Novel & Cerita Dark Room Novel

If curiosity killed the cat, then I was about to sprout whiskers. My body turned towards the open door. Before I knew it, I was standing looking into the room with the glowing ember. The smell of charcoal lingered in the air. The florescent lighting lit only the door's entrance. Beyond it, the room was dark except for the red eye. I hesitated. Stepping into the shadow on the floor felt like a choice. My heart thudded. My vertigo swirled at the edges of dark and light. I focused on the red glow swimming in my vision.

The Davis family's club was a playground for the high-stakes crowd, a haven for the allied families' vices. Francis held court at the poker table, a redhead on one arm, Nora on the other. Nora's dress left little to the imagination. Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes darted around, restless. I hung back at the bar, nursing a glass of water. Bernard sidled up next to me. "Holding up okay?" he asked. "Still kicking." Bernard fell silent for a moment before asking, "Did Nora give you the stuff?" "Uh-huh." I gave a noncommittal grunt, not elaborating further.

Dark of Night Copyright 2019 Emily Goodwin Chapter One “What do you see when you look at this one?” The doctor holds up a card, showcasing an ink splotch that’s twisted and creepy, with eyes that follow you no matter where you go. I look at it, heart hammering away inside my chest. The mess of ink on the white paper reminds me of the monster that lurks in Nana and Papa’s basement, the one that tried to get Abby and Scott to go downstairs with it.

Nova nodded, unsure what to say. Damian opened a carved wooden door at the end of the hall. Inside was a bedroom, unlike the rest of the house. Smaller. Simpler. The walls were painted in faded navy. Bookshelves sagged with worn paperbacks. A violin case rested atop the dresser, long abandoned. "This was mine." Nova stepped inside slowly. The air smelled of cedar and dust. She ran her fingers across the spines of old novels, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Art of War, Frankenstein. A boy raised on darkness and vengeance.

Damien said, reaching down to pull Elias up by his wrists, his grip iron-hard, his face pale and sharp under the halogen glare of the kitchen lights. The suspense wasn't in the corporate collapse or the federal order anymore. It was in the realization that the cold room wasn't Victor’s study or the conference flat—it was the world they were about to walk into together, where the dark had finally run out, and the light was about to burn them both to the bone.

Chapter 1: Dysfunctional family. The darkness is nothing more than a test that God gives us, many times to overcome things and learn from it, but in the end we all carry that darkness in our hearts, we just have to decide whether to expel it or let it dwell within you. Charlotte is a girl who has been in the dark since she was born, her parents were shitty to her, she was beaten and mistreated unjustifiably simply because her parents wanted it that way, but to understand a little of this story we must return to the past.

Black medium sized bed with black satin sheets and a purple comforter. A flat screen TV....A black coffin walk-in closet, black makeup table that I replaced with books and reading lamp Black coffee table, black suede couch, a mini fridge, a coffin shaped bookshelf, red candles on the coffee table held up by a black candelabra, and a black crystal chandelier. Woahhhh..... I just acknowledged it looked so creepy, but I liked it that way. "Sorry to say, but this looks so fetish to me. How can a room be this dark and..... and...."

Her focus remained locked on the narrow script, her thumb resting on the corner of the page, ready to turn to the next. Outside her apartment, three blocks away, the crossroads at Veth and Calloway remained empty under the yellow glare of the streetlamps. The city moved through its ordinary, indifferent late-night rhythms. But inside the room, the air had grown perfectly still. The threshold was behind her now. She had opened the book, and the silence that followed felt less like an absence of sound and more like a breath being held by everything in the dark.

My bedroom was a silent cavern. The room was darkness , and the only visible light was the glow of a streetlight seeping through the blinds, creating slanted shadows on the walls. I was lying on my bed. The sheets were wrinkled, my askew tank top, tight leggings, my sticky skin from the day's heat, my hair down, draped on the pillow, grazing my neck, unnoticed. The air was still and heavy. My heart was pounding, and my breath uneven. The envelope, the picture—him, a woman, two boys, all smiling.

He went to the small Dom room. He sat in the chair in the dark with the photograph barely visible and the books on the shelf and the candle on the desk. He lit the candle—he did sometimes, the specific ritual of light in a room that held someone—and watched the flame flicker in the darkness. He said: "Tomorrow."