Books Similar To Holes Novels & Stories

He has other strangers to save. I stand and go to grab another book from the shelf. Tansy Beach's strategy differs from anything I’ve ever read before. They’re used to fighting on shifting sands, avoiding or using tides. They have no wall of brute force to conquer the day, just careful use of the land itself. The tome slides back into place with a dull thud, and I grab the one next to it. The Haze, the Goddess, and Our Other Selves. Misfiled. Obviously not military theory. I should put it back.

But instead, she pulled out a book of spells from her bag and began to read. The book was small enough to fit in her pocket, but its contents were vast and ancient. While her classmates learned the arts of other crafts, Miranda preferred to delve into the secrets of her own. She pored over the pages, devouring the knowledge left behind by generations of witches who had come before her. And as she read, she felt a sense of belonging that she had never found in any club or organization. As Miranda sat lost in the pages of her book, she couldn't help but feel a nagging sense of unease. It was a feeling that had been creeping up on her ever since the arrival of the new Principal, Daniel Lockwood

he said and averted his eyes back to the book. "Oh? Then does it mean you were following me earlier?" He looked up again. "No. Why would I follow you?" "Okay, then why are you suddenly talking like some mysterious guy?" I asked and slumped down beside him, yanking the book from his hands, almost taking him aback. He instantly moved away from me, making me frown. Anyway, I closed the book and looked at the front cover to see which novel it was. "Louis Sachar, Holes," I read. "Holes?? What kind of holes?" I asked tilting my head to him. His lips parted in surprise.

She'd even scold me for drinking a sip of water inside. I hadn't sat in this car for the better part of a year. Now, the floor mats were covered in cigarette ash. The seat had a big hole burned through it from a cigarette butt. And the car reeked of a certain indescribable, intimate smell. I stayed inside like I was punishing myself, sitting there for three full hours. I didn't open the door until night fell. The pain in my heart had gone numb. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

I stopped at the library door and smiled to myself. ‘Books are better than people. Books don’t hate on you for something you didn’t do.’ I pushed the door open and breathed in the wonderful smell of books. ‘Paradise.’ I strolled to the shelves and scanned through the books, reading their names off their spines. ‘It seems Dante wasn’t joking when he said half of his library was filled horrors.’ A book caught my eye, and I pulled it from the others. “Bone and Souls by B. Brian.” I read the name aloud and skimmed through the description behind it. “This seems interesting.”

There was a table. Books stacked on it. Not like the ones I used to see at home. These looked older. Some of them had markings on the covers I didn’t understand. I walked closer. My fingers hovered over one of them before I touched it. The cover felt rough. Worn. I opened it slowly. The pages were filled with symbols. Not letters. Not words I knew. Shapes. Lines. Things that looked like drawings but weren’t. I frowned. “What is this…?” I flipped a page.

Come pick a bouquet from these Flowers in a Dumpster. Eidolon Avenue: The First Feast by Jonathan Winn—where the secretly guilty go to die. All thrown into their own private hell as every cruel choice, every deadly mistake, every drop of spilled blood is remembered, resurrected and relived to feed the ancient evil that lives on Eidolon Avenue. Through a Mirror, Darkly by Kevin Lucia—Are there truths within the books we read? What if the book delves into the lives of the very town you live in? People you know? Or thought you knew. These are the questions a bookstore owner face when a mysterious book shows up.

Although she felt the need to rest after several hours of searching, however, she figured the books in the shelf appeared scathless and well positioned. “Why put it here when you wouldn't read it.” she spoke under her breath, a flash of curiosity glinted in her eyes as she moved closer to it. After all, Karl was away from home and wouldn't return any time soon. The thought increased her confidence level and in a split second she randomly took out one. ‘Chronicles of torment’ it read, Karl had initially buried its identity among others. Her finger flipped the pages cursorily, only to behold bizarre images of devices used to torture people.

I stood alone in the center of the circle of stones, blood trailing from the cut across my palm, soaking into the dirt and dripping down onto the rune-carved altar. The scent of smoke and steel curled in the air, thick with the copper tang of battle. Around us, the cursed wolves circled like vultures, hunched and twitching. Misshapen things, their forms half-melted by shadow, their claws too long, jaws broken wide. Their eyes—if they had any left—burned with red flame.