Books Like John Dies At The End Novels & Stories

I recall the explosion caused by his sacrifice, the rather depressing short moment of peace we had after that fight, the nightmares, the sorrow and then the barrage. I’d hate to admit it but at this very moment, I felt that Parhad died for absolutely nothing. “He died for something Fred, don’t you ever guess otherwise.” I lied as I primed my carbine and fired on a barbarian covered in a cloak covered in skulls. …

I shivered. "What is a Hybrid Corpse Seeker," Rai asked fearfully. I jumped off my bed and asked him what he did with my book collection. He pointed to the closet and I headed inside of it searching for a very old grimoire. When I found the human skin bound book I carried it to him and sat on the mattress as I flipped through the delicate pages. Once I found what I was looking for I opened it wide and read the information out loud. Hybrid Corpse Seeker

Somehow, John knew if he turned away, he’d find it elsewhere. On his Charles Grant shelf. Next to Boy’s Life, with his Robert McCammon novels. Nestled between Dune by Frank Herbert and Foundation and Empire by Isaac Asimov. With his modest collection of Nero Wolfe mysteries. No matter where he turned in his beloved office, his quiet sanctuary against a mad world grown increasingly alien, somehow he knew he’d continue to find it, hiding in plain sight, waiting for him. A strange sort of resolve hardened inside John, a kind he hadn’t felt since high school . . .

the computer-like voice said from nowhere. "What are you talking about?" I didn't sign up for this? right? "Remember the last moment before you died?" I can't help but raise my eyebrow. "Oh? So, I indeed died?" It didn't need to clarify that fact, it just unconsciously confirmed my question Intelligence Entity: "..." "I'm dead, right?" As far as I remember, I died. "Not really. Your body is dead together with your world but your soul is very much alive." I remain alert as I asked again, "Why did you call me like that? Host letter-number thingy?" Is it a thing now? Calling someone strange names?

“Your staring is getting annoying.” I wanted to laugh. My gaze was aimed at him, but I’d long stopped looking at him. “Why didn’t they find your fingerprints at the motel?” The thought had nagged in the back of my mind since we saw the news report, and what a perfect segue. He walked over and held his hand out in front of me. Angling it in the light, I understood—just like John Doe, Six had no fingerprints. “You knew him,” I said, not even bothering to ask. His reaction told me that. “That’s why I’m still alive. You want to know why he’s dead.”

Vivian conceded, her tone a blend of relenting and caution. "Thank you so much, young lady. You are such a lifesaver," he expressed his gratitude, and a grateful smile adorned Vivian's face. "So, what's the name of the book you are looking for?" Vivian inquired, curiosity coloring her voice. "The White Death," he revealed, and Vivian's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the title. "What kind of book is that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. "Supernatural," he replied, his gaze intensifying as he locked eyes with her.

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.

… One day, I suddenly saw the news on the television. "The Jones family was murdered. None of the family members lived." My heart skipped a beat. I then saw a photo of my family on the screen. "It is reported that the murder was committed by Susan Jones, the wife of the old director of Jones Group..." None of them survived. Charles, Derek, Samantha, Jenson, and Susan—all of them died. "Mrs. Jones left a suicide note, claiming that this was done for her daughter Celine..." I could no longer process the words I heard after that.

I don’t know why, but something is rotten in my gut and it’s never wrong. We storm through the building, Roddy’s being the last room at the end of the long ass hallway. The door is locked and Grouch sticks his ear to it, then backs up and kicks it open. The immediate stench of death I know all too well hits my nose and I can’t believe nobody has noticed it. It’s at least fifteen doors from mine. Missile and Grouch storm in, but I can already see the lifeless body of Ryan “Roddy” Grimes on the bed. I step in the room and see a needle sticking right out of his fucking arm. His skin is already discolored, he’s been dead a couple days. And nobody even realized it. Some brotherhood we are.

Jeremiah died on the spot. Even in his death, he was still clutching his crotch tightly. Perhaps he had never foreseen the fact that he'd end up getting killed by a woman. The room descended into a lapse of silence. A while later, someone finally spoke up. "Is he… dead?" "Yup." "Wait, the expert who's placed second on the Tigrine Ranking is just… dead? Just like that?" "Mhm." "Serena Landon is seriously one crazy fucker! She really is capable of doing anything!"