Crooked Letter Novels & Stories

I navigated through the maze of old furniture until I reached the back corner beneath the low eaves. I pulled away the heavy wool blanket, exposing the rusted, iron-reinforced wooden chest bearing The Crimson Crest. ​My hands shook so violently I could barely align the brass key with the keyhole. I pushed it in and turned it hard. ​CLICK. ​The heavy brass latch popped open with a dry, metallic snap. ​My heart hammered in my throat as I lifted the heavy wooden lid. Inside, resting on a bed of faded black velvet was a single, thick parchment manuscript bound with dark leather ribbons and sealed with a heavy dollop of red wax.

“Rot under varnish.” They teased it up, and it came away in one satisfying unmasking—false strength yielded to true weakness that could actually be mended. That piece took their power cleanly, gratefully, like a hinge drinking oil. The rent drew itself together another inch. Then the third crossing arrived—the one the visions had not dared to name.

Raff breathes as everyone surges forward to explore the new space. “This is it,” Robert says, holding up a thick ancient-looking book. The cover is made of what looks like delicate leather but there are no markings on the cover to indicate what it is. Deacon takes the book from him and opens it with care. The script is handwritten and as he flicks through the pages it is clear to see that many different people have written in this book, using different writing styles and tools. “What about the branding kit? Do you see it?” Luke asks, drawing everyone’s attention back to the task.

I hoped for that to make any sense, but it didn't. "Maybe." These letters looked nothing close to familiar, they were strangely curved and I didn't get what they were or why they were there. Until the letters started interpreting themselves. I can't really explain how it did, it just started making much sense. The 'k' word translated to 'c', and the next letter, to an 'a'. All in my head, the letters rearranged themselves and formed into the word 'castle'. "Castle." I found myself uttering the word out. "Castle." Mona bowed her head in deep thinking, even when she couldn't see anything on the page.

I grabbed it, broke the wax, and read it out loud. My voice stayed flat and even. My hands, if anyone was paying close enough attention, were shaking a little. I hid them against my legs. The letter was cold. Formal. Kade at his most stripped-down, a neutral location, travel to Drakos together, some joint attempt to seal the corruption before it ate what was left of the territory. No nice words. No pretending. Just the plan, written carefully and precisely, not giving away anything about who actually wrote it.

I HAVEN'T STARTED YET. Will_the_devil YOU KNOW WHAT, NO NEED TO START. YOU ARE FORGIVEN, NOW LEAVE. I_pooped ... THAT WAS ROOD. Will_the_devil ... WHAT'S ROOD? I_pooped ARE YOU FOR REAL? ROOD IS THE INTERNET SPELLING OR SOMETHING FOR RUDE. Will_the_devil NOT MY FAULT THAT KIDS NOWADAYS DISTORT EVERYTHING. I_pooped -_- THE ONLY KID HERE IS YOU! HOW COME YOU ARE SO DUMB?

Unsure of where I should go and even though I was in desperate need of a shower, I decided to try and find a library. It had to be night time, the halls were dark with no trace of light other than the lights that lined the stone, I’d imagine at one point in time they were torches with fire instead of twinkling lights. You could see how the stone was being eaten away at proving that even things built to last crumble. I wandered taking in the beauty of it anyway, alas finding myself outside the door to the library. Its wooden doors out of place against the stone- I could have sworn I smelled the oak from the tree in which the doors were carved the handles were made of brass etched in them what

My story at the beginning is probably the same for what it is for a lot of people. I have a Mum, a Dad and two older brothers who are called Richard and Riggs, they were and are all very over protective of me. You see all my family were really really strong wolves, but not me I seemed to trip over my own feet. A few months back I literally broke my toe coming down the stairs I'm that clumsy, thanks to my wolf healing though it didn't take long to get back to normal. It hurt like a bitch though.

Then he carved the mouth and smoothed the edges of every cut. “It really is different when you do it. The quality, I mean.” “I wouldn’t call it quality. It’s only a pumpkin.” “But you carved letters into those tiny ones.” I peered over his shoulder as he added the finishing touches, admiring the care in every movement. “Letters do take some practice,” he said, amusement in his voice. “Even now, I sometimes cut away a tiny dot or accidentally remove the center of a character.” “Do you think I could learn to carve my own name if I practiced?”

And most importantly, what did they want with us? "I hope you can swim," the one at my back whose dark mask had red stitching on one cheek said. "Are we going for a swim?" My blonde friend asked. The other one chuckled, "Something like that." With a grimace, red stitching bent and pushed open a hole in the ground covered by a metal lid. The smell that wafted up was rancid. I covered my nose and my eyes watered. "What's in there?" Trish asked in a small, unsure voice.