Cthulhu: Death May Die Unspeakable Box Novels & Stories

“Did you order anything?” I frowned. “No.” “Could be from a supplier?” “Could be a bomb,” I muttered. The guys gathered around as I set the box on the table inside. Tank crossed his arms. “You want me to open it?” I shook my head. “If it’s from who I think it’s from, it’s meant for me.” I slid the lid open slowly. The hiss came first — soft, alive, coiled. Then I saw it. A cobra, black and glistening under the light, rising from the box with its hood spread wide. Its eyes locked on mine, unblinking.

Maya said to me, I looked back and saw her holding a box, I collected it from her and say on the bed, it was already rusty and dusty but I didn't mind, I looked at Maya before opening it I should have just listened to her and not come here, I'm not sure that I can handle whatever it is that I find in here, it might just be too much for me to handle, I didn't prepare enough for this, I really didn't. I finally did open the box, and the first thing that I saw came as a shock. I brought out all the things that were inside there and fast as I could, what caught my attention was a letter that has the dead moon pack symbol on it, how come a letter that my mom sent has a symbol of the dead moon pac

she said quietly, voice steady despite what she'd just seen, “is a rather… special gift.” She brought the camera closer. “See for yourselves,” she continued, angling it downward, “the type of thing some gracious human thought was appropriate to send to my home.” And then, without warning, she pointed the camera into the box. Inside lay two dead, mutilated birds, their feathers matted and soaked in dark, drying blood. Beside them sat a voodoo doll, its eyes sewn shut, its mouth stitched closed. Across its chest, stitched crudely in red thread, were the words:

"Let me see what kind of sick joke this is." He hooked his fingers under the thick tape and tore the box open. The moment the flaps peeled back, the suffocating stench of iron and death hit us like a physical blow. Malcolm flinched, taking a sharp step backward as a dark, crimson liquid began to seep out from the bottom corners of the cardboard, staining the spotless garage floor. I forced myself to look inside, and a blood-curdling scream fought its way up my throat. Tangled inside the box was a lifeless, heavily bleeding wolf. Its limbs were unnaturally contorted, and its eyes were glassy and vacant, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Anticipation bubbled inside of me at that thought. I rounded the table before standing where she was, then stared at the package. No return address, no other information except the name KYOMI in big bold letters, like they were written with a giant marker. I ripped the brown plastic to reveal a metal box. I shook it, and something heavy moved inside. I pulled the latch, my stomach knotting into itself as the metallic, coppery scent hit me. It smelled like something dead, and my mind instantly readied itself for panic mode.

she said, her voice gravelly, "there is something you must see. I know you ordered the cremation, but... I thought this might be useful." He opened the box. Inside, wrapped in a cloth, was the head of Dante Russo. Shit, said my wolf, Gregory.

He smiled reassuringly, trying to calm her down. Sophia's eyes still sparkled with fear, but she nodded slightly. Aiden's words seemed to have a calming effect on her. Aiden turned back to the box and carefully unwrapped the paper, revealing a small, unmarked box inside. As he lifted the lid, a faint humming noise filled the air. Inside, a music box began to play a haunting melody. The box was accompanied by a creepy mask with a grotesque face, its eyes seeming to stare right through them. A small note was attached to the mask, with a message scrawled in red ink: "I'm going for the kids first."

“You start with three points in your inventory. Every time you do not entertain the audience, you lose points and hearts—then you will die forever!” “Audience? Which audience?” I inquired with a frown. His eyes shone in the dim light as he locked eyes with mine. “The demons,” he hissed. His voice was low and had a dangerous edge. “They’re watching now.” His tone sent a chill down my spine that the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I gulped. “How am I dead, and yet I feel my heartbeat, my blood, and I still breathe?” I asked, my heart pounding vigorously in anticipation.

I swallowed, pushing the unease back down. "Look at this," Mitch called from a few feet away. He was kneeling by a set of old, faded graffiti on one of the mine’s support beams. The words were jagged, hastily written, and almost incoherent, but the image beside it was unmistakable, a crude drawing of what could only be described as a giant, monstrous figure. The words beneath it read: Cthulhu Rises. Spitfire’s earlier antics with convincing Control's systems that Cthulhu was awakening felt like a cruel joke now. In a world where so many strange things were real, the idea of the ancient, eldritch monster was far from impossible.

Ahead were huge iron plates in the shape of the doors tied together with steel wires and inside was a weeping voice heard. "Release me now." There was a loud growl heard and the next second was the desperate whimper of Stella. "I'm jabbed inside these huge iron plates Benjamin, please release me. Break these iron ropes, shatter the locks and smash these steel strings wrapped around me. Come on release me." The volcanic violent road brought shivers down Benjamin's spine. A MAN WHO DIES WITH VENGEANCE BECOMES AND STAYS A GHOST, UNLESS THE SOUL TAKES ITS REVENGE.