Burn Book Yearbook Novels & Stories

The cover read "Nocturne Academy Graduating Class of 1995." A yearbook. Perfect for killing time. I flipped through pages of formal portraits and candid shots. The students all looked so young, so full of hope for the future. I wondered what had happened to them all, whether their lives had turned out the way they'd planned. About halfway through, I found the senior class photos. Row after row of smiling faces in graduation caps and gowns. Some of the names were familiar. Professors who still taught at the school. Others I recognized from Seraphina’s fractured stories about influential supernatural families.

In this rare moment of peace, I’ve chosen a book, turned off the lights, and let the muted light from the cloudy sky illuminate the pages. A soft sigh escapes my lips as I glance down at the book on my lap. My finger traces the letters that read ′Book of Law’—this year’s edition. I’ve learned that a new one is printed annually, and Efrem possesses a copy of every single one, dating back to the very first one.

When I still couldn't find anything under incidences, I moved around to the other section, which was compiled based on the year of occurrence. From what James had told me, the fire had happened 15 years ago. I did the math in my head, as I scanned the labels on the shelves for the year 2006. I was again met with disappointment as I found nothing pertaining to the fire or the manor. The only thing somewhat related was the animal attack cases published in some news articles. I inhaled deeply and then let out an exaggerated sigh. I dropped the folder on the desk as I sat on the chair closest to me.

The nineteenth notebook has been open since February — since the argument sentence, since the fourth book's first pages. It is the fullest notebook of the run: forty-four years of practice have produced a year's worth of writing that requires more pages than any previous year. She opens it to the annual review page. November. The forty-fourth review. The same November morning that has been the same November morning for forty-four years and is never quite the same. November. The forty-fourth review.

Andrew said. "I've already heard more than I ever thought I'd find out about them, so I'm not sure what you're going to say that you think will surprise me," I said. He smiled and opened one of the yearbooks he had out on the table. He flipped through the pages until he found a picture... ***

Kennedy POV. The weather was bad, but I needed to get that new book, it's Robert birthday gift, who'd knew a grown up man would kill for the newest werewolf love book. I got into my car, drove carefully toward the local book store, they had the new book reserved for me. It was supposed to one quick drive, until I walked into the library. A girl was sitting on a bean bag, her blond hair was covering her eyes with overgrown bangs, she tried to huff them away from her face but to no use. She looked young, maybe she's just here with her parents, looking down at the book she had in her hands it was a kids story. Does she read for the local kids? Or is it just for her?

-I'll get the laptop," she stood up abruptly, heading for the desk, grabbed the laptop and hurried to sit next to me, opening it. As luck would have it, it was already on. He typed in the link to the web page and then hit search. It took a few seconds of procrastinating, but it finally loaded. -That's it," I said. It said in big gold letters "Lewiston High School Official Site" and had several menus. One said "alumni" others like: "scholarships" "exchanges" "sports" "graduations" "teachers" "principals" "deceased students" and "yearbooks". She clicked on "yearbooks" -"It's obvious I won't appear in any of them," she muttered. There were several with different dates, from '70 to 2018 now. -Wh

He looked at it for a long time. "What?" Elian said, quietly, beside him. "One of the three," Dante said. "That the librarian gave me." Elian looked at the book on the shelf. A different edition — thirty years of editions since then — but the same title, the same series. "Still in print," Elian said. "Still here," Dante said.

But the thing that drew my attention was the table in the center of the room, covered in stacks of files, yellowed with age. Daniel stepped forward, flipping through one of the folders. "These are all dated before The Burning," he said, glancing up at me. "Some of them are marked 'Project Inferno.'" A chill ran down my spine. Project Inferno? I reached for one of the files, my hands trembling as I opened it. The first page was an official-looking document, stamped with government insignia. I skimmed the text, my eyes darting from line to line, trying to make sense of it.

Zann rushed inside, only to find the place empty and deathly quiet. My clothes were gone. The familiar kitchenware had vanished. Only a thin layer of dust covered the table. His heart sank. The gnawing feeling finally surged and washed over him. Just then, his assistant rushed over and handed him a package. Zann’s hands trembled as he tore it open. A cold urn came into view. The name Neve Steele burned into his eyes. “No! Impossible!” he roared, flinging the urn to the floor. “She must be throwing a tantrum, trying to scare me!”