Book Of Cthulhu Novels & Stories

Those books were older than any of the others in his office. The bottom shelf (the one he’d been searching when he’d first heard the cats playing in the hall) held his collection of horror anthologies. The famed Whispers series, edited by Stuart David Schiff, featuring the varied works of Ramsey Campbell, Stephen King, Charles Grant and so many others. The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror from England. The Shivers series, published by Cemetery Dance. Masques, Borderlands, Shadows, Stalkers, Dark Forces, October Dreams I & II, Corpse Blossoms, Horror Library Volumes 1-5, and Prime Evil. Classic horror anthologies jammed next to paperback collections of slightly lesser repute with titles to mat

It simply disintegrated, then reappeared back in the car. “Sick bastard,” I spat. He'd been stalking me. I tore a slim black book from the rat pile. Book of Psychopomps was etched on it in gold ink. Numbers, emails, and old-fashioned addresses accompanied names, written in no apparent order. I rifled through the pages: “Old farts: ODIN, MORRIGAN, YAMA, HERMES....” and “New pests: ANAESTHESIA, AIDS, SANTA MUERTE...” A red ribbon marked a page at the back. “Accessories: SHANNON PARKER.”

She wanted her to feel to the last moments of her life, just as she did when was on the surface with Miguel. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Maria and Juan arrived at Miguel's home where the ritual was to take place. They prepared everything they needed and sat down in a circle. Following the instructions in the book, Maria drew an inverted pentagram on the floor with chalk and in the center she wrote the names of the Lords of the Underworld: Samael and Lilith. In the very center of the pentagram she placed Lilith's amulet and a black feather as a symbol of Samael. Then Mary lit three black candles and passed one to each of those present, and lit incense from her candle. Then she began reciting a Latin fo

Eyes may change shape, hands will change, and hair and eyebrows will gradually thicken and change color. She snapped the book shut and opened the next one. ...The belief in vampires and bloodsucking demons is as old as man himself and may go back to prehistoric times... Grabbing the last of the books she’d taken down from the shelf, she flipped the pages until she found what she was looking for. A smile of satisfaction covered her face as she skimmed that page

Twice Cleopoda had wiped at the blood that dripped from her nose to the brown pages of the old book in front of her. She was grateful Garius wasn’t looking, sometimes the old man would be busy looking through the old books to care whether she read or not. But she read, she read because Garius asked her questions at the end of every session and he hit her cruelly and with frustration whenever she failed to answer correctly. It wasn’t easy to read the almost faded symbols and scripts from the old brown books, mouth the words which meaning she didn’t know and at the same time try to halt the voices in her head, they were so loud sometimes, they made her head ache and caused her nose to bleed bu

I press my lips into a thin line and move on. The third grimoire is thicker, darker, filled with the more obscure records I’ve gathered over time, rituals and warnings, fragments of older traditions. My pulse picks up slightly as I flip through it, hoping to stumble across some half-lost truth. I even find references to cursed wolves and blood-bound shapeshifters, but still… no mention of that name. No mention of those red eyes. I lean back, exhaling hard. Just as I’m about to give up, my eyes land on a fourth book, small, unassuming, bound in dull gray hide. One I almost never open. It’s handwritten and filled with anecdotal entries from witches who lived long before my time.

I didn't want to have breakfast for fear of running into Darick. The door creaked as I turned the knob and entered the library. Dust particles still floated in the air, and I could barely see with the dimly lit chancellors. I walked down the aisles, holding my nose as the smell of musk filled my nostrils. I skimmed my fingers over the hardback books. Hmm, ‘Chronicles of the Blood Brothers.’ No, I don't want to read about the Blood Brothers' history. What's this? ‘Understanding your Supernatural Abilities.’

Sitting in the dim light of my apartment, I heard the distinctive sound of a door closing from across the hall. A sinister smile crept over my face. Clay was leaving. I slid the glass door to my balcony open and peered down to see his black car pull out of the parking garage, heading north. He's going home, I thought, how convenient. I returned inside, my fingers itching to pry open the book that lay on my coffee table. It wasn't any ordinary book—it was an old folklore tome filled with rituals, spells, and hidden amidst cryptic language, and dark magic.

With some effort, I managed to push it open, revealing an enormous underground chamber. My breath caught in my throat. The chamber was filled with rows upon rows of old books and scrolls—an ancient library dedicated to werewolf lore and magic. The walls were lined with shelves crammed with forgotten knowledge, and in the center of the room stood a large, intricately carved table covered in tomes and manuscripts. I approached the table, my eyes scanning the titles. Many of the books were written in old, nearly forgotten languages, but one tome caught my attention. It was bound in dark leather, the title barely legible: "The Lament of the Moon."

I think the bones belonged to the wolves who tried to destroy it. Ela's stomach turned. She placed her hand on the book's cover. The leather was cold, almost freezing, as if it had been sitting in ice instead of a dusty chamber. Thorne opened it carefully, turning pages that crackled with age. The illustrations were unlike anything Ela had seen before. Wolves with human eyes. Humans with wolf shadows. A child standing between two worlds, one hand reaching toward the moon, the other toward the earth. The symbolism was heavy, unmistakable. Thorne stopped at a page near the middle of the book. The text was written in the same ancient language, but someone had translated it in the margins, the h