Grave Stories Novels & Stories

My pulsed races in my ears as my mind played over and over the events that had just played off no more than thirty minutes ago. I had given Stan the book and I was more than sure that he walked away with it. But when I walked up to the van with hopes to collect a good meal, I was handed the same book I had traded out. And the worst part of it all was that the man actually believed he was serving me a plate from the truck. What kind of fucked up shit did Gerald just put me into? My steps slowly came to a halt as I reached the abandoned monetary that stood at the outskirts of town. Its columns were dilapidated and overgrown weeds surrounded the building. It looked and smelt like shit, but it w

He hesitated, shifting forward slightly as if to create distance. But Vivian tightened her embrace and spoke softly, her voice laced with delicate sorrow, "Ryan, I know you've held it against me that I left back then, but I had no choice. My father was dying. The Northern Alpha threatened to withhold the medicine he needed, and I was forced to comply. "Even then, I refused his marking. My heart has always been yours. Please forgive me." With the perfect touch of tragedy, she painted herself as the most unfortunate werewolf alive—kind and brave, yet plagued by suffering.

She clung to my pillow all day—sometimes she would laugh, and sometimes she would cry. Father's hair turned gray overnight. He drank heavily every day and became an utterly useless person. Clyde had also lost his mind. He often ran alone to my grave and kneeled there for an entire day. Yves was stripped of his position as the gang's consigliere. Every day, he stood before my tombstone, caressing the face in the photo over and over again. Endless remorse would accompany him for the rest of his life. … Many years later, the once-prestigious Shaw family had long been forgotten by others.

Now let's talk about my other books. Nightmare Land is not changing, but I am re-editing the first 18 chapters, which I will try to finish as soon as I can. Again, I will try to get the re-edits out with a new chapter, so just bear with me. Not only that, but I'm trying to add on a new book called Dark Tales of the Alive Undead. I have received no response about that either, but I'm waiting for an entire week to see if my editor will respond. I know they say to wait a whole month for new books, but this is also about my other books.

Anthony seemed drunk. The minute he walked through the door, the strong stench of alcohol hit me. Before my ghost friends and I could even guess what had happened, Anthony staggered straight into the bedroom, looking like his soul had been sucked out again. He threw his arms around my urn and suddenly started to sob. My friends were dumbfounded; the cards slipped from my hands and scattered all over the floor.

“His office is filled with books and old manuscripts. He read to me from one that was two hundred years old, written in Italian, no less. Supposedly by a female vampire.” “What he told you fits with what I know about grafhym,” Rave said. “They're rare, and my people don't hunt them, so I'm no expert. But it sounds like your mother's story could be true. Whether the other stuff is real, I can't say. Maybe the sun does hurt her skin, maybe not.” He smiled. “I'm a little skeptical about the tomato juice, though.” “Yeah, I know. That always seemed the silliest part of the whole weird thing.”

I said through gritted teeth. There was no other relief that could compare to the King retiring to his room for the night and leaving the wolves to grieve. As a community, we huddled together in our designated field meant for last rites. While building up Cole’s funeral pyre, the wolves began to hum the simple, somber song as part of our letting go ritual. Being Alpha, it was my job to light the pyre. With my torch in hand, I walked forward to say goodbye.

She knew that. "For God sake, I'm older than this motherfucker" she cursed beneath her breath as wandered the graveyard. She went there after school hours or when she wasn't busy teasing Austin, for some reason she felt at peace here. Maybe because she was a Ghost, but it was one place she felt alive. She came across Austin's mothers grave and thought about using her as a perfect revenge plot, but she knew it would jeopardise any plan of her getting help from him. So she cancelled that option

She rushed upstairs. [Graves Memorial Estates] The St. Graves family major business is Graveyards. Elite Graveyards. They're in charge of conducting the burials of elite wealthy people in this country. Even rich corpses from outside the country are flown into this place, just so they could rest in richness and sweet peace among the graves of other rich people. The estate has acres of land that's not advisable to count if sanity is still valued. It has been in use for years, and it kept getting expanded.

“We can’t track them. They strike, vanish, leave nothing but fire behind.” Dante paced the length of the room, rage coiled tight inside him. “Every ghost has a grave. I’ll find theirs.” Amara’s gaze lingered on the reports, her sharp mind piecing together threads others missed. “No grave,” she murmured. “Ashes don’t bury. They spread.” Dante stilled, turning to her. “What are you saying?”