Spike Eraserhead Novels & Stories

In the split second it took her to open the door, and before Suki and Rey could intensify their kiss as they desperately craved, Rey used his wolf speed to launch himself back, away from Suki, before bolting into the bathroom. Suki centred herself, resting her hand on her chest as she tried to gather her breath before facing her friend, “Erin, hey.” “Hey,” she exclaimed, running into her arms and hugging her. “So how come you didn’t hear me screaming for you?” “Oh, um,” her cheeks burned, “I was listening to music.” Furrowing her brows, Erin questioned, “I didn’t hear any music.” The heat in her cheeks grew tenfold. “Headphones,” she replied speedily.

“Jair. Knife." Tiny struggled and cursed so Eric had to sit cross-legged on his back to keep him still. The moment the knife was placed in Eric's palm, a wave of endorphins and anger ran down his spine. “I warned you, you bastard!” He became blind. Bloodlust invaded his vision. Eric raised his knife to a forty-five degree angle and then stabbed it straight down where the Little Man's neck and right shoulder met. Tiny let out a miserable scream, and Eric released even more endorphins. He pulled out his knife, causing blood to splatter on his hands, chest, and neck. His mind was spinning and his nose was heaving. He plunged the knife again, this time at the back of his neck, cutting the spinal

The pink rubber mass of the **Eraser** didn’t fall like a stone; it descended like a deadline. It was a slab of absolute negation, a silent, scouring force that turned the "Raw Source"—the white, unallocated space where we huddled—into a grainy, grey static. Where it touched the edge of the crowd, people didn't scream. They simply ceased to have ever been. I watched a man from the 1998 "Originals," a man who had just been weeping for his lost dog, vanish. His dog, his tears, the memory of his name—all of it was "Skritch-skritched" away in a microsecond.

I replied softly. Spike grinned, his fangs peeking out slightly as he leaned in closer to me. "Good girl," he murmured before popping one of the pills into his mouth and slipping the other into mine. Taking a sip of my drink, the pill slid down my throat. Almost immediately, I felt a rush of euphoria wash over me. The music seemed to pulse through my veins, and the lights on the dance floor danced before my eyes. Spike took my hand once more and led me onto the dance floor, where we moved together in perfect sync. Our bodies rubbed against each other, my body feeling every touch like never before as the drug started to overtake me.

“...Oh God. What did you do now, Sawyer?” My head was swimming, but I couldn’t give two shits long enough to care; I wanted to get fucked up and fast. Grabbing my salt shaker and a lime wedge, I squeezed the citrus fruit along my forearm and sprinkled a line of tiny white pebbles along the damp skin. I smirked at Erin mischievously before lazily dragging my tongue against the salty mixture and taking a hearty swig from my cold Tito’s bottle gleefully. After I came up for air, I wiped my upper lip and shrugged nonchalantly

"Mara, I think you should—" "I know. I'll figure it out. Call me when you're with him." I hung up. Matteo was watching me. "Fled the scene," he said. "Yes." "Head injury." "Yes." He pressed his mouth together. Said nothing. I stood up and went to the window and looked out at the street below. Ordinary afternoon. People on their phones, a delivery driver double parked, a woman arguing with an umbrella that had gone inside out in the wind. Viktor in a hospital bed with a head injury and a broken wrist and a car that ran a red light on the Meridian overpass and then disappeared.

"Several news reports have amassed over the last eight months regarding the virtual headset. It has broken all barriers humanity had believed could never be broken, but has some extremely grave consequences. A total of 52 patients have developed psychotic symptoms after extensive use of the headset, and even catalysing brain malfuction and death in one young patient named Park Erin. Park Erin passed away upon turning 20, and post-mortems show extreme levels of plasticity in his brain, as his parts of his somatosensory cortex severely decreased in volume."

He did not love me, so he refused to believe me. He roared when I did not respond. “Apologize to Whitney right now!” Apologize? Fine! I had already taken the blame, so I might as well make it worth it. I picked up the wine bottle from the table and smashed it hard against Whitney’s head. “Sorry. I hit you too lightly earlier. I hope I didn’t disappoint this time!” Blood began to seep from Whitney’s head. Jake screamed in panic. He rushed to tend to her wound while calling an ambulance, drenched in sweat from panic.

he said. “I don’t need foreplay.” He honestly didn’t think he could get off with this chick. It could take hours. “Hold on.” He opened the bedroom door. “Eric!” he called to the band’s drummer. Eric stuck his head out of the bathroom. His hair was already fashioned into spikes along the center, short on one side, long on the other. The lock of hair that trailed down the side of his neck was currently dyed crimson red. Half of Eric’s lean face was covered with shaving cream; the other half, clean-shaven. He was practically ready to go, which meant Sed needed to hurry. The guys would be waiting for him and he wanted Brian’s last night as a bachelor to be memorable.

I promised to Mama I wouldn't come home drunk. "Do you have an apple juice?" I asked someone who was preparing the drinks. He is like the bartender of the club. "Yes, Ma'am. How many?" "Just one, please." He nodded and went away. When he went back, he gave me my order. "Hi, E!" Someone greeted me behind my back. I looked around and saw a familiar man who was smiling widely at me. "Hi... Skyler, right?" "It's me! I'm glad you remembered me." He chuckled.