Death Note: Short Story Novels & Stories

Three days ago was the day the drug dealers took me away. Looking at Zack's distant expression, I suddenly remembered how, at Mom's funeral, he'd tearfully asked me to drop dead. Would he be happy to know that I was dead now? I quietly stayed by his side, watching as he methodically cleaned up the autopsy table. Everyone started returning one by one. Zack's assistant soon walked in with a document in hand. "Are the results ready?" he asked, looking at the assistant. The assistant nodded, his expression turning grim. "I ran a DNA comparison at the police database. The victim is…"

Her pain was so vivid that anyone seeing the photo could feel it. I suddenly felt a chill go down my spine. A wave of grief and bitterness swept over me, and I felt like I had died all over again. That day, after getting out of the car, I had fallen into a hunting trap and died on the spot—both lives were lost. I gritted my teeth and looked at Enzo. He stood there looking like he'd been struck by lightning—motionless and not even breathing. He stared hard at that photo, and his eyes gradually became more bloodshot.

“There isn’t one.” “Pity.” Xavier stubbed out the e-cigarette on a nearby coaster. “Look into it anyway. For me.” There was no panic in his tone. No explanation. Just Xavier’s brand of casual apocalypse. He stood, stretched, and nodded once toward Joy. “Cover your neck. Or don’t. I don’t care anymore.” The next morning, Whitmore found another letter. Neatly folded. Untraceable font. > Here is a short story. Once upon a time, a body was buried beneath the oak tree in the woods.

"I'm sorry, Luna. I ate your sandwich and your mate right in your bedroom, on the bed that you both share. How delicious. "Keep holding yourself back and keep feigning oblivion." Recalling those words in those texts triggered a throbbing pain in my heart. I put my hands over my heart and took deep breaths. It was alright. It would all soon come to an end, and I would no longer be in pain. I picked up my cell phone and placed it, along with the recording pen, on the report I had carefully prepared for Matthew. I believed that this would be an unforgettable gift for Matthew.

Before I could pull one out, though, I heard a knock at my door. I spun towards the door, accidentally tipping over the ink bottle. I thought nothing of it; the ink had never spilled before. Even so, I decided to turn back and pick it up. Which is when I noticed that the ink had somehow spilled, and not only that, but it spilled right onto my finished manuscript, 1001 Dark Tales. I sat there staring for a second, completely forgetting about the knock on the door. Nothing happened, though, and relief instantly filled me.

We'd chat longer this time, exchange contacts, maybe share a story or two over steaming mugs. I reach my door and fumble with the keys for a moment. Inside, my apartment is a welcome haven of calm. Just the muffled city sounds drifting through the open window. I kick off my shoes by the door, feeling the cool tile under my feet, and head straight to the kitchen to brew some tea. Chamomile tonight, with a dash of honey to soothe my racing thoughts. As it steeps, I pull the note from my pocket and read it again, dwelling on each word. I set it on a small wooden table beside the rose, which is starting to wilt just a touch at the edges but still holds its vibrant red charm. I brush the petals l

Scar Face growled along, “Yeah! You’re buried up to your neck in dirt and won’t be alive for much longer! You might as well do something useful and clear the way for us!” ... Darkness swallowed everything. The seventh night had fallen. In the dormitory, the residents waited as usual for their granny to check in. They waited and waited, but she never came. The frost wraith tightened her floral coat, and for the first time, a worried look appeared on her gray-blue face. She floated out of Dorm 4101. “Granny? Granny?” The Hungry Dead hugged an empty bowl, his stomach growling loud enough to rattle the walls.

Line after line of text streamed across my vision. My jaw dropped. Thinking my eyes were deceiving me, I rubbed them hard several times. The comments stayed right where they were, stubbornly refusing to vanish. More warnings continued to flood in. "It's over! Jess is almost home! She's walking straight into the trap!" "Jess, your husband is going to find an excuse to leave you alone with Marianne so he can frame you! Whatever you do, don't go inside!" "At exactly 7:10 pm, Marianne will fall to her death. They're setting you up to shoulder the blame for her murder."

Vivian died alone in her home, her body not discovered until it had already begun to rot. Only then did a question arise within me. After the deaths of my parents and Vivian, I never saw their souls. So why did I remain? The system finally appeared and answered my doubt. It said it had seen how painful my life had been, and how tragic my death was. So it used its power to keep my soul intact, allowing me to witness their downfall with my own eyes. Now that they were all gone… it was time for me to let go and be reborn.

“Well, it’s about this guy who finds this notebook on the ground. It turns out that any name he writes in that book that person will die. But it only works if he pictures the person’s face in his mind while he writes it. After he writes the name then he has a few seconds to change the time and manner of death. It’s really good cause the guy vows to only kill the evil people in the world to make it a better place. However, this other guy is trying to figure out who he is and how he keeps killing people. It's like a giant game of cat and mouse.” Huh, that does sound interesting. “Wow, that does sound good.” I agree. Samantha gets up and walks over to her bookcase. She pulls a dvd boxed set and