready to smell the scent of burning flesh. Goosebumps prickle my skin at what I was about to witness, and a cold chill crept down the length of my spine. Ignoring the nauseating feeling, I head in the direction of the Priest’s office. Dusty books line the built in bookcase along the far wall. Everything abandoned, just as the church had been. Pulling the sixth book, I hear the wall click to the left of me.

Hence, she put it back in its spot among other dusty books and walked to another shelf. She came across a couple of other books but she knew none of them will give her any information on what she sought after; ‘Moon Goddess' Mate’ by U. Tipper, ‘The Hybrid's special Guide’ by L. O. Klark, ‘Tribid Greed’ by Steve Reynolds, and a lot of other books.

Because like any other small town, the gossip was inevitable since there was only so much that you can do in the peaceful little seaside town. Less than an hour later they were done with shopping at Novelty, Hazel picked two picture books with princess-themed stories, Gage got himself some thriller and mysteries books, while Bree was true to her words when she picked out some steamy books with BDSM plots all twisted into a mini series, yup, she didn't just get one. She put three in their basket. Gage raised his brow when he saw it, but Bree smiled sweetly at Gage which then made the young man at the register quickly scanned the barcode so he can put the smut books into the bag. The lanky tee

“Listen. You have five minutes before this place fills up. Collect what you can—Bible, flask, anything the priest brought. If there’s clothing, leave it. If the water touches you, step back and keep your mouth shut.” “Why—” “People talk to it,” she said. “They think they’re talking to themselves.” Another rustle. “Where are you exactly?” “Crescent Cove. Main beach.” “Old slipway, fishermen’s jetty, thirty minutes,” she said. “Bring the idol. Bring the book. And Mitchell—” “What?” “If you see something in the surf, don’t stare. Predators track eyes.” The line died.

We finally make it to the center of the island and begin our look around. “Umm, this may be a stupid question to ask but, how do we know what we are looking for? I doubt Greybeard took a paint brush and made a red ‘X’ where the treasure is.” Lizzie says. “No idea.” I respond. “Well, this just got a lot harder.” Corie says with a smirk. “Shut up and just look around.” I snap.

I went to the living room and, as expected, found the pair of underwear I was looking for in his bag. Downstairs, I called my best friend. "Help me look up someone. I have shopping records." I started the car, planning to visit the real estate office to check on property transactions. Suddenly, I felt something sharp poking at me from underneath the seat. I reached down and pulled out a black lace bra. Clearly, it matched the underwear. This car was usually Milton's—since I worked near home, I usually took the subway. This meant their entanglement that night had probably started in this very car.

A moment later, a piece of paper slid through the narrow gap beneath my door. The footsteps retreated in haste. I peered through the peephole. The hallway was empty. I didn't touch the note, afraid of smudging fingerprints. Instead, I crouched and read the words on it: I know the truth about Edmund's death. Come to the big banyan tree in Greenfield Residences at 11 p.m. Don't call the police. The note was crafted with meticulous care—letters cut out from newspapers and books, pieced together like a ransom demand, leaving no trace of handwriting.

Yours sincerely, An Anonymous Friend" My heart raced with a mix of excitement and trepidation. What could this letter hold? What secrets awaited me in Montrose? And who was this mysterious Evelyn? With a sense of urgency, I shared the letter with Xander, David, and the rest of my loved ones. They were as intrigued as I was and offered their unwavering support. Together, we embarked on a journey to uncover the truth that lay dormant in the depths of my past. The quaint coastal town of Montrose welcomed us with open arms, its streets lined with charming cottages and the salty breeze carrying a hint of mystery. We found 'Whispers of Time,' a quaint bookstore tucked away in a corner, its shelves

Bingo. I worked my way down the beach, a smiling ghost among the damned. The story was always the same, with minor variations. A mysterious aquatic figure. An enchanting, irresistible nocturnal song. A personal recommendation—a cousin, a friend, a trusted travel blog. They were lured here by folklore made flesh, a siren’s call tailored for the modern, curious soul. Just like Jenna. Just like the brochure she ‘found’. This wasn’t random. This was bait. And every single person on this beach had willingly taken it.

It was a text from an unknown number. I opened it, my hands trembling. It was a picture. A picture of me, standing in front of Eavon's car, the very same night Orion died. My face was a mask of shock and terror, and in the background, a woman with a dog was pointing at me, her mouth open in a scream. The text below the picture read: I can give you the answers you're looking for. Meet me tomorrow at the old lighthouse at midnight. Come ALONE.