Skeleton Stories Novels & Stories

"Big, scary skeleton. Pick on someone with a warranty." He's twenty years old and he's baiting a thing built out of a hundred dead people’s bones into chasing him, and there's no time to be sick about it because I have to get to Leon. The skeleton goes for Dax. Dax is fast, but this thing is twenty feet tall and his reach is too big to outrun. One of its hands comes through the brush and Dax isn't where it lands. Barely. I'm already sliding into the ravine where Leon's crawling backward with a useless crossbow, a deep gash on his arm and a face caught between panic and disbelief.

"He always has an excuse." "He doesn't know I'm only seven diary pages away from leaving him." "I got my period today, and the cramps were so bad I couldn't get out of bed. Dexter came home and brought me some painkillers without me asking." "He said it was the same kind he'd gotten for Brianna last time. She said they worked great, so they'd probably help me too." "I said thanks, but no thanks." "One page left. Then I'm done." The last page had only two lines.

EMMA My body was still trembling, thighs slick with our mixed juices, when Sarah lifted herself off me. Her face glistened with my cum, lips swollen and shiny. I lay there on the couch, naked and panting, my perky tits heaving, my shaved pussy still pulsing and leaking from the intense orgasm she’d just given me. Jake stood beside us, his thick cock still half-hard, glistening with the last drops of his own release. The sight of his cum streaking across Mom’s ass and my thighs made my clit throb all over again.

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.

Tyler, quieter but built solid with those broad shoulders that tensed up when he got excited, and Alex, the storyteller who could turn any boring moment into something wild with his tales. We kicked off the night with a standard round of Never Have I Ever, sipping shots whenever someone hit a truth we had lived, but after a few cycles and the alcohol hitting harder, Sarah suggested flipping it to what she called the Extreme Edition, where instead of drinking for the things you had done, you stripped off a piece of clothing, and that idea got everyone nodding and grinning because the vibe was already charged with that tipsy flirtation. Clothes started coming off pretty fast after that, shirts

[Ezra] “And at last…” I mumbled, staring at the building that was structured like a giant skull with two hollow eyes acting like the only two windows and a wide open jaw as its entrance. Chiseled into the giant skull’s forehead were words that seemed to leer at passersby— Bone Voyage: Alive skeletons at your service since the first death in the wheel of time. Store open for purchase, rental and installments. Price negotiable for young aspiring healers. The store does not give any guarantee. The skeletons are subject to running away and other risks.

"For now. My hounds do not like metal. It breaks their teeth." The creature stood up. It was tall, impossibly thin. Its bones clicked like dice in a cup. "But hunger is creative, Warden. If you cannot eat the nut... you eat the soil around it." The Skeleton walked to the ventilation shaft. He sniffed the air drifting down from D.C. "The boy is safe. But his garden..." The Skeleton smiled. His teeth were needles. "The garden is soft." He reached into his rags and pulled out a handful of dust. It wasn't gray dust. It was red.

“Your stories built the bones of this game. Your heart gives it blood. As long as you fear love, it will feed.” The words punched through me. I’d heard the label whispered already—Selene’s taunt on the pier, the other drowned woman’s hint. But hearing it here, spelled out in the same slow, inexorable tone she’d used to bargain for my pain— Key Author. Not just “storyteller.” Not just “writer.” A structural piece. My stories built the bones of this game.

I brandished the bone saw so the skeleton could see it, then began to lower it. “Which one should I start with?” I said, gliding it along the skeleton’s ribs. “Your arm? Or maybe I should go big and start with a leg.” The skeleton squirmed beneath me, but I was far stronger. Skeletons were the lowest form of the undead; without muscle or flesh, they were incredibly weak compared to most other supernatural beings. Becoming an undead skeleton was a punishment brought about by angering a witch, not a blessing of eternal life like a vampire -- although, some would argue that vampires were more cursed than blessed.

Group elements with carefully chosen, controlled participants when the darkness demanded more. But at the core, it was always us. Love forged in lies. Extreme pleasure as our armor against the family curse. As I buried myself deep in her ass one stormy night, her milk leaking onto my hands, children safe down the hall, I knew the story would never truly end. More heirs. More betrayals. More fucking through the fire. Our legacy was lust, blood, and unbreakable sin.