Spooky Month Streber Novels & Stories

My wife's first love fell seriously ill. To save him, she gave away the kidney donor that was meant for me. Afraid I would cause a scene at the hospital, she locked me inside our home. Day after day, she stayed by his bedside, cooking for him, caring for him, never leaving his side. All she left for me was a box of stale biscuits… and expired milk. A month later, she finally opened the door. "Have you thought it through?" I looked at her, pale and desperate. "If I don't get that transplant, I'll die." "Why are you talking about dying?" she snapped. "You've endured this for so long already. A little more pain won't kill you. Are you trying to scare me?" "But Vincent is different. He's never been able to handle pain. Can't you be more understanding?" "Understand…" I nodded stiffly. Then, I walked out, without looking back. Only for her to be stabbed multiple times… yet still refuse to let go of my hand!

On the day we're supposed to register our marriage, my girlfriend Jenny Sutton has me removed from the city hall. She walks in with her childhood sweetheart, Ronald Walsh. She looks at me without a flicker of guilt and says, "Ronald's kid needs his legal status sorted out. Once we divorce, I'll marry you." Everyone assumes I'll wait. I'm the devoted fool who's already waited seven years, so one more month seems trivial. That night, I go along with my family's plan and leave the country for a marriage of convenience. I cut myself cleanly out of Jenny's life. Three years later, I return to the country with my wife, Ellie Olsen, who's a CEO, to pay respects at her family's graves. A last-minute issue pulls her away, and she asks the local branch to send someone to pick me up. I didn't expect Jenny, not after three years. "You have dragged this out long enough. Come back. Ronald's kid will be starting kindergarten soon. You can handle the school runs."

The university student, who was my wife’s lover, had set a KPI for them to sleep together 12 times a month. However, she was too busy this month, so they only slept together 11 times. In light of that, the lover, Sam Reid, started crying and protesting by starving himself. In order to please Sam, Tanya came to me, her husband. “John, please tell him that I didn’t sleep with you this month. Just a short explanation would do.” As she said, we had not slept together for a long time. I would not be able to breathe whenever she touched me. She tried a few times, and I ended up requiring emergency care. Since then, she no longer dared to touch me, but she still claimed that she loved me the most. However, she went on with her affair. I called Sam and said calmly, “Tanya only belongs to you, and she’ll be yours in the future.” After I ended the call, Tanya thought that I was jealous, so she comforted me. “I’ll always love you too.” However, I no longer wanted Tanya. We were separated for almost two years, so the court would grant our divorce.

I had been dating Andy Lawson for five years. He had gone bankrupt, and during the worst of it, we had to sleep in parks and scavenge leftovers for food. After a hundred days of that life, I was just going to the blackmarket to sell some blood for money when someone sent me a video. [Surprise.] It was a livestream site, set up for rich kids to prank the common folk—and a video of me was pinned to the top. My finger trembling, I tapped on it and saw myself hidden in a corner of a park, munching on leftovers to nourish my frail body. On the split video, Andy was reclining against the armchair of a five-star hotel and savoring his gourmet menu. "Oh, this is amazing! All Andy has to do is say that he's sick, and she's selling her blood for him!" "On the sixteenth prank, she fell into the ocean… And on the fifteenth, she was sent flying in a car crash! Why is she so hard to kill?" "Well, Andy already made it clear that if she survives until the end, he will marry her and swear off women!" "One month to go! Will she die from the pranks, or marry into the Lawson family with pomp and circumstance?" "I'm betting fifty mil that she dies tragically! Hahaha!"

Juniper Hallowell has survived a lifetime of humiliation—an illegitimate Omega, a rejected mate, and the secret obsession of Prince Elias Whitmore, who keeps her chained with threats and a forbidden tape. But the night he chooses another woman over her, Juniper walks into a biker club and into the arms of two strangers who feel like destiny. Ronan and Soren Graves—ruthless biker princes and heirs of the Crimson Pack—have lived under a deadly Christmas curse since childhood. Every 24th of the month, they turn feral… until one night with a mysterious Omega brings them peace for the first time in years. They don’t know she’s their sister’s enemy. They don’t know she’s Elias’s mate. They don’t know she’s the witch-blooded cure they’ve searched for all their lives. But when the truth is exposed, chaos erupts. Juniper becomes torn between danger and desire, vengeance and destiny, power and love. And when she discovers she carries the twins’ children, the race to break the curse becomes a war—against Elias, Seraphina, and even fate itself. This Christmas, bloodlines will clash, curses will break, and love will demand a sacrifice no one is ready for.

“Who the hell changed the screw tolerance by 0.007 mm?” “I did. Is there a problem?” Kimmy Zabel, our department’s “good-luck charm” and full-time slacktivist, did not even look up from her compact mirror, where she was carefully applying lip gloss. “It just didn’t look right, so I tweaked it. Do you really have to yell at me?” The production line had been running on the wrong spec for twenty-four hours. I hit the emergency stop. Keeping my voice steady took some effort. “These parts no longer meet export standards. If we miss tomorrow’s shipment, even a month of overtime wouldn’t cover the penalties.” “It’s one tiny number. You’re being so dramatic!” Kimmy snapped her makeup case shut. “Anyway, it’s New Year’s Eve. I’ve got a date. I’m not staying here to suffer with you people.” Before she even reached the door, I gestured to the staff to pull the shutters down. “For precision components like these, one number translates into a million-dollar loss. You can take these defective units and explain them to the regulators.”

The world knows no master like Lucian Daiuz. While they claim that no one is above the law, he stands far beyond it—beyond governments, kings, monarchs, or mafias. All bow to him. His face is a mystery, his voice unheard by any who live to tell the tale. To some, he is a devil, a monster. Whispers and rumours paint him in a thousand shades of darkness, even questioning his manhood for remaining without a wife at 33. Every woman he takes as a wife vanishes before a month passes, and his wealth, so immense, could feed the entire country and still leave a fortune untouched. Lucian Daiuz—he is the man who haunts every nightmare. And now, I have been chosen to be his wife... She is the embodiment of grace in a world marred by shadows, a damsel whose beauty radiates across the kingdom. Men fall to their knees for a chance at her favour, but none have succeeded in capturing her heart. She turns them all away, waiting for the one who can truly claim her. Her purity and light are enough to banish the darkness that surrounds me. She is Princess Aurora von Dysheria, and I have claimed her to be my bride.

I had just returned early from a business trip abroad, eager to surprise my five-year-old son. However, as I stood at the entrance of his preschool, the sight before me froze me in place. My son was clinging to my husband's "first love," calling her "Mom." I moved forward to get my son back, but before I could do anything, she screamed, "Help! A kidnapper is trying to take this child! Let's do the right thing today! Stand up for families who've had their kids stolen!"  She egged on the bystanders, rallying them to act in the name of justice. Without a second thought, a crowd of people pummeled me right there in the street, hitting me with rocks that smashed into my face, breaking my legs with metal pipes, and ripping the clothes from my body before tying me to a streetlamp. It was only then that I realized that in the month I'd been away, my husband had moved his first love into our home, taking my place. However, did he forget? He was nothing more than a man who married into my family! I couldn’t wait to see who couldn’t live without the other!

By my third month on the job, I discovered that my coworkers had been calling me "the old crow" behind my back. The nickname came from none other than Jace's condescending secretary—because at 32, I was still clutching onto an eight-year relationship that hadn't ended in marriage. I confronted Jace. "Do you know your employees have been calling me the old crow?" He didn't even bother to look up. "That's just Sadie—she speaks her mind and means no harm. You're 32; why get so worked up over what a young girl says?" Then he gave me a faint, mocking smile. "Though honestly, it's a pretty fitting nickname." It felt like a cold hand had wrapped around my heart. So that was it—eight years of my youth, nothing more than a joke to him. I turned and walked away, handed in my resignation, and blocked every way he could reach me. But for the first time, the man who had always seemed so calm and untouchable finally panicked. "Elara," he pleaded, "please come back."

Nine years into my "non-cohabiting partnership" with Simon, his father passed away. The first condition in his will was simple: Simon and Ella had to conceive a child. On the day the child turned one month old, Simon would inherit his father's fortune. Simon told me this himself—the night I walked in on them tangled in our bed. Afterward, as he took a slow drag from his cigarette, he murmured, "Lily, just wait a little longer. Once I get the inheritance, I'll marry you." But he went back on his word. From then on, every time Simon planned to meet Ella at our house, he would hang a string of bells on the door. Since his father's passing, those bells had chimed ninety-nine times. After the ninety-ninth, the news arrived—Ella was pregnant, and their engagement party was set. My daughter saw the invitation, hesitated, then softly asked, "Mom, is Daddy's name on this?" I forced a smile and gently smoothed her messy hair into a neat ponytail. "Daddy is marrying the one he loves," I said. "And I'm taking you home." Simon never understood—I never cared about that marriage certificate.