The Stalking Dead Novels & Stories

She added while searching further. "Aha!! Here it is; take a look!" Everyone was curious about her findings, so I read it out loud. "The age-old knowledge of the seven deathly beings: The Shadow Stalker, a phantom predator, strikes fear in the dark. The Banshee's Wail, mournful and ominous, signals disaster with her cries. Petrifying with a glance, the Gorgon's Gaze turns victims into stone. The Blood Fiend feeds on life, leaving only husks.

Her picture was also taken at the crime scene, and yet again, there was no evidence left behind… LILY GRAHAM. 30 years old. Shot outside of Woodwick Central. Known to have a cannabis addiction. Raped and murdered. The third picture was of a Puerto Rican man, wearing black jeans paired with a black jacket. He had a tribal tattoo across his chest, and the crime scene photos showed horrific images of him lying down next to his sisters, his mother, and his father, all of them left to die in their own pool of blood. They’d left a gun in his hand to make it appear that he’d killed his whole family before killing himself, but that was just pure bullshit…

“Who told her. Was it you. And are you absolutely certain she is dead.” “Yes,” Kingsley replied quietly. “The doctor in the human world confirmed it. She had a massive heart attack and dead right on the spot.” I closed my eyes for a second and pressed my fingers into my temple. Stella dead. Her mother dead from grief. An entire pack wiped out in one day. This was not chaos. This was a message. A declaration. Someone was screaming war at the top of their lungs. “Who is dead.” The voice came from behind me. I froze.

Ella Pezzano died in the flames at Costa Estate. The woman standing here was Luna Kane, heir to the Kane family. No one would ever hurt me again. Three days later, the yacht reached Norvale Port. Our car rolled into the wealthy district downtown. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, the bustling night view of all of Norvale stretched out before us. I stood by the window, gazing at the glittering lights, but I felt nothing. … Third-person POV Back at Costa Estate, Vincenzo had already begun his retaliation against the Camorra family.

Tension simmered air-thick, no touch—proximity stalking electric, his smoky citrus weaving my exhales, power imbalance humming under skin without a graze. Mile three, path narrowed, leaf-choked, shoulders brushing ghost—electric jolt no contact. My hazel snapped his, full lips parting, gasp unspoken. "Stalker now? Can't avenge without haunting?" Voice contralto edged sarcasm, legs refusing to quit despite thighs screaming fire.

"Kael, that’s today. The day of the crash. The day everything supposedly ended." "It didn't end, Maya," Kael said, his eyes fixed on the rising mechanical shapes in the sand. "It began. We weren't dying in that car. We were being recruited." Sela grabbed my arm, her grip bruising. "We don't have time for a family reunion. Those are Stalkers. They’re built to track the specific neural signature of a Peak survivor. If they catch you, they don’t kill you. They plug you back in." The first machine reached the base of our gantry. It was a horrific fusion of chrome and biology, shaped like a wolf but with six spindly, multi-jointed legs that clicked against the rusted metal.

"I’m sorry? That sounds a bit dramatic, don't you think?" "Don't play dumb," Jovan interrupted. His voice was low, a dangerous rumble that made Chloe flinch. He didn't look away from her, his dark eyes boring into hers like twin barrels of a gun. "Do you know an Archer Schuyler?" Chloe tilted her head, the picture of practiced innocence. "Archer? The name sounds familiar. Oh, wait. Was that the stalker who caused the scene yesterday? Why would I know him, Jovan?" She shot me a look of pure, unadulterated vitriol.

"They are alive, but they are empty. The Void took everything from them. Their magic, their strength, even their shadows." ​Before Dave could respond, a low, guttural vibration hummed through the ground, vibrating in their very teeth. It was a sound that defied anatomy—a wet, slithering noise that sounded like shifting oil. From the dense mist surrounding the village perimeter, they emerged. ​The Void Stalkers. ​They were horrific to behold—great, towering masses of pitch-black, viscous liquid that seemed to defy gravity. They didn't walk; they surged forward like a living tide of ink, their elongated limbs forming and dissolving with every movement.

One of the soldiers outside let out a cry that was cut short by a wet, tearing noise. "They are here," Zayn whispered, his face turning pale. "The first wave. But these aren't vampires." I walked to the window, my hands beginning to glow with that bright red light. Through the mist, I saw shapes moving. They were tall, thin, and had too many limbs. They looked like skeletons wrapped in rotting skin. "Shadow Stalkers," Zayn growled, stepping beside me and shifting his arm into a massive, scaled limb. "These must be demons that serve Dracula to stay in this world. i have read about them in the myths."

Then Rowan says quietly, “He didn’t say which friend.” Liberty lets out a shaky laugh that turns into something raw. “That’s the point.” My chest aches with it. This is what stalking does: it makes language into a weapon. It turns your imagination against you until you can’t tell if the threat is outside the door or inside your skull. Miles looks up from his laptop. “We need to treat this as two possibilities: a bluff meant to force movement, or a real incident somewhere else.” Kellan nods. “And we don’t split.”