Dead Time Stories Novels & Stories

The temperature in the bunker seemed to drop to absolute zero. I stared at the screen, my jaw clenching until my teeth ached. Marcus had been with Thorne Industries for ten years. He was a man I had trusted, a man I had given millions in stock options. And he had sold my life to Victoria Vance for a percentage of a dying syndicate. "He is dead," I growled, the raw, savage dominance of my bloodline taking over.

Why would I want to keep it? When I arrived at the cemetery to visit my parents' graves, I found Adaline kneeling in front of their gravestones, crying remorsefully. "I'm so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Jamison. I hurt Cece terribly! I once promised you that I would take good care of her, but I broke my promise. I'm sorry…" Mom and Dad had died in a fire while saving her. When she'd felt so guilty that she tried to take her own life to make it up to me, I stopped her.

Her fingers hammered against the phone, the sharp tapping echoing her irritation. [Say something. Don't act like you're dead.] [If you don't want it, then return it.] Those cold, cutting words dragged me back to that bone-chilling night in the snow. I wanted to tell her that I was already dead—that I had frozen to death in the cheap down jacket she bought me. Winter in the north is brutally cold. So cold that, after failing to secure a hospital bed, I merely closed my eyes for a moment—and never opened them again.

“But I'm grateful. Elena was an important part of my life, and I will always respect the memories we shared.” Vivian's expression slowly softened. She understood what he was doing. One of the guests who knew me looked at Vivian. “I remember when Elena use to come for shopping. What actually happened to her?” The room became quiet again. Adrian's hand tightened slightly around Vivian's shoulder. “She died,” he answered. The words struck me harder than I expected. Not because I didn't know he believed I was dead. But because he said it so easily. “She died in an accident,” he continued. “It was a painful period for me. I eventually had to move forward.”

The blood had nearly stopped flowing. The position of his right hand was strange; his fingers curled as if trying to grasp something. I crouched down. In his open left hand, written crookedly in blood, was a single word: "Run". 02:14. One minute left. 02:15 came. Nothing happened. I was still alive. "Substitute death successful. Eric Dawson was killed at 2:14 in Parking Lot C. Remaining loop time: 48 hours. "Go to Parking Lot C. There’s something for you."

They were there because of the story Everett had spread. Every one of them had watched Stellan's coffin being carried out for burial. Every one of them knew that he had died on the battlefield. Now, a 'dead man' had just climbed out of his own coffin, and the murmuring was growing louder by the second. "Who is that? Isn't the general supposed to be dead?" "That's what I'm saying. It's already been seven days since he died. Where did this man come from?" "He's probably a fraud, right? Trying to pass himself off as the general for money?"

he exclaimed as he wiped his cheeks, I rolled my eyes at him with the feeling of discontent and went back to my table. Way to ruin the moment, I thought bitterly. The genre for the contest is Romance and Tragedy, and so far, the only story that fitted that category is the one I'm currently writing. The deadline for this is two months from now. I looked at my story and began to calculate the days before I can finish it. Again, I was snapped out of my reverie when Xander leaned in t look at my work. His face's so close to mine that I can smell his perfume.

I then saw the very dark witch who had appeared in Umbra Forest ten years ago, calmly observing me. She then stated flatly, "Your ten-year term is up; the Silver-Tipped Poison has corroded your heart. You see, I had cast a spell on you that kept you alive for a decade, which forced you to endure a decade of suffering. You have one last choice now." She handed me a dark, glazed ceramic bottle and continued, "I can purge the Silver-Tipped Poison from your system if you drink this, but the exchange requires you to forfeit every recollection of your past. Is that something you're willing to accept?"

“No more loops. No more ghosts.” She pressed her thumb to the transmitter. The light turned red. The timer began counting down. 5:00 4:59 4:58 And with that, the three of them turned their backs on the graveyard of servers—on everything they had come tofind—and ran into the snow. Behind them, the world began to die.

It felt like the end was drawing near, and even the most optimistic people were beginning to lose faith. I had spent countless hours in the lab, my hands shaking with exhaustion as I worked through research that only seemed to deepen the mystery of this virus. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find a pattern, let alone a solution. Every time I thought I had a breakthrough, the virus mutated again. It was relentless, and so was the ticking clock. People were dying, and more were turning into something unrecognizable. And then, the call came in.