Novel & Cerita The Stalking Dead

"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.”

It wasn’t like he was going to be stepping into any big role right away like me. His old man goes by “Ghost” and I hope he’ll be like him. Ghost is kind of Grouch’s right hand. While I’m the enforcer, the one with the most flies, Ghost is usually the one who gets the guys that come into the basement. You’ll never see him coming until he’s putting zip ties on your wrists and a bag over your head. He’s a huge dude but he’s light footed and sneaky. Professional stalker is the term I use.

I didn’t imagine the voice. It was as clear as day, as loud as if she were standing right next to me. And even though my mind is doubting it, my heart knows for a fact that it was her. Except she’s dead. …Right? Or is she “dead” in the same way Headmaster Stroud suspects my father is dead? Meaning, alive somewhere. “Come on,” Alec whispers. He leads the way out of the bush, and we peek around the pool house’s corner. The coast is clear.

a Beta muttered, using the tip of his sword to flip a raider's arm over. Rhys knelt beside him. On the inner forearm of the dead man was a mark that looked like it had been branded with acid. It was a raised, keloid scar in the shape of a weeping eye, the iris formed by a series of interlocking, jagged teeth. "Stalkers," Rhys growled, his voice a low vibration that made the gravel beneath his boots rattle. "They only have targets." "But who is the target?" I asked, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. I stepped closer, keeping my distance from the bodies. "They pursued the five heavy wagons with the same ferocity they used to attack us. Was this about the cargo, or was it about you?"

After my little brother, Cochran Ceberano, dies in a car crash, my parents hand the toy poodle he raised over to me. But I haul the dog to an unlicensed, back-alley animal clinic right away and have him neutered. Why? Because I've been reborn. In my previous life, on the day the dog arrives at our house, he suddenly turns vicious, scratching and biting me at every turn. Afraid of upsetting my parents, I bend over backward to win him over. I feed him the best dog food, and I even sleep next to him on the couch. But he only gets worse. Day by day, my sanity crumbles. Insomnia sets in, followed by auditory hallucinations. I even start dreaming that he's chasing me down and tearing me apart

I declared. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Why are you so cruel?" she asked meekly. "Didn't you hear a thing I said? Let me spell it out for you. I. Don't. Like. You. I never did, and I never will. You are a goddamn stalker. An annoying brat. You got stuck on me like a parasite, and I want to get rid of you. Starting today, I never want to see you again. You got that?" I said with gritted teeth.

My mom squeezing my arms tightly almost as a warning. I need to shut up. I panic when I realize that he is trying to take the papers away, “Sorry sorry sorry.” I chant and look at him, pleading. “You know how in a lot of horror and thriller movies, the smartass gets killed off first?” “Are you going to kill me?” my eyes widen as I stare at his hauntingly alluring eyes. “No I am not a killer.” “Again….you just killed a person.” For fuck’s sake, Zara, please shut up.