Books On The Nightstand Novels & Stories

Placing the paper away in frustration not knowing what it said, I brought my head up thinking harder than my eyes fell on the bookshelf pondering if maybe that had a language translator. Or something that was closer to the real deal, I put the paper on the nightstand standing up with the candle,trying not to step on any cracks or creeks. Walking over my eyes traced the variety of books but all I could see were books of animals and plants. "Lavender go to sleep." A exhausted Crystal rolled over moving her raven hair out of her face.

image he worked so hard to maintain. I closed the closet, still grinning, and wandered into his bedroom. On his nightstand I found more books, all by Fyodor Dostoevsky: Crime and Punishment, Notes from Underground, The Idiot, White Nights. I picked one up and flipped through it. The pages were worn, corners folded and some lines underlined. He wasn't just pretending to like this stuff, he really was a superfan of Russian literature. I didn't believe it when he first told me, but now I believed it without a doubt.

“Were these any help, detective?” “I’m afraid not,” I said, defeated. I was in a bit of a daze after staring at projected newsprint on the dim screen. I leaned on the desk and looked around the building absentmindedly until my eyes finally settled on a small sign hanging on a table covered with a neat stack of books. “Warning: The Library is Not Responsible for Nightmares!” I read out loud, walking over to look at the books. Well-worn volumes with pink skulls grinning back at me from stickers on their spines. Dracula. Frankenstein. The Invisible Man.

A navy throw rested at the foot, folded once. Books sat on the nightstand with creased spines and bent corners. A faint scent hung in the air, clean and warm, the kind you notice only when you stop moving. I felt calm like I was standing beside my own life and looking in. On the low table by the window, several photo albums were stacked neatly. Leather covers, worn at the edges. The kind people keep because throwing them away would feel wrong. I sat on the bed and pulled the top album closer. My name was written inside.

He parked outside a bookshop with a crooked wooden sign and stacks of books visible through dusty windows. “Why are we here?” “You need new books.” He was already getting out. I stayed in my seat. “How did you even know I—” He pulled my door open and waited. “You have three on your nightstand. Romance, mystery, fantasy. All of them so worn the spines are cracked and the pages are dog-eared.” His mouth did something that almost looked like a smile. “Figured you needed fresh ones.” Something warm bloomed in my chest. He’d noticed. Actually looked at my nightstand and paid attention to what mattered to me.

in regard to it without giving it any thought. When I got to my house, I went inside and locked the door behind me. However, I failed to remember to insert the key into the slot on the back of the door. I showered to clean up, and then I went straight to bed, naked. I didn't even bother to put any pajamas on. I prayed until I was sure that I could have faith that Lily would appear at that time. I prayed until I was certain that I could have faith that she would appear.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open a little further. Darren’s bedroom was immaculate, not a thing out of place. A massive bed with neat charcoal gray blankets and pillows, ever the minimalist, sat in the middle of the room. Two nightstands sat on either side of the bed, one of which looked entirely unused, like he’d purchased it just for symmetry and nothing else. My gaze wandered to the nightstand that did look used. A small stack of books caught my attention—business texts, historical novels, and then, tucked underneath them, a well-worn copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

Barely. “Tomorrow,” I whispered, leaning close to brush my lips against her ear. “Dream about me tonight, Princess.” I slipped from her room, walking quickly down the hall, careful not to make a sound. Relief hit when I shut the door to my own room. “This is fucking nerve-wracking,” I muttered, stripping off my shirt. But then my eyes caught a folded piece of paper on the bedside lamp. My pulse spiked. I picked it up, scanning the words.

Surprisingly, I don't find the idea disturbing. Feeling boredom as it sets in quickly, I make my way over to the bookshelf. I start to peruse the titles and am shocked at what I find. I see the House of Night Series, The Twilight Series, Forbidden Knowledge, Harry Potter Trilogy, and various books on Military Protocols all with black covers. The books are all in good condition too. Not interested in any of the military books I reach for the first book in the House of Night Series. As I take the book over to the couch to settle in, the door swings open.

I was getting used to staying alone now and I no longer expected him to magically appear like he did last time or my phone would suddenly lit with a text from him like that night we went to the boutique. I switched the lights on and what I saw on the nightstand caught my eyes. It was a book. I walked closer, examining it like it would disappear. The particular book I wanted to own for years and had been searching for all over the bookstore but never found it. It was just a book I read once and wanted to relive the imaginations. And now, it sat here on the nightstand staring back at me. There was a note attached to it and I picked it up.