Mystery Books Novels & Stories

I asked by my gestures. "Eating meatballs at Takim's," replied Julia by her gestures. In the living room, I saw a pile and rows of old books. Books were not like academic books. Even if it was called a novel, it might be from the action-conspiracy-horror-thriller-mystery genre. Well, the title alone already made people goosebumps.

That exact moment, I was so worried about my mate that I didn't care if got away this time. About the book, I've tried to open it but it didn't work. I've tried to burn but it never turned to ashes. I gave it to Keyla to look at its matter, and now that she was sure it's not dangerous at all - she gave it back to me. She told me that the book is known as the book of mystery. Only chosen people can open it, and if my mate is one of those people - then it will answer her question by yes or no.

I went to the living room and, as expected, found the pair of underwear I was looking for in his bag. Downstairs, I called my best friend. "Help me look up someone. I have shopping records." I started the car, planning to visit the real estate office to check on property transactions. Suddenly, I felt something sharp poking at me from underneath the seat. I reached down and pulled out a black lace bra. Clearly, it matched the underwear. This car was usually Milton's—since I worked near home, I usually took the subway. This meant their entanglement that night had probably started in this very car.

After a brief scolding from my teacher, I was sent to assist the librarian. The library was a sanctuary of towering shelves and soft whispers, its grandeur unexpectedly breathtaking. The scent of aged books and polished wood wrapped around me like a comforting cloak. Wandering through the aisles, I stumbled upon a dimly lit corner that exuded an eerie presence. A single book stood out—its cover blank and edges charred. Curious, I picked it up. "Weird," I muttered, flipping through its brittle pages. My blood ran cold when I saw my name inscribed on the last page.

She felt a connection to history as she did, and it made her feel alive. She also couldn’t help feeling, every time she picked up a book, that it held a riddle, some mystery to be solved—and that thrilled her. For some reason, she had always felt that there was a mystery lingering in her consciousness, something she needed to solve. She didn’t know what. It didn’t make sense, and that bothered her. When she worked on a rare book, at least she could solve clues she couldn’t put her fingers on in real life.

I beamed. "Crazy, isn't it?" "Fucking crazy, for real." "First, we put THE DA VINCI CODE by DAN BROWN here." He picked out the book and inserted it in the center line of the shelf. He put HOW TO STOP TIME by MATT HAIG, followed by EVERGREEN by NAOMI HIRAHARA. "Then KISS THE GIRLS by JAMES PATTERSON." He put it next to the first book. "I've read that." I went on in a spur of excitement. "It's a thriller and mystery novel about a detective who's trying to track down a serial killer. So many twists and cliffhangers. Total page-turner." I giggled.

Just past the first turn, she realised there was no house, no village in front of her, only a long stretch of whiteness bordered by snow-powdered hedges without a telltale rise in smoke in the distance. She didn't dare look up again for a long while. Time lost all meaning as she walked onward, her cheeks stinging, then without feeling, as hints of eventide crept in behind the melancholy December sky. It was then that Betty murmured an almost forgotten prayer from her childhood……...a little something to her guardian Angel begging an entree to paradise. ………………………….. She awoke stretching contentedly. Staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, it took her a few moments to determine where she was, but

Sleep refused to come. My mind felt restless. Maybe there was something in this room that could help me remember. Slowly, I stood up. I began looking around. The bookshelf immediately caught my attention. Dozens of books filled the shelves. I pulled several out. There were history books, pack law books and training manuals. Then I noticed something else. There were fiction novels; thrillers, mysteries and crime novels. I blinked. Apparently, I enjoyed those. "I don't remember reading any of these."

he smiled mischievously, humour in his expression, and she felt a sudden warmth spread through her, seeing a side to him that was endearing. “What is your favourite book Genevieve ?” he asked her as he put a piece of bread and cheese in his mouth. “I tend to read books on ghosts and things like that.” He laughed, “Why?” “I guess it’s the mystery of the unknown, the fascination of whether it’s true or not.” “I see what you mean. Everyone loves a good mystery don’t they? Especially to things that we can never really know the truth about.” He looked at her perceptively. Again she felt as though his words held hidden meaning and guilt flooded her at the thought of her true intentions.

Not knowing what to do within the four walls, sitting under the tutelage of two friends, she spent time reading books. The library is large and caters for every taste, from historical novels to mysticism, 20th century literature and Sherlock Holmes antiquarian collections, the first as far back as 1902. But no matter how much I liked to dive into the worlds of the authors, I was haunted by a thick layer of dust on the shelves and books. I decided to do something useful and clean these treasures from years of dirt.