Grave Story Novels & Stories

“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.”

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.

Her gray-blue face seemed a little less stiff, but the confusion and wounded look in her eyes still weighed heavily. [System prompt: Hunger is spreading. Proceed to Dorm 4404 to obtain food.] [Warning: 4404’s resident is extremely dangerous! Severely starved!] The live chat was going wild with messages. [4404? Oh no, that’s the Hungry Dead! Granny just escaped the freezer, and now, she’s walking straight into famine!] [That ghost is so hungry it even gnaws on itself! With Granny’s old bones, she’s done for!] I rubbed my empty stomach and steadied my aching back as I climbed off the bed.

I tell him meekly as I feel my fear closing in on me again, while under his gaze. His hand grips my jaw tightly as he makes me loom up at his tall figure, "To you, I'm Death. Don't ask questions," "OK-" my door suddenly opened and he was gone as Mika entered the house She saw my dad as he lay dead in a pool of blood before looking at me. I was stunned, so stunned. What had just happened within the last 15 minutes of my life? "Oh shit, Gabi," she pulled me into a tight hug as she pets my hair as my face was squished in her chest, "You can stay with me- wait, you're not crying," she pulls my head back up

"Oh, my goodness! This woman died a horrible death!" "She was a pureblood werewolf attacked by a rogue. Her body was pumped full of liquid silver!" "How did her family not realize what was happening? Couldn't anyone sense she was dead?" The TV kept replaying the news of my death while the comments section blew up with arguments about how I'd died. People reacted with shock, grief, and even outrage. But not a single one of them knew who I really was. My body was found in an old storm drain at the boundary of our family land. The site had once served as a military water reserve, storing liquid silver bombs during the civil war, but it had long been abandoned.

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.

Tomorrow, he wouldn't hesitate to take my heart—piece by piece, until there was nothing left of me. Fortunately, I was already dead. The endless days of waiting in despair were finally over. He searched the house for me. Of course, he found nothing. The only thing he discovered was the meal I had prepared for him a month ago. It had rotted beyond recognition, and even I couldn't remember what it had been. All I remembered about that day was the sudden intrusion of warriors bursting in, gagging me, and binding my limbs. That day was supposed to be our marking anniversary. Instead, it became the day I died. And it was also the day Vivian was reborn, finally free of wolfsbane.

From the helicopter, I watched Alfred race to the crash site, clutching the fallen license plate, crying out, "Helen, Ruby..." It did not take long for the internet to explode with news of Ruby and I dying in that fiery wreck. I held my sleeping Ruby tight, put away my phone, and whispered, "This is it, Alfred. We're done for good." Alfred was haunted, thinking it was all some nightmare. He would slap himself, pinch his skin, and even jab himself with a knife, desperate to snap out of it. However, the pain, sharp and undeniable, kept telling him the brutal truth.

At least far more interesting than the story I heard yesterday at the antique auction, is this one, I thought. I became uneasy when he described how two werewolves broke their fated mate promise and unleashed a terrible calamity. The narrative was too visceral and realistic. Every time I hear the story, it seems to tighten my heart, so I don't want to listen to it anymore. It felt odd, as though I had also lived through the same narrative. She continued, "And it all began with the Grimoire." "Grimoire?" I asked, intrigued. This Grimoire seemed to be at the center of all the odd occurrences.

“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?”