Death Takes A Holiday Supernatural の小説・ストーリー

Betty knew the woman’s own son had been in the hospice and had died shortly after Robby was admitted. A chill ran through Betty’s body. She wondered if this was what hatred turned you into. A wraith-like creature warmed only by clichés, a woman whose face was frozen in that moment of terrible darkness that preceded a relief that would never come. “The dead roam those halls,” Mabry said, a B-movie line that Betty had heard from those lizardy lips more than once. It unnerved her then as it always had. Because on some level it was true. “It’s good to be back,” Betty said, each word broken glass in her mouth.

) understand Whitey’s need to be close to Maria tonight? Whitey sat down on the cot, knees popping, his lower back aching. Didn’t matter what they thought. He’d decided to spend October by Maria’s side here at the cemetery, and he had. Only one more night left. Tonight, All Hallow’s Eve. Dia de los Muertos. Day of the Dead. Technically it fell on November 2nd, but after they’d gotten married, Maria had insisted on celebrating it Halloween night. To her, it felt right to celebrate Dia de los Muertos the same night the whole town armed their porches with grinning Jack o’ Lanterns while costumed youth patrolled the streets.

"Celie and Terrance Ward are supposed to be dead. I'll help as well, but all of us need to keep this away from Valeur for long as possible. All of this started from his transmigration; therefore, he should be the one defeated and held accountable. It'll just take all of us working together... or he'll kill us off one by one. I've done my history on Valeur...he's not a demon I wanna encounter." Terrance and Phuture both glanced at each other after being approached by Death, but neither of them sought out a reply. The two of them had so much history with Death, so many memories flustered their brain at once when she arrived. The stunned duo remained quiet and, in their heads, Phuture felt nost

I made a sudden move toward Ryan, sending the knife straight into my chest. I collapsed where I stood. Blood poured out as I felt my life slipping away. At last, I was going home. The moment I went down, grief‑stricken screams tore through the air. Comments appeared before me once again. "What the hell? Why did Daniel take his own life?" "Isn't this supposed to be a feel-good story? What is happening?" "Wait, if he's gone, what's going to happen to the three female leads?" Ryan still had the knife in his hand. Screaming in shock, he instinctively turned to Hazel, hoping she'd do something.

He never gets the chance. Kieran appears between us without warning or ceremony. The men do not see a man. They see Death. Not a figure they can name. Not something human. Something final. This is what Death looks like when tenderness has been withdrawn. Kieran’s hand closes around the first man’s throat. Not to kill the body. To claim the soul. The scream cuts off as something essential is pulled free of him, taken cleanly away. The second man turns to run. Kieran turns his head.

But I never really left. Death is the perfect alibi. When you’re declared gone, you can finally watch the living without interference, without suspicion. You see who mourns, who forgets, who dares to move on. And I watched them. Every second. Every move. Like a shadow they couldn’t shake off.

“Oh, and check your phone. I believe you’ll find some interesting developments.” “OH MY GOSH, STOP SAYING IT LIKE THAT. I’M NOT A SEASON FINALE CLIFFHANGER.” The angel began to fade. “WAIT!” Deja lunged off the bed. “You can’t just ghost me after threatening me with supernatural vehicular manslaughter!” Too late. The angel had vanished, leaving behind a faint shimmer in the air. “This is some bullshit,” she declared to the empty room. “First I die in real life, then I get sent into a bad romance novel, and now I might die again unless I prevent a wedding that probably won’t even happen anymore. Make it make sense!”

He was one of my closest buddies. But that’s not the problem here. I freeze as a scary realization hits me. Today is the 27th of December. Ten years ago at exactly 11:00 am New York time, my father was found dead in his office by his secretary. Bella and I never got the full story since we were too young, but the cause of his death remains a mystery to us. And now the time is 11:03 am. Three minutes ago I received that call from Greece.