Grave Story Novels & Stories

She tried to edge backward, but the reporters blocked her path. At last, Henry slid from his chair and dropped to his knees before my mother and the black box. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking so hard the words barely came out. "Grace, I'm sorry." My mother held the urn tighter and didn't answer. I stepped forward and gently placed the black box in front of him. "The person who deserved to hear that can no longer hear anything. Because of you, she lived her whole life without a clean identity. After she died, even a cemetery application was delayed because her records had already been stolen by you."

“Motherfuckers! I will have to show you all how devilish and ruthless I can be; even the devil is not as devilish as I am. Sophia said and smacked her lips in a slight curve; she was really ready for all the freaking people that wanted to try or get to challenge her; she would make sure. She dealt with them; Cassandra was not excluded. *********** “I will check the write-up when I get home.” Grace said to Cassandra, the scowl on her face showed she was already in a bad mood. She had really forgotten the paper at home; she had thought it was in her office bag, which she carried for work that very day. “We will check it!.” Cassandra said, and immediately Grace burst into laughter; Cassandra jo

Nathan the sly the crafty one, our esteemed beta. And the flames twisted and contorted into the image of a serene burial ground, with raised mounds of dirts on the ground, tombstones to signify the identity of the buried, families crying over their fallen loved ones, bringing flowers and powering wine all over specific mounds of earth, crying and sobbing and refusing to be consoled. "The battle has been won, but at heartbreaking costs." She finished her chilling story and stared coldly into the fire. The gathering was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop a universe away.

The underworld never slept, and tonight was no different. Grace sat at the long table while swirling the whiskey in her glass. The men around her spoke in hushed tones, but she caught every word. She had been raised in rooms like this. This was her world. But tonight, she knew something was different. "Have you heard?" a man to her left spoke in intrigue. "Adrian Blackwood is dead. Assassinated in Raeburn Asylum." A ripple of murmurs spread across the table. Some smirked, others leaned in wanting to join in the talk. Grace didn't react. She simply lifted her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip, pretending her heart hadn't just clenched at the mention of her cousin's name.

so long as my death came after I’d achieved my goals. Highgate was truly beautiful this time of year, its frosted trees and shrubbery intermingling with the snowy graves. Foxes crept among the tombstones. Spiders wove glistening webs. Angel statues cried ice tears. Loretta and I wandered it aimlessly until we reached a section devoted to immortals. The graves here were all from the past year or two. Loretta stopped before one. “I knew him,” she said. The grave belonged to Billy Portbelly, a “devoted husband” who had perished a few months before.

Anne wished they hadn’t spoken to that batty old man, listening to his riddles and dead-end tales. The later discovery of alternate tales, crude folklore and legends betrayed by a handful of the old or wandering mad reinforced Damon’s suspicions of an ancient grave site, though there was no recorded information of its existence until Damon’s final research paper. There Damon recounted it by name, “The Mourner’s Cradle.”

Instead, I was glad I married someone so loyal. But then, another deathday came. I saw a photo of him kissing the supposedly dead Yvonne in Lutecia when I went through his phone. I went to the cemetery, my phone in hand showing the photo. I was shivering as I demanded answers. He snatched the phone away and looked at me icily. "Are you mad, Wisteria? She's already long dead, and you're trying to sully her name with this?" I looked at the photo on the headstone. She looked a bit like me, and I laughed until tears streamed down my cheeks. "Yeah, she's dead. So, tell me, how'd a dead woman spend 150 grand on the card my dad gave you?"

# Day 20 I have lost my mind completely and weird types of thing comes in my mind According to census the present human population is around 7 billion, I think that's a useless data, simply counting the number of person who appears like a human being is useless, because some of them are just demons pretending to be humans. You see, I am officially loosing it. What will happen to Alex if they put me away to a mental asylum. ........................................................ #Day 21 I am lost. I am sad. I am broken. I am scarred. I am ruined. I am fucking no one. Congratulations Agustin Deluca..I am everything you ever wanted me to be. ....................................................

Noah didn’t know how long he stood there looking at the grave. He didn’t speak, and neither did Sterling. It was obvious Sterling had hired a professional. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on the stone, not a blade of grass out of place. It looked just like it did when she was buried here, like time had frozen in a single moment of grace. Cared for better than any other headstone in the cemetery. It was eerie. Beautiful. A lie.

Loose. I work my fingers into the gap between the altar stone and its base and I lift. It is heavier than it looks, and I have to brace my shoulder against the wall to get enough leverage, but the stone tilts upward and slides back, revealing a dark cavity beneath. The smell that rises from it is dry and old, paper and leather and dust, and I know before I reach inside what I am going to find.