Slasher Book Novels & Stories

It was my go signal. “I am looking for a book that is about catching a bad man, an abuser, a predator.” “And?” “I have read the Princess of Nile, Glory for Gloria, and even the The Dead Prince of the New Dynasty…” Her brows perched up from her barricade book, “and I want more.” She suddenly stood, and headed towards the last shelf on the hall. She walked back carrying a book like hers – with a make-shift false cover. She threw it on the table.

TASHA He slapped me across the face so hard that my ears rang. "You'll pay for this," he hissed. "I swear to God, I'll kill you for hurting her." I touched my burning cheek, shocked. "Kirk... she's faking-" "Shut up! Guards, seize her!" I'd slapped her because she'd made fun of my miscarriage, but she fell to the ground like I had knocked her unconscious. She screamed and cried and rolled around like she was dying.

Every detail was laid out in black and white. Copies had been tucked into every program, now spread open in the guests' hands. Vanessa snatched one from a nearby guest and frantically flipped through it. Then she reached the last page. A signature sat at the bottom. Chandler Shannon. Her father. She instantly ripped the documents to pieces and rounded on Matt. "What did you do?! Have you lost your mind?!" "Three years ago," Matt said. He didn't even look at her. His gaze swept across the ballroom. "Chandler Shannon orchestrated the takeover of Emerton Corp and drove its chairman, Xander Emerton, and his wife to their deaths.

Kill them" They shoved the knife into my hand, its cold, unforgiving weight settled into my little trembling fingers. Tears blurred my vision, but I felt their eyes on me- waiting, daring me to hesitate. I looked down at the knife, the blade gleaming, and felt a sick, twisting sensation in my stomach. My body was shaking, but the grip on my shoulder was firm, urging me forward. As my hand moved, as the blade found its mark again and again, a quiet scream built inside me, swelling with each tear shed.

I felt a shiver run down my spine as I ran my fingers over the embossed title: Nightstalkers; Hunting the Creatures of the Night. As I opened the book, I felt a shiver run down my spine. The pages were old and worn, their corners curling up from years of use. The illustrations within were both beautiful and terrifying, depicting hunters fighting against the creatures I had come to learn about; werewolves, vampires, and other beasts of the night. As I read through the book, I felt my heart racing with excitement and fear. I learned about the different types of hunters and their techniques for tracking and killing these dangerous creatures. Fear overtook me as I thought of Dorian, fighting ag

Blood poured from their eyes, noses, mouths, staining their clothes in rich, spreading blooms. It was so satisfying. My pants got sticky now. I wandered through the camp, eeny-meeny-miny-moeing the next tent, but before I could enter, the weak-ass slasher emerged from another tent, grinning. Blood dripped from the slashes he’d carved into the tent, jagged holes marking his sloppy work. His smug smile made my fists clench. If he didn’t disappear soon, I’d burst his damn skull for fun. But there was a better prize waiting.

The books here were faintly covered in dust. As he reached out to the top shelf, his eyes fell on a familiar thick black book lying on the floor. The Art Of The Body. Before he could stop himself, his eyes flicked up and locked with Scarlett. She didn't look away, but a deep blush gradually spread across her cheeks. That book brought back memories, and for a moment, he forgot the unspoken tension between them. He looked away finally and pulled out several dusty books from the shelf. Two were about old werewolves, one about vampires, and the last one was about witches.

This was planned. Coordinated. Precise. Three from the front. Two circling wide. One waiting. Watching. Smart. I smiled. “Good.” I lunged forward, meeting the first wave head-on. Claws tore into flesh. Teeth clashed. The forest exploded into movement. One wolf leapt for my throat. I shifted mid-motion, my body twisting violently as bone cracked and reshaped— Human. My hand caught its jaw mid-air. I drove a blade straight through its skull.

He got on top of me and went for my throat. I jammed the machete into his ribs and twisted it. He howled in agony, stumbling away as I pulled back and brought the blade down again, this time into his skull. His body shuddered, then went still. I didn’t stop to breathe. I could still feel his grimy body all over me, and the stench of his breath on my nose—oh, God! Another one leapt from the slide above me. "Food! Food!" It screamed in its guttural voice. I spun and slashed upward. The machete carved through his wrist, then his neck. Blood splattered across my face as he collapsed into the mud.

The slayer's brows furrowed in a sharp, bitter frown as he began to move toward him, stepping over the lifeless bodies that littered the ground. The sword in the slayer's grip was a gruesome sight — again — its blade smeared with blood and fat. Droplets of blood fell from the sword, soaking into the dusty ground. Agnil's gaze was fixed on the sword's edge, his terror growing with each passing moment. He tried to stumble backward, to flee from the slayer's deadly intent, but it was too late. With a swift, merciless stroke, the slayer struck Agnil's arm, slicing through his defenses.