Skinwalkers Novels & Stories

I thought it was Mama waiting for me, but to my surprise, it wasn't her. Contrarily, it was no one. The hallway was empty. I even looked around twice, but no one was there. I retreated back into my room and locked the door this time. Once peaceful, the quite was now eerie. Suddenly, I recollected the stories I heard about these beings called "Skinwalkers." I had a Native friend who (apprehensively) told me about them in middle school. In Navajo legend, they are medicine men or witches who have attained the highest form of priesthood, thus inflicting pain on others with their power by choice. 'Knocking' is one method they use to declare their presence. I though

He asked her. "Well, most did. I'm not an expert, entirely, on the subject. From the history that's been gathered and documented by our organization, Skinwalkers were night predators." She put up her hands defensively, "Again though, it's just what we have documented. Our facts could be completely different from tribal beliefs and I'd rather not step on any toes."

Squat forms with swine-like heads and leering eyes that mocked him "I...wh..." The words refused to form as he fought to breathe. He could almost see the other men plotting and planning. Blood was staining their fingers, flowing from the ceiling. Blake stood near them, his face distorted and maimed, grinning as he chewed the loose flesh from his own cheek. He felt long, cold fingers clutch his chin, and his head was tilted to meet the eyes of a dark warrior. Power exuded from the austere form, freezing his blood and cooling the sweat on his skin. "There is no turning back..."

This was just the beginning, and I couldn’t afford to lose my focus. Cold Creek drifted apart, trying to get out of their cornered positions they were currently in. We couldn’t use the other landmines, it was too risky now that they had mixed with our pack around the field. Their killers escaped the circle first. The scouts had warned us about them, they were trained to slash, maim and claw at throats, taking out their opponent easily. I tried to find Jake in between the mix of blurry fur and severed limbs. The once white field had turned a deep red colour, as more of the Cold Creek attackers were taken out. I had felt the pang of hurt pack members, but I knew I had to fight through their pa

Theo smiled and nodded and wrapped his little arms around Cat’s neck. Susan then realized Cat had not yet been introduced. “Oh I’m sorry, how rude of me. Luna Caitriona of the High Bluffs pack, please meet Travis Lykos of the Mississippi Bluffs pack.” Susan leaned toward Travis and whispered, “ I’m sorry Travis, I don’t officially know your title.”

The thing wearing the uniform shifted again, a ripple running beneath its skin that didn’t belong. “Not entirely,” Arthur added, his voice tightening. “It's what they call a skinwalker. Bad news.” “What the hell is a skinwalker?” “It means you don’t want to find out.” “I’m not running away and leaving you here alone.” The creature moved again, lunging with a speed that forced the decision out of me before I could think it through. Energy flared through me, sharp and immediate, driving outward as I struck him, the force catching him clean and throwing him back into the patrol car hard enough to dent the metal.

In the center of the Boundary, standing alone against the swirling grey mist, was a single figure. He carried the White Bone flag—a jagged piece of bleached ribcage tied to a silver pole. Behind him sat three long, heavy wagons covered in black tarps. The wagons weren't pulled by horses; they were pulled by "Grave-Walkers"—hairless, six-legged beasts that looked like wolves stretched onto a spider's frame. "He’s been standing there for two hours," Kaelen reported, joining us at the edge of the rampart. Her silver eyes were narrowed, her hand resting on the hilt of her obsidian blade. "He hasn't moved. He hasn't shifted. He hasn't even breathed."

I haven’t heard that name spoken outside of old pack histories and warnings passed down like ghost stories meant to keep pups from wandering too far into the dark. The Noctari aren’t rogues. They aren’t even wolves, they’re a bloodline of skinwalkers, shapeshifters who don’t just take a wolf’s form but can wear a person’s entire face, voice, and even memories if they’ve been close enough to steal them.

Surrounding her were four creatures—my creatures. The skin walkers were grotesque, their bodies hunched and skeletal, with gray, leathery skin stretched too tight over their bones. Their limbs were long and twisted, their clawed hands scraping against the stone floor. Their faces were nightmares given form—eyes sunken deep, mouths filled with jagged teeth and unnaturally long, writhing tongues that licked across Aurora’s arms and neck. Aurora screamed again as one of them dragged its tongue across her cheek, leaving a glistening trail behind.

He was forced to hike up the mountain and eat dog food, while shouting apologies with no dignity left. As for Jenny's so-called friends who had bullied me, she had killed their pet dogs and forced them to eat their meat. In the video, the women were crying and vomiting, their eyes filled with fear when they looked at her. "Are you satisfied?" she asked. "If this still isn't enough, you can punish them yourself—" I pushed her away and stepped back. "Please keep your distance, miss." Jenny was stunned. "I know I was wrong, Caleb. Will you come home with me?"