Mystery Books For Teenagers 소설 & 이야기

"No, maybe dad yes." "We won't ask dad because he won't tell us anything, besides he won't even let us get into the investigation we have to do everything on our own. Wait for me here and I'll go ask one of the guys if they know where she lives," he told me to which I nodded. When Lucas left, I kept looking at some books in the mythology section. A small one, made of leather, which had strange drawings engraved on it, caught my attention. I took it and read the title, it said: What is hidden in Telluride. How strange, I thought. I opened the book and began to read the first page:

It was like searching for a needle in a haystack, and with every passing minute, the urgency only grew. But then, as I was about to give up for the night, something caught my eye—a small, weathered book tucked away on the bottom shelf. Its cover was faded, the title barely legible, but there was something about it that drew me in. I carefully pulled it from the shelf, the pages brittle and yellowed with age. The title read, *The Lost Chronicles: A History of the Ancient Magics*. My heart raced as I opened the book, scanning the pages for anything that might be relevant. It wasn’t long before I found a section that made my breath catch in my throat.

But nothing seemed to match the symbol on my door. Frustrated, I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. There had to be something here, some clue that I was missing. I glanced at the stack of books beside me, my eyes landing on one that looked older and more worn than the others. Its leather cover was cracked and faded, the title barely legible: *The Mysteries of Silverwood.* I pulled the book closer and opened it carefully. The pages were brittle, the text handwritten in an elegant script. As I flipped through the pages, a passage caught my eye:

Dust clung to everything, and the dim lighting made it feel more like a tomb than a library. I found a small table in the corner and set my bag down, then started browsing through the shelves. It didn’t take long to realize that most of the books were about standard small-town fare—local history, genealogy, that sort of thing. But buried between the boring volumes on family trees and tax records, I found something a little more interesting. Legends of Blackthorn Ridge. The book was old, its spine cracked and its pages yellowed with age. The title alone made my pulse quicken with anticipation. I pulled it from the shelf and sat down at the table, flipping it open.

My wolf replied. I shook off the "what-ifs" that held me back and turned back to the towering oak shelves. My fingers traced the spines of leather-bound books, all of them layered in dust that made my nose itch. "Focus," I muttered to myself. "One monster at a time." I immediately admonished myself. I continued to look until I found the books my dad had recommended. I pulled the four heavy volumes from the shelves. The History of Shadow Entities, The Blood Rites of the Unseen, The Search for Shadows and one volume of Pack Lore and Ancient Threats. I carried them to a secluded corner of the library. The dust felt suffocating, but I wouldn't let anything stop me.

The bookstore smells like it always has—old paper, lavender sachets tucked between shelves, the faint metallic tang of the ancient radiator that clanks every twelve minutes. Elena's already in our corner when I arrive. Second floor. Mystery section. The window seat we claimed sophomore year when we discovered this place and decided civilized people read mysteries in natural light. She's got coffee. Two cups. Mine's still steaming. I take it without speaking. Sip. Perfect. "Ten minutes late." Elena doesn't look up from the window. "Parallel parking a moving truck on Seventh?"

By the time Momma passed I was married with a little one on the way, so my chance for college had passed, too. But I never stopped reading. Got me a nice little library out back, filled with all sorts of books crammed on bookshelves made by my own two hands. Books like Tom Sawyer, Edgar Allen Poe stories, Huck Finn and The King in Yellow, (that last one I don’t read much cause it always gives me strange dreams), some old mysteries, a clutch of Lovecraft’s books (they hurt my head, too, so I don’t read them much neither), my Hardy Boys books from growing up, and a whole bunch of newer ones by Stephen King and Dean Koontz. Got some heavy thinking books, too. The family King James, The Book of

“It’s true. We can’t trust anyone.” A long air of heavy silence fell once more. They only ate and relieved themselves of the worries. This is a time for nourishment and not anxiety. But the backs of their mind knew that the danger is still very real. Someone is plotting something somewhere, waiting for the right moment in time. And soon, they’ll all be six feet under. “I have an idea,” said Agatha. “Let’s go mystery hunting. You know, like the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew?” The two only responded in blinks, feeling like the idea was too preposterous.

After a shower, and once I'm dressed, I thread the key onto the thickest, longest chain I find amongst my mother's jewelry and tuck it into my shirt. It's still early. Occasionally, I hear movement or muttering somewhere nearby, but for the most part, the halls of this giant fort are empty. It's kind of creepy, really. My mind once again flies to those simple mystery books I read when I was little. Something always goes wrong when the protagonist pokes around the old castle alone. But the protagonists in those stories are usually young human teens, whereas I'm a grown woman with an awesome inner jaguar.

I don’t want to spend my time watching a trashy series. Then there was the book to movie adaptations. I would’ve wanted to watch them but not until I read those books. There’s an exciting feeling when you know that the book you just read was already adapted into a movie. And I don’t particularly appreciate reading books after I watch movies. I already got the story and I’m only hating it if the stories are different from one another. After minutes of deliberation, I finally picked a murder mystery movie about a group of teenagers killed one by one in their outing. The premise was absurd.