Dead Poets Society Book Novels & Stories

"You'll say anything, won't you? "And on top of that, Scarlett was busy working. You're trying to pin this on her? "Are you even human?" Seth chimed in as well. "Exactly. We don't even know if this person actually died or not, and yet he's pulling this stunt to scare everyone."

The air in my dream felt warm, familiar, like the way summers used to feel before everything in my life came crashing down. I stood in a very familiar narrow hallway I recognized instantly—not because it still existed, but because it was once the center of my world. The Faded wallpaper with cartoon astronauts, bookshelf. The door with the knob too low because we were small when we used it, and cartoon characters splattered on it. Atticus stood at the other end of the hall, smiling, his missing teeth on display. Atticus. Barefoot, messy-haired, in that old oversized T-shirt he always slept in. The one with the peeling stars, and people staring from beneath.

The door's passcode is eight sixes. I tossed my phone aside and returned to the fun. The escorts were trying to serve me wine, and I got a little lost in my ecstasy. … In my drunken episode, I saw a couple of guys coming toward me, and my eyes lit up. "Mr. Quincy must've spent good money. These are perfect guys." Sophie raised her head and nodded. "The older one has this refined and reserved air, but the younger one is colder, sharper. Ooh, looks scary, but also handsome. Uh, they look familiar, though."

He says. I sigh and look back at the books, then see a smaller one tucked between two other ones. I pull it out. ‘The secret society.’ By Albert Windshion. I look up at Issac and he grabs the book from me. “I haven’t seen this one yet. But it might not be about the golden wolf.” He says, and I nod, but for some reason know that’s not the case. He opens the book and reads a few pages, then smiles. “I think this might be something.” He says and I smile. Gunner grunts, “We really need to find this guy.” I nod in agreement.

The words seemed to leap off the page, filling the room with an eerie sense of foreboding. Everything written in the book didn't make any sense to either Stella or Morgan. They found everything in the book quite absurd. The book spoke of witches, dragons, angels, vampires, and the devil. They didn't believe in such a thing at all, weren't they just fantasy? If they were to interpret it, it only meant that Grandma Elizabeth was a witch while the stranger guy whom Stella had picked from the streets the previous night was the devil.

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.

A/N: Before you read this book, first of all, thank you so much for picking up this book. It means everything to me :) Second of all, the cover was created by my amazing friend Lily. Go follow and support her Wattpad account; @Lilypadsxfrogs. And finally, this story does touch lightly on the triggering topic, suicide. Please read at your own risk. Enjoy the story! It was a bleak evening on the 14th of June. The air was cold and caliginous, almost as if it could suspect the misery and gloom that lingered over the Jacobs. It was a sombre affair that evening for all of them.

My heart skipped. I moved closer, scanning the titles until one name leapt out at me like a struck nerve. Dead Viles… The moment I read it, my stomach twisted to nausea. I pulled the text free and opened it, my fingers trembling despite myself. Unlike Lunareeth, this book was filled with dense writing, diagrams etched in faded ink, and warning seals pressed into the margins. Dead Viles. A deadly, ancient poison. I started reading about it, and the more I read, the more my heart shuddered with a cold chill…

“Honeymoon, tenth anniversary, and then twentieth. That’s what we’ve covered. We should talk about the thirtieth now.” “No, no. Let’s talk about the last one. Last year.” With her eyes still closed, Peabody’s voice sounded far away. A whisper shouted from the end of the longest hall. And she could smell the room. More than just the mold and the damp, there was the slight stench of decay. Of death. Unwanted death. From somewhere. Perhaps the tiny skeletons of rats piled behind the walls. Or of beetles and bugs and snakes resting, molded and forgotten, under the floor boards beneath her feet. For a moment, just a moment, the air, heavy and hot, seemed to sigh with that final exhalation of unex

There is still a lot to discover for Lyka and so, don't miss out on book two which I will perhaps be dropping next year. Social media accounts: Watpadd: swordofwhisper Dreame: sword of whisper Goodnovel: Marjo Ryna You can also message me at marjorhinah442@gmail.com for any inquiries. Thank you.