Gothic Graveyard Novels & Stories

for doing such a good job when I saw him again. The area turned more wooded as we shifted away from the coast. Leaves of green filtered the sun through the branches to make patterns of shadows and light on the ground. The whole place was so peaceful, the little graveyard tucked away under some very old oak trees felt like a good place to stop for a while. The cemetery looked like something out of a gothic novel, all overhanging branches and ornate headstones.

Like we were under a thousand invisible eyes. “There’s something wrong here,” Sophia murmured once. Eden just nodded. “We’re being observed. But not followed.” That didn’t make me feel better. We reached the graveyard just as the violet moon broke through the mist. It was massive. It stretched in every direction. There were dark tombstones with glowing runes, crumbling statues of old wolf-headed warriors. I saw bones bleached white by time and scattered across the earth like the Dead had been clawing their way out. The place reeked of sacredness.

looking helpless as he lost the only thing that made him a god: his land. "You look like you're staring at a funeral," Silas rumbled, standing by the window. His silhouette appeared massive against the grey sky. "I am," I whispered. My voice was a dry rasp, like a dead leaf when crushed. "I'm watching the burial of the Crescent Alpha. I just didn't expect the scene to look so... boring, and ordinary…" My cough broke the silence, a deep, racking tremor that made my ribs feel like they were being snapped back one by one. I pressed a tissue to my mouth that quickly soaked in a dark, thick crimson. I didn't panic; that was for people who still had a future.

He hadn’t been able to observe it from such a short distance, but now that he had, he was still somewhat terrified. The largest tombstone stood tall in the middle as if it were the core of this large graveyard. It was hundreds of feet tall, with tightly-packed symbols all over. None of them were legible, though, so Alex was sure they didn’t come from his location. However, each word and symbol looked as if they had a specific law power within them. Moreover, this large tombstone was surrounded by neatly-arranged graves. Every grave had a designated black tombstone, each carved with an actual name.

The footfalls of his boots on the cobblestone path echoed sinisterly amongst the old tombstones. A few paces ahead situated a lonesome-looking Gothic-Romanesque Church. It had been established centuries ago in the year 1620 by the Franciscan Order. Dim light filtered through from its arching windows, illuminating some of the partially eroded names on the older tombstones he passed. But Vladimir had no trouble locating the exact tombstones he was looking for. Since the full moon shone bright enough to further illuminate the spectral graveyard. He had finally arrived upon about a dozen of the tombstones he would visit regularly years ago. The first two were of his parents, Anastasia and Christ

The stern faces of each tombstone erected in their regimented lines, they stood guard solemnly over their plots. Like rows of grim dominos amongst the hardened earth of an early spring, they were placed in order of the most recently fallen. The sky above, plagued with persistent gray clouds, they reflected a somber light on the graveyard below. The entire scene awash in a macabre hue, the world seemed to be devoid of color in this solitary moment. However, there amidst the company of these melancholic graves, stood a sole mourner.

I found myself standing in the middle of the pack’s cemetery. I knew it was the cemetery when I saw the half fallen gate with rusted iron that Damon has promised to change a million times but never did. It was the dead of night, and everything was cloaked in darkness. I could barely make out the outlines of the gravestones around me. The silence, only broken by the occasional hoot of an owl or a distant, eerie mournful cry. I was holding a bouquet of white roses in my hand, I wasn't holding this earlier.

The only sound they made as they walked was the soft crunch of their boots on the gravel road, and they breathed steadily in the chilly evening air. With careful hands, they dug slowly and almost reverently to prepare the graveyard area. The sky above was a dull orange as the sun began to set, and long shadows hung over the countryside. Even though they didn't talk much during the preparation, their silence betrayed the weight of their shared loss.

That unease crawled up my spine before I even realized why. “Where are you taking us?” I asked at last. He didn’t look at me. “The exact location Killian sent.” That didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. We drove in silence for a few more minutes until he slowed down and brought the car to a stop. I looked up, and my chest tightened. Tall iron gates loomed ahead, worn but well kept, and beyond them stretched rows upon rows of gravestones. This wasn’t just any burial ground. This was where the pack laid its important dead, Alphas, Lunas, warriors whose names still carried weight long after their bodies had turned to dust.

Alfred had gone and bought advertising space on the big screens in malls across the globe. He did all that just to celebrate the birthday of his 'late' daughter. The twisted part was that the Hawkins family had chosen the same day of all days to 'bury' me. There was Alfred, caught on camera, weeping uncontrollably over my coffin. Word on the street was that ever since Ruby and I were gone, he had not even had a drop to drink. The only thing keeping him alive was the nutritional shots John gave him, whether he liked it or not.