Iron Coffins Book Novels & Stories

If you think the fall off the chair was my only nasty experience, you're very mistaken. I, Gabriella Johansson, for the first time in my life tasted coffee made with actual toilet water and it didn't end there. I got locked in the office from the outside after everyone had left and my instincts tell me it wasn't coincidental, thank God for the security guard who heard me screaming or else, I'd most likely be the laughing stock of the entire company by now. "Good morning Jack." I greet politely avoiding the menacing gaze of my evil team members, who were out to get me.

At death, salt is left in a coffi n to help protect the soul from demons during its transition from Earth to the spirit plane. black book A magical handbook that provides instructions for traffi cking with spirits, including DEMONs and ANGELs; divination; and acquisition and use of supernatural powers. In some cases, possession of the black book itself bestows supernatural powers, wealth, or luck upon its owner. However, use of a black book usually backfi res with serious consequences.

As she ran her hands on the coffin, she found a latch. "Wow. Looks like one can be locked here. I mean, a corpse can't possibly run away and what would they do if it did?" She mused to herself. Lifting the latch slowly, she held on to her breath as an upsetting odor swept from inside the box. Little by little, she lifted the lid but was shocked to her bones when after the smell had faded, she could see a figure. More like a rotten person who used to wear a coat laying in the coffin. From the skull with lost eyeballs in the dockets, to the withered hands. But something else caught her eyes asides from the hands.

But in the depths of her unconscious mind, a sense of foreboding lingered—a grim portent of the dangers that lay ahead. Hell, if she gets out and the person who did this is part of the underworld, she'll make this person unable to raise their head high. And if it were only a normal person, then she'd let her father and brothers deal with them. After all, her way is way more gruesome than that of her father and brothers. Meanwhile, in an office, everyone is looking at two people who are currently talking. "So, everything is settled, then. Let's do our work as soon as possible. Meeting adjourned."

she added, her tone leaving no room for doubt. As Sherly handed over the folder containing the detailed crime evidence, a profound sense of surprise washed over Hideous, Kyle, and Keisley. They know that their youngest is the strongest among them since what she is holding is all information. However, even though they had witnessed it many times, it wasn't as big as the information in their hands right now. Their astonishment was visible and written plainly across their faces as they beheld the meticulous documentation compiled by their youngest sibling.

The cold stone corridors grew narrower and darker until he reached a heavy door, which he swung open with ease, revealing a subterranean chamber cloaked in shadow. In the centre of the chamber, surrounded by ominous carvings and arcane symbols, rested an ancient coffin. He strode forward, his steps unhurried but resolute, and lifted the heavy lid to reveal a figure lying deathly still within. The blonde haired figure looked down at the jagged stone in his hand, its edge stained with Keilah’s blood, and slowly brought it toward the lifeless man’s mouth.

The door made this awful grinding noise that echoed everywhere, then swung open super slow. The room was smaller than I expected. A stone coffin sat right in the middle, and just looking at it made my chest hurt. Books were scattered everywhere, on shelves, on the floor, some still open like Dad had just set them down. Weapons covered one wall, all different types, old but taken care of. This was his. Dad was here. Lived here. Got trapped here. "Dad..." My voice came out all shaky and quiet. I basically ran toward the coffin, my body moving before my brain caught up. My hand reached out for the stone.

The same grave he swore she wasn’t dead in. The diggers work fast, mercenaries I’ve hired under fake names, paid in crypto and silence. The soil gives way easily, too easily for something meant to have rested undisturbed for over a decade. When the spade strikes metal, I feel it in my bones. “Stop,” I say. The men step back. I climb down, mud pulling at my boots. My gloves scrape against the surface of a steel coffin, modern, industrial, nothing like the ornate box in the burial photos. Someone changed it.

In the far corner is a sink and a crude-looking toilet. Hooks line one of the walls, all empty. The air smells like rust and dust. But then, something catches my eye. A shelf near the back, almost hidden in shadow. Not plastic packages this time. Books. Old ones. Their spines are worn, leather cracked. Some have gold filigree. Others are thick and bound in cloth. I move closer, squinting to read the faded titles. “Lineage of Power.” “The Lost Coronation.” “Treaties of the First Blood.”

At the centre of the room was a dark gem table shining like a mirror. Resting on top were crystal ink bottles standing beside a sharp silver pen and a thick leather book sealed with red wax. Behind the table was my tall chair carved out from bones. Small wolf skulls rested on the armrests, symbolizing authority. I moved towards the corner where clean shelves made from rare stones and gold stood firmly. I scanned through them until my eyes landed on the book I was looking for. The Red Ledger was dark red in color, with iron edges and a wolf sigil stamped on the cover. It was a customized book of mine, used only to record the taxes, debts, and punishments of the pack members.