Books That Are Like Stranger Things Novels & Stories

She put her glasses on her nose and continued to look at the page. "Are you reading Heinlein?" I looked at the title of her book. "A stranger in a strange land". A lump rose in my throat as I read the title. This had been one of Dad's favorite books. Pietra nodded. “Rereading, actually. I love all of the Heinlein stories. She blushed even deeper, as if she'd revealed some deep personal secret. "Me too," I said. The electricity between us surged, pulling me toward her like two opposing charges. — I love the way Heinlen uses Smith's character to force the reader to see his own prejudices.

The book I was reading wasn't in sight, so I went exploring the shelves until I found it at the top. I opened it and began searching for information about my strange kidnapper and my nephew's father. It was then that I came across a title that caught my attention: “The Rise of Harvey Bloodclaw.”

Better than nothing. I go out into the library, hunting through the rows of books for metaphysical and wraiths. There would be more information at Hallowhaven Academy, but there isn't enough time to go all the way there and back. Besides, I'm worried that Decan or Walsh will catch me and refuse to let me leave again. With a pile of books, I head to an empty table in the back. The first two books were all about chakras and reiki. Next three books were about sacred space, Wicca, and a fiction book about ghost hunters that had been re-shelved wrong.

Erika couldn't answer what Lei said to the two of them, telling them the real story of the war that had killed Erika's parents. "My niece will help you get over what you're going through with your daddy before I help you awaken your powers. I hope that in time you'll accept who you really are. I know that won't be easy for you," Lei said, turning the book back to normal and handing it to Erika. Lei said that normal people couldn't read what was in the book because the book she gave him was not ordinary. "That book is only for deities except for my niece and I, so we can read it because we're not ordinary," Lei replied.

"You don't like Mr. Who." "I don't like proles in general, and I also don't like your getting so close to this thing." With a strange look, Nick watched the little lizard, who concentrated on devouring its mealworm and then fixed Nick with her yellow eyes. “Other girls always loved seeing him. Safe behind bars. They could look at it closely without having to worry that it would harm them. They were fascinated by it. " "People are also fascinated by fire," I countered creepingly. "At least until they burn on it."

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It felt like my world was crumbling. I wandered through the tall bookshelves, pulling out random books. Nothing seemed to hold my attention. Finally, I found myself in the paranormal section. I picked out a thick book with a dark cover. It was about werewolves. I settled into a quiet corner, hoping to lose myself in the story.

Flipping open the book randomly, my eyes skimmed over words that made no meaning to me. I turned around as heavy footsteps approached, only to find Yeti balancing a ridiculous amount of books in her arms. “Found some good stuff—” she paused as her eyes strayed to the book I was holding. “What is that?” “A book?” She walked past me, dropping the heaps of books on the table before turning back to me. “Let me see that.” She said, prying the book from my fingers. “Forgotten Beasts: A Study on the Supernatural.

“I know something is off. That’s not Laurel upstairs. Her mannerisms are all wrong. Her habits. Her eyes. The handwriting style on Morel's school note last week did not resemble Laurel's handwriting. I squeezed the stair railing harder while my blood turned to ice. Dr. Shawty urged me to lower my voice while scanning the area quickly. You may be correct but you shouldn’t accuse people like that. It’s more complicated than you think.” My legs trembled. He was going to tell her. He was about to expose me! “Complicated?” Lillian scoffed. “My son’s been living with a stranger! My grandson addresses a woman as ‘Mommy’ whom he just met and who remains unaware of his bedtime schedule. I couldn’t li

I swallow the lump in my throat and descend. The air down here is cooler, thicker with the smell of leather and dust and secrets. Torches have guttered out, but faint violet light clings to the edges of things—my new sight, maybe, or the contract’s gift. The shadows dance ahead of me, playful almost, skipping along the shelves until they reach a particular bookcase. One tendril stretches, points. A heavy black tome launches itself from the highest shelf and thumps into my waiting hands. I stagger under the weight. The book is bound in leather so dark it drinks the light; no gold leaf, no embossed sigils, just smooth, inky blackness. The title is etched in silver that seems to shift when I ti