Forgotten Six Feet Under Novel Novels & Stories

Niah tightened her grip on my shirt. It was not my first time seeing an awful sight of mounds of skeletons, but I guess it’s her first. “Do you know this place?” I asked. I gulped as sweat soaked the back of my shirt, though the humidity was freezing. The place felt like poltergeists haunted it for a very long time. “I-I do not know…” Why is there a basement under the library? Who else knew this place? Who are these corpses?

The elevator doors had opened at some point, but we ignored it. Finally, I shoved him off. "This doesn't change anything. I still want out." He adjusted his shirt, eyes burning. "We'll see." We stepped out onto the sixth floor. The air was colder here, sterile, like a hospital mixed with a fortress. Steel walls gleamed under harsh lights, and pack members shuffled around—zombie-like, eyes vacant, movements mechanical. One bumped into me without apologizing, just kept going. "What the hell is this?" I muttered.

The city opened beneath her like an old wound—one that never quite stopped bleeding. Not in spectacle. Not in fire. In silence. New Eidolon’s underbelly began where the light ended—where service tunnels twisted into forgotten veins and the air reeked of rust, oil, and rot. A place built to be unseen, to bury what no one wanted remembered. Eirwen moved carefully, arm tight around Talia’s waist as they picked their way down the narrow ramp. Water dripped from overhead pipes, each drop echoing too long in the dark.

Could it be habit? Something I used to do—something my body still remembers even if my mind does not? A strange discomfort settled within her. She went back inside the mansion. Aunt Lindy was in the hallway but noticeably kept her distance—as if Aeliana carried some invisible disease. It made her uneasy. “Is something wrong, Aunt Lindy?” she asked gently. The older woman only looked at her—a cold, cautious look, the kind one gives a criminal. Then, without a word, Aunt Lindy turned away and disappeared into the kitchen, perhaps pretending to be busy.

-Mina- Six months after the fire, the city still carried the scent of ash, especially when the rain fell oddly. New York carried on as if untouched, yet beneath the surface, the underworld’s rhythm shifted, slower above, more brutal below. I realized that grief didn’t disappear; instead, it was hidden away in pockets and brought into meetings like a loaded gun.

The house that used to be filled with matching sets for couples was empty, with no signs of anyone living there before at all and so clean it looked like it was ready for a new resident. Even every photo on the wall that Fiona had adored so much was taken off, the photos nowhere to be seen. Even as he reverted to human form and was still covered in torn rags, Duke felt like his heart was taken out of his chest, and walked stiffly to the bedroom. He couldn't even find a single hair belonging to Fiona in there.

But once I arrived, I quickly realized I was just a marginalized orphan. Even though my parents' home wasn't as grand as my grandmother's villa, Scarlett had a room full of Barbie dolls and beautiful princess dresses. Because Scarlett didn't like to see me wearing the designer clothes my grandmother bought for me, my parents shoved them into a small, shabby box in the corner, leaving me to wear the clothes Scarlett didn't want. Flynn had a full set of top-of-the-line soccer gear and the latest gadgets, while I simply wanted a computer. My parents promised to get me one, but it never materialized.

May I come up for ten minutes? I looked through the glass doors. His car was parked where I could see it. He stood on the sidewalk alone, one hand in his coat pocket, waiting. Once, I had begged to be chosen in his world. I had mistaken a locked room for protection and silence for patience. I had died in the cold because everyone I loved was busy saving someone else. Now I had a world of my own. Anyone who wanted a place in it would have to earn the right to stay. I kissed Clara's forehead, opened the intercom, and said, "Come up. Ten minutes."

Zara watched her go and then stood alone in the junction of the two hallways for a moment, in the quiet of an academy that was still pretending its foundations were solid, and thought about the specific weight of finding allies in a place designed to prevent exactly that. From below from the deep, old, deliberately forgotten place beneath the east side of the building the hum moved through the floor and into her bones, and this time it didn't fade as quickly as it usually did. This time it held, low and insistent and almost rhythmic, like something counting out the distance between itself and the surface in the only language it had left. Zara pressed her foot flat against the floor and liste

“We couldn’t access the identity.” Clara’s face darkened. Outside the study window the mansion stood quiet. Too quiet. She suddenly hated it. Hated the walls. Hated the memories. Hated how every answer kept leading backward. Not forward. Something happened six years ago. Something bigger than she knew. And now everyone seemed to be walking toward it. Elias. Seraphina. Aris. Even that boy. Her nails pressed into the desk. “Keep digging.” “We are.” “Not enough.”