Salem's Lot Audiobook Novels & Stories

In the center of the clearing stood an old, gnarled tree, its bark twisted and gnarled. Saul approached the tree, his hand resting on the rough bark. He closed his eyes and muttered a few words under his breath. Suddenly, the tree began to shake and tremble, and a low rumbling filled the air. Silas watched in awe as the tree split open, revealing a hidden chamber inside. Saul motioned for him to follow as he stepped inside. The chamber was dark and musty, with the scent of old paper and ink filling the air. The walls were lined with shelves, and Silas could see countless books and scrolls stacked haphazardly on them.

Not that Jon had anything to say to her. The day had been taken up by this seemingly fruitless search, until in the dingiest part of the store, in a crumbling red book published in 1900, he found the name. The Book of Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage was filled with weird double-talk, esoteric terms, confusing graphics, and yawn-inducing florid language, but the name was there—as was his invocation.

Sahara was bursting with rage to the point where her hands were trembling slightly, even her skin was numb as she was still in an extremely excited state. She walked into Salem's study with bloodshot eyes. Salem had never left the room on this day. He had witnessed everything that happened with his own eyes, but he didn't show himself. The door was closed, leaving only the two of them in the study. Salem sat on the chair while looking peacefully at the sky outside the window. The room was a bit dark since the lights weren't switched on, but the ancient styled round window was open, allowing a little light to shine in.

And it was growing lighter. “They’re going to crucify us,” Loretta cried, her voice breaking. “You expected it to be quick?” barked Ezekiel, riding past us. “No, it will be a nice, slow cleansing with the fire of God’s sun. Salem shall arrive, and find that you are already ash. He will take the bait in vain, only for the trap to close around him.” “I’m not bait!” shouted Loretta. “Neither is Sven. Salem doesn’t care about us.”

"Millions? You don't look like you're worth the price." Clayton stood, eyeing Salem with interest. "Do you know where to bite down on your throat to make someone quiet?" Clayton took a step forward. "Or how to make a beastkin vanish without a trace? Only a lowly beastkin like me would know, right?" Salem sensed the warning bells. He took a nervous step back, his tail flicking anxiously. "What are you trying to do?"

Salem hurriedly shook hands with Steven with a flattering expression on his face as he said, “Hello, Mr. Schulz. My name is Salem Whittaker. It is indeed a great honor to meet you!” Steven nodded before he asked curiously, “Mr. Whittaker, where did you come from?” Salem quickly responded, “I flew all the way here from New York, and I just landed at the Aurous Airport.” “That’s right.” Steven smiled slightly as he said, “The both of our private jets landed directly after the other.” After that, he asked, “Mr. Whittaker, are you here in Aurous Hill to deal with your family business?” “No.” Salem explained, “My eldest son came to Aurous Hill to expand and deal with some family business here som

Salem had a larger population than I had originally thought. Abigail elbowed my side as Pastor Gideon continued saying, "The town of Salem has come under siege by the devil, witches are amongst us,” My stomach dropped and my heart raced, what if they find out what I am. Abigail squeezed my hand as Pastor Gideon continued, “and thanks to my dear Samuel, we can find them and cleanse them from their sins, everyone who is suspected of witchcraft will be tested."

I choose a Stephen King paperback – Salem’s Lot - from the lower shelves and struggle to decipher the pages, my curvy body sinking into the cushy couch. I’ve always been more size 12 than two, and look like those dumb pictures of Eve – soft sloping stomach like van Eyck’s Ghent altarpiece, pert breasts, and curving hips for days. The words of my chosen book all turn up like mush. The leather smells like the cigars Samael smokes, the spice of his orange and musk cologne, and rain. It smells like him. I close my eyes, inhaling the scent. Memories of him from my childhood haunt me, the man cloaked in shadow, the owner of my soul.

“Just stand still...wait. If you can’t drive a truck, how did you stop the truck the other night?” “It wasn’t me . That was Odin.” Ichabod replied, “That idiot can do anything.” “Oh, I see. Now hold still while I take your picture.” Ichabod stood still and blinked as the light flashed. “Well, this is better.” Adams said before moving to the computer on the table. Ichabod watched as Adams operated on what he called, ‘the box of witchcraft.’ He had been locked in the coffin for so long and so many things have changed. He couldn’t understand how such a box could hold so much information.

The smell of old parchment, dried sage, and damp cellar immediately flooded the small cabin. Reaching inside, I pulled out a massive, leather-bound tome. The cover was cracked, unmarked, and held together by frayed iron hinges. I dropped it onto the wood with a heavy thud, followed by three smaller, equally ancient books. "Bro, this is giving major Salem witch trial vibes," Amberly muttered, stepping closer to inspect the pile. She poked the cover of the thickest book with her index finger. "Are we about to summon a demon? Because I feel like my life has enough drama right now."