Soul Snatcher Head Novels & Stories

Valeria stared at the photograph in silence. Her manicured fingers trembled slightly as she held the glossy image—one of a small, frail boy, no older than eight, sitting beside a tall figure she recognized instantly as the Widowmaker. The boy’s eyes were hollow. Malnourished. Unloved. But it wasn’t his condition that chilled her—it was the knowledge behind the image. They had found him. They knew. Another photo lay beside it on her desk. Markus’s severed head, his eyes still frozen in terror, mouth agape in his final scream. Dried blood stained the wrapping. Whoever sent it had made sure she understood the message.

“The rest of him.” ​At the bottom of the shaft, the massive, ink-black creature raised its head. Its brilliant silver eyes flared with an intense, blinding light. Then, a voice scraped out from its malformed throat—a voice that matched Cael’s pitch perfectly. ​“Give him to me.” ​Cael went rigid, his muscles locking up. The child shrieked, covering his ears. “Don't listen to it!” ​The creature opened its jaw wide, the sound vibrating through the stone walls. “Give me my soul!”

I saw the first picture here. "Look, Ben. It's tragic what happened to the dead," replied Sergeant Sales as he brought the screen of his camera to me. "Look at the face. It looks like it's been eaten. All that's left is the skin. The stomach and chest are the same. There's nothing left but the guts. The heart, intestines, gall, everything is gone Ben. Sinaid. If it wasn't a big animal that did it "It was probably done by a person who was high on drugs or alcohol. He behaves like an animal," insisted Sergeant Sales. His finger swiped on the screen and with each swipe of his finger, the focus of the screen moved closer and closer to the victim's neck. "Wait, sir, what's on his neck?" I will as

It questioned back. "I'm the one asking the questions around here." I stated. The soul laughed at me. "And what made me obliged to answer you? You are nothing." He replied. I knew that this was an indirect challenge to my status. I immediately pulled out the mirror in my bag pack and said the words: "Hell summonte hell arosente death take never returnt." A huge red demon with the body of a muscular and furry beast and the head and neck of a python emerged from the ground.

From afar, it looked like it contained a saxophone or any other similar instrument, but what was in it was far different. She got to the top floor, packed her brunette hair into a tight pony tail and opened the suitcase. She removed a baseball cap from it and forced it on her head which was a tight fit. Next, she brought out a pair of black leather gloves and hurriedly wore it as she checked her digital watch. The time was 1:11pm, which meant that she had four more minutes to execute her mission. She removed the last thing in the suitcase which was a sniper gun, as she maneuvered the long weapon towards the window and looked through the scope at a high class restaurant ab

“Yup,” Knox says without looking up. I reach out, fingers brushing the smooth head sticking out of the packaging. It’s foam. Dense and thick with sculpted features. The head is oval, with bulbous black eyes and a tiny slit for a mouth. “What’s beneath it?” I ask, looking down. He’s already begun tearing downward, slicing open the rest of the wrapping. What emerges is…well. A body.

he snivels and I walk towards him, only to feel something hit my arms, back, and legs in quick succession. I look up and see a smirking sniper and feel the red laser aimed right at my forehead, but that smirk drops from his face when my lip curls into a smile. Ghost was standing behind him, his eyes completely white as he tapped into his beast - that sniper’s head hit the floor in front of me before he could fire another shot. Ghost grins, then he disappears in the blink of an eye and I don’t even have to look behind me to know he’s ripped more sniper heads off.

“Alpha!!!!” A guard came rushing in, shaking like a leaf, his face pale and devoid of any color. My eyes dropped to the box in his hands and I staggered back, my eyes wide as saucers. I let out a scream so raw my throat felt like sandpaper. Inside… was a decapitated head. Its eyes were gouged out and the eagle sigil of the Duskmoor pack was carved cleanly into its forehead. My stomach lurched, and I dropped to my knees, retching.

Adrian gazed at the small cauldron in his hand, his satisfaction evident. Despite taking a bit longer, the peculiar little cauldron known as the “Spectral Snare” had proven to be remarkable. Once enveloped by the Spectral Snare, Autumn could not resist. In just ten minutes, her soul was completely crushed and imprisoned within the cauldron. Adrian likened it to a millstone, watching as the ghost's soul was slowly crushed within the Spectral Snare's aura until finally being confined within it.

Richard noticed something else. In his fall, Sallow Man had lost his bucket hat. And in the dim light from a nearby streetlamp, gaping through Mr. Deadmond’s opera glasses (as the old man referred to them), Richard got a good long look at him. Too long, he would later muse on many an occasion to come, in midnight retrospect. The pale man’s head was huge, too large for his thin body, like his clothing. It was nearly twice the size a normal human head should be—incredibly—and had no visible hair on it at all. It glistened in the rain, looking like an enormous, bleached honeydew melon that was close to exploding. Squash, anybody? Richard had thought crazily at the time. Get your nice, ripe squa