Nine Stories Novels & Stories

Cassandra adjusted the collar of her blouse for the third time that morning, her fingers trembling slightly even though the office was warm. She had barely touched her coffee, the bitter taste still on her tongue from a rushed sip, but her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. It had been three nights. Three nights since she slipped out of a hotel room without saying a word. No name. No goodbye. Just silence and the echo of her heels clicking down the hall like a retreating heartbeat. It was supposed to be nothing. A mistake. A secret. A moment of weakness.

"No, you're Jenna. You've finally returned." Tears streamed down her face in thick rivulets. "I'm so sorry for letting you suffer for nine long years. But now, you have me, and all my love is yours. You don't need to be afraid anymore. That little wretch is gone. She got exactly what she deserved, just like that monster…" Fear coursed through Anna, making her body quake. She flailed in a desperate and weak frenzy, as if she might crumble into pieces. Mom rose, carrying a bowl of her ever-greasy stew. "Jenna, just drink a little…"

It contained his birth. The second. His childhood. The third. Meeting Thomas. Every page described his life exactly as he remembered it. His breathing became uneven. "This is impossible." The stranger nodded. "So is memory." Adrian turned another page. Black Hollow. The Ninth Cipher. The Witness Tree. The Tenth Door. Everything. Every conversation. Every decision. Every heartbeat. Nothing was missing. Then... He reached the final written page. It ended with only one sentence. "Adrian entered the Chamber of Stories."

she said. “I thought that it wouldn’t be as busy as it was in San Francisco but its crazy busy as well. I think people in this country care more about political drama than anything else. Eighty-nine percent of the news content is just politics, politics, politics. I am yet to decide if that’s a good thing or not….” “How about your co-workers,were they friendly?” Her mother asked. “Yes, everyone was friendly,” She lied. Natasha knew that telling her mother about the antagonistic and villain-like Luyando would only make her have unnecessary worries. “I know it’s just the first day but I think people aren’t as scheming as they were back home.”

At the very end, James placed my hand into Elijah’s. “Kid, she’s yours now. “But remember this. “She’ll always be the daughter of ninety-nine men.” As we exchanged rings, a thunderous roar echoed across the sky. Ninety-nine helicopters formed four giant words overhead. [Congratulations, Newlyweds.] When I was thirty-two, I gave birth to twins—a boy and a girl. Outside the delivery room, ninety-nine white-haired old men packed the entire hallway. The head nurse almost thought a mafia war was about to break out inside the hospital.

“Why did you lie to them? Why did you tell them you are dying?” “Because it works,” Chiara said quietly. “Do you know how to make a whole family listen to you? Make them think you could die at any moment. They'll give you anything. And you, the healthy one, look like the bad guy when you complain.” The color drained from my face. “You are insane. I will tell them. I will tell everyone the truth.” Chiara smiled. “No one will believe you, dear Alessia. They will just think you are jealous of your dying sister. And you know in this family, jealousy is the worst thing.”

Nora When I first arrive at my destination, I feel like a drunk stumbling from place to place. First into the right parking lot, then to the right old colonial/Victorian-looking mansion. Then it’s a mad dash into the basement, and to whatever part of that basement holds the The Velvet Accord.

After two days of high temperatures and intense boredom, he remembered the three books. Sam pulled out the one with the Mummy on the cover, because it looked the most innocuous. It was entitled the Ninth Pan Book of Horror Stories. He wasn’t the least bit prepared for what he found inside. The first three stories involved emasculation, murder and burning at the stake. In his fevered state Sam felt he was not only watching the characters’ suffering, he was experiencing it along with them. He flung the book at the wall and then hid it again, wishing he could burn it like Jinnot, the young girl in the third story who was burned alive.

He let out a choked roar as his cock erupted, several thick, hot ropes of cum flying through the air and splattering across his own stomach and the dark leather of the sofa. He kept stroking through the pulses, his balls contracting as he emptied every drop of frustration he’d been carrying since he saw that photo. He slumped back, gasping for air, his cock still twitching and leaking as he stared up at the ceiling. The silence of the apartment returned, heavy and thick. He looked down at the mess on his lap, a dark smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth Ninety-nine names on the list. Ninety-nine girls who meant nothing. But Jessie? Jessie was going to be the trophy. She was going to be th

Cassandra gasps as Willy, one of the oldest here, tells stories of his glory days. “Ask him how many ribs he’s missing,” I whisper to her, and her eyes widen in shock. “Four,” Willy says and holds up as many fingers. “Had them punched clean out of me.” “You’re lying,” she says with a laugh, and the sound of it heats my body from the inside out. “I’d never lie to a pretty woman,” Willy says, and his best friend George scoffs. “That’s the first person you’re lying to,” George says. “Don’t believe a word he says. But if you want to talk about real injuries, let me tell you about the time I dislocated both my hips and still won my fight.”