Missing Piece Book Novels & Stories

I slowly stood and moved toward the door. I opened it. The hallway was empty. I stepped outside. Nothing. I looked both ways. Whoever had been there was gone. I returned to the room and locked the door. My hands were no longer steady. I opened the book again. The final section was damaged. Several pages were missing. Not torn recently. They had been removed years ago. I ran my finger along the edge. Someone had deliberately taken them. I searched the drawer. Nothing. I searched beneath the desk.

“You won’t.” “I might.” He leaned back, studying me with a look that made my skin prickle. “No, you won’t. Because you’re too smart to walk back into the fire when I’m offering you a way out.” His hand moved to the puzzle on the side of the desk, that same unfinished puzzle with the missing center piece. He picked up a black piece, turned it between his fingers, then set it down deliberately, still not in the empty spot. “You’re like this puzzle, Miss Lena,” he said softly. “Almost complete. But missing something. You need a place. A purpose. I’m giving you one.”

he answered. “There's another book. This was the last one she created before she arranged everything in place. But she kept this in a different place. Here. Check,” Dr. Lance said while approaching them with a tiny book. It was red, orange and yellow all mixed-up. Wayne received it and opened it. Each page was plain white with just one word on each. Wayne opened it and read them aloud one by one. “To...learn...more...about... Wayne's...mate...and...how...she...completes...the...puzzle...visit...the...Great...Agate... Library...with...Walter...as...the...password,” it said.

“I can go check on her to see if she still had it.” “What else did you find? What else did they find in the note?” “That’s where the bad news comes in, its just one of the twelve pieces, it looked like the rest had been torn out of the book,” a frown formed on my face, there was an entire book? “How did you know it was twelve?” “the case of the books was found and from the rings it vould be deduced that they were twelve pieces available. Someone knew they were coming and made sure to get rid of it,”

he said, gingerly lifting it and holding it out to her. Caitlin held the piece of torn parchment, feeling it crinkle in her hands, and held it up to the torchlight. It was a torn page, perhaps from a book. With all of its delicate symbology, it looked like a piece of art in its own right. “It is the missing page to the Holy Book,” McCleod explained. “When you find the book, that page will be complete. And when it is, you will find the relic we are all searching for.”

But now it’s lying in the center of my bed, open. I step towards it slowly, half-afraid it might suddenly flap its covers like wings and start flying around the room like an emerald green butterfly. With all the other madness going on around here, it would hardly be surprising. But the book lies still as a tombstone, the faded black ink staring up at me as I reach down to touch the thin paper. There’s a page missing. The jagged remnants of a torn page stick out from the spine, a clear sign that someone ripped a page out.

I'd been reading it a lot lately, desperate to find answers. I flipped through the pages, noticing something odd for the first time. A page was missing. Ripped out, to be exact. I blinked hard, bringing the inside spine of the book closer so I could properly inspect. I hadn't been seeing things. The paper left on the page was uneven, an indication that someone had torn a page out. Why would someone do that? I scanned the surrounding pages, trying to make sense of the missing section. It seemed to be a crucial part of the book, detailing werewolf lore, ancient rituals and witch potions.

“unlucky contestants…shelf two, book thirteen.” It sounded oddly like a personal note. My curiosity won out and I skimmed my fingers along the spines of the books until I chose one at random. I pulled out a medium-sized book, a deep shade of navy blue. Earthen twine was wrapped around the book, and there was a picture on the front. A middle-aged man with chocolate hair and dark eyes smiled up at me. The cover of the book read, “Arthur Zimmerman, Game 71.

A few seconds later, Mist came back, sitting next to Rain on her bed with a familiar-shaped item, wrapped in a white towel. Rain held her breath as she watched Mist carefully unwrap whatever it was she’d found in the cellar at the house in the woods. Once the towel was removed, Rain realized she was looking at a book, one made of paper, something she’d never seen before, though she knew they existed. It was certainly old, the pages crinkled from weather. Looking at the edge, it appeared as if some of the pages were missing large chunks. Mist scooted toward her but didn’t let go of the item. “Look,” she said, tilting the front cover of the book toward Rain.

As she made her way to the living room, she called back, “Let’s get to work” Tara followed obediently. She hadn’t noticed the large cloth sack Maggie carried until the old woman reached inside and pulled out a thick, leather bound book. Tara stretched forward to take a closer look. The book showed years of wear. The binding was worn thin and the pages were yellowed. At the end of a long black ribbon that was glued within the binding of the book was an octagon shaped crystal that measured one and one-half inches in length and one inch in diameter.