Inanimate Insanity Knife X Suitcase Novels & Stories

Adrian’s hand was shaking so violently that the silver blade of the pocket knife flickered under the bright chandelier lights. His eyes were wide, completely bloodshot, and rolling with pure madness. The security guards were shouting, and guests were screaming, scrambling over chairs to get away from our tight circle.

a cracked voice came out from a face that was no longer Cassie's but one that Henry instantly recognized. He watched the tiny pieces of chess wiggle and turn over Cassie's face and had been enough of a distraction as Henry did not see the six inch blade made out of chess pieces conjoined over each other and find its way to the base of his skull. Henry then felt something sharp tear through his skin at the back of his neck, feeling the jagged blade of chess pieces slice through his precious medulla and puncture his brain. . . What does it really mean to be smart?

Blood suddenly seeped from her leg, causing Calistha to wince in pain as she tried to pull out the small knife that had just stuck in her leg. "I told you to stop Calistha, are you deliberately challenging me?" "You crazy insane man, I want to get out of here!" shouted Calistha in frustration as she squeezed the wound that was bleeding down her leg. It felt like having survived the attack that took place at her house would be useless if she actually met a mentally ill man like Aiden who had a large collection of weapons in his closet. If she hadn't taken the initiative to look for a blanket in Aiden's closet, she wouldn't have known that the man had all kinds of weapons hidden behind his bro

A jar of pickles. "Psychopath," I mutter. "Who lives like this? There aren’t even any decent snacks." I grab a water bottle and crack the seal, drinking it in one long draught. I crush the empty bottle in my hand. The noise is sharp and satisfying. I start opening drawers. Utensils. Sharp knives, good ones, German steel. A box of matches. A first aid kit. I take the first aid kit to the bathroom mirror and examine my face again. The split in my lip is jagged.

Subtle, but I notice everything. Klaus de Luca. He didn’t see me as he entered a room alone. I didn’t hesitate. Silently, smoothly, I followed. The door was just starting to close when— CRASH! A vase flew at my head. I ducked instinctively, the ceramic shattering against the wall behind me. I straightened slowly, blade already drawn. Then I heard his voice. Low. Calculated. “So... you’re the Ghost Knife. The woman with no past. No future. Who sent you ? .”

6 MATEO'S POV I took the small pocket knife that had been resting on my black suitcase and stuffed it into the front pocket of my jean jacket.Putting out my cigarette, I stood up to leave. The information I needed about Mr. Anderson has been sent, including his photograph and his room number. Just as I was about to turn the doorknob, the door opened by itself. Quickly going over to my suitcase, I take out an M9 pistol and crook it, waiting to blast the head off any unwanted guest.

he muttered. Dhruv’s eyes cracked open, terror flooding them as he saw Raj. “Malhotra…” he rasped, his voice a broken plea.“Raj… please…” he croaked. Raj didn’t even blink. “Toolbox.” The scarred man handed him a sleek metal case. Raj set it down on the table and opened it slowly—Inside, blades and tools gleamed—each one a promise of pain. He selected a small, curved knife,a small hammer. All clean. All waiting.

The knife, which wasn't with any scabbard, had its blade directly exposed outside. Lita dared not touch it so she could only grab my hand. "What am I doing?" Lita had a ferocious smile on her face, "Of course, I want to live on! Don't you not understand? After we are outside this cabin, only one of us can live!" "We have a suitcase." "This thing won't float at all!" Lita tried to grab the knife with her hands by catching me and wrestling my hand over.

Hector’s POV The lock on the suitcase clicked softly open at my question, and I felt it more than I heard the collective sharp intake of breath that followed as I lifted the lid of the suitcase, revealing its contents in all of their hypnotic, horrible beauty. They ranged from needle-thin syringes to thick-bladed knives, shears with serrated edges, and even pliers. When I turned to face them, giving everyone a full look at everything contained inside, Mason let out a low-keening moan before vomiting all over his shirt front.

In his place stood Sheikh Pataudi, the name whispered in fear across borders. His jaw tightened, and then, without warning, he picked up a steel chair and slammed it against the concrete wall. The crash echoed through the basement, dust falling from the ceiling. His chest heaved, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He picked up a bottle, hurled it so hard it shattered against the far wall, glass spraying everywhere. He dragged his fist across the table, knocking down weapons, his knuckles bleeding. A laugh tore from his throat — bitter, wild, unhinged.