Dead Time Stories Novels & Stories

Then she laughs, because the alternative is dismantling the desk with her teeth. "An order," she repeats. "You'll narrate the entire graveyard. Every program. Every body count. Every committee that signed the end of the world in triplicate. You handed all of it over almost generously, the way people are generous with things already dead, because knowing can't make them deader." That is — "You have never once been generous about a person who is currently breathing inside my walls." The shape of it arrives, cold and clean. That is the ranking. Not signal over secret. Dead over living. LUS will run the museum tour all day and goes quiet only when the exhibit has a pulse.

“Nova, I heard what happened in the conference room. Listen, you are one of the best scientists the country has but please think this through. We don’t have much time left for the International Science Summit, and we need a potential project completed by 2 months” He was right but I still believed in existence of wormholes and Vampires. Okay maybe not Vampires, but I have to give this a try. “Dr Evans please give me a week, if I fail in proving my theory, I promise I’ll work on the nuclear reactor project” I said. He let out a sigh, knowing he cannot win an argument with me and said, “You have one week and Nova I believe in you” I smile and thank him. I hurry to my car and drive towards home

Someone or something named Hastur (a name which runs cold shivers down my spine even thinking it). I slide my feet off the desk, stand, set the journal down and start going through the rest of the box’s contents, mind whirling. The storm depicted in the journal’s last story was the one which ruined Arcane Delights. Four people did die that night in the flooded NYSEG center on Barstow Road, though their names escape me at the moment.

Until now, strange short stories had only very short stories. But from volume two I intend to add stories that have 10 to 20 captains as well. These stories are not so long nor have so much visibility as a separated book. For this reason, I decided to move all then into strange short stories, that is already a storybook of different themes.

Assuredly, he was the last person I saw before I closed my eyes unto the embrace of death. Then shockingly, I woke up in my bed unscarred, but early that morning, before the truck incident. I had somehow traveled back in time and was now reliving the twentieth of March over again. I can't say I totally disliked the idea, seeing that I died in the first trial, perhaps this was another chance at redemption. Fine, I thought. Since going to work was the cause of my death, maybe I'll just call in sick. I mean, that's quite plausible, isn't it? I did a little rewinding, I had died sometime between 8 am to 10 am that morning.

“I was pissed they did this to me and pissed Jared fucked me over so I said fuck it and fuck you. You mated the bitch and killed Jared. I have held Scarlet responsible for a long time. She left our pack and deserted us and then showed back up as you as her mate? Now she acts like she cares? So for the past few months, I decided to teach all you people a lesson. Don’t fuck over your hired helpers. After I wiped out Montana, Washington was next. Or Is…” “What did you make to put in our water?” I asked through clenched teeth. “A liquid form of cobalt and magnesium. At high enough levels, you will die of an overdose. Shut down major organs and eventually the low blood pressure will kill you. Pai

And in this lifetime, we'd never see each other again. Once my phone went dead, the only thing left for them was my maggot-ridden body and the farewell gift I had so carefully prepared.

The girl they’re missing is exactly where she wants to be. And every night, under the streets of Hot Springs, Holly Holiday sings for an audience that never has to let her go. Some stories don’t need to be told to the living. Some legends belong to the Dead. The Next Day A Normal Thursday (or as close as we get) Thursday March 25th, 2027 Period 2 – Photo Lab with Julian The darkroom smells like developer and cedar (Julian’s doing). He’s got the red safelight on low, prints hanging like ghosts from the line.

He did not add more, but he wanted to. I’m scared. I’m trying. Don’t drift. Instead, he sent: Eli: Call tonight? Noah: Yes. The call was quiet. Noah’s voice through the speaker felt both close and far. They talked about nothing important. The weather. The trip. The weird feeling of leaving. But underneath it was something heavier. The absence. When they finally said goodnight, Eli lay awake with the phone still in his hand. Two weeks. He could do two weeks.

Five minutes later, mother’s call chased me, her voice trembling with excitement: “Darling, we all saw it! Your father said ‘It’s acceptable,’ but he locked the magazine in his desk drawer! Come home for dinner, we miss you…” Miss me? Or just want to apply a new layer of gold plating to the increasingly dull Elio signboard? I smiled and declined, citing a “project deadline.” Two years later, the phone rang again. This time it was Elena herself, her crying covering the background noise: “Rhea, Dad had a stroke! The doctor says his condition is very bad, and he keeps calling your name… ” In the past timeline, this collapse didn’t happen until years later. “Sis! I know Mom and Dad were wrong be