Grave Story Novels & Stories

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.

Belvina nodded in return. "That's why I need your help. I need you to help me to come up with some excuse or valid reason that I could tell Mom so I can go to Japan..." Cherish is looking and feeling desperate now. Their conversation stops in a halt when one of their co-worker, Gracie suddenly approaches them while carrying a medium-sized drop box. "Everyone, don't forget to put your name, address and contact details on your raffle tickets and put them at the drop box, okay?" Gracie reminded all of them.

“Have you forgotten what Miss Agatha taught us? She said a graveyard is the most silent place in the entire world.” “Oh. I get it now.” Smiling at my babies, I hurried after Dashiell. The winding path took us through rows of weathered headstones. Each one told a story of love, loss, and remembrance. I noticed the varying sizes and shapes, some grand and ornate, others simple and humble. The names, dates, and epitaphs blurred together as we passed by, but one grave stood out in my mind—the one we were approaching. Willow asked more questions as we advanced towards the place Mama Kaka was, and I explained some of them. They were eager to know more about the place and I answered to the best of

The night tastes like blood. It stains the air, thick and metallic, clinging to my tongue no matter how many times I swallow. Bodies lie everywhere: wolves, vampires, and witches, all broken, torn, and twisted at angles no living thing should bend. This isn’t a battlefield anymore. It’s a graveyard. I move from person to person, checking pulses, forcing my hands to stay steady even though they won’t stop shaking. My dress or what’s left of it, is stiff with blood and dirt.

With a frustrated sigh, Nat headed to the bathroom for a clean towel and headed back to the mirror to wipe away the mist, but just before she could wipe the last smudge off, she saw it… An image slowly forming on the mirror’s wet surface. A grinning skull. FUCK, IT WAS A FREAKING GRINNING SKULL! Natalie gasped, throwing the towel at the image as she stumbled back in fear. The skull’s image was fleeting, vanishing almost as quickly as it had appeared, and leaving Natalie scared as she stared at the now-clear mirror, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest. “What the fuck was that?” She whispered to herself, a shiver running down her spine.

Some gunned rushed to the hallway down from where she was. "Stop right there" a man screamed. The zombie Grace took to her heels. She was trailed by gunfire. Eight hours earlier. Grace and Raymond strolled hand in hand in the cemetery. Grace was carrying some flowers. They stopped at a headstone which read 'Emily Brunt, 1973-2009' Grace put down the flower. She knelt beside it. He looked at Raymond's face above. Her face was clouded with tears. Raymond massaged her on the shoulder.

“What the . . .” Scorched grass crunched from behind me, making me jump. Dimitri emerged in the field of bodies, studying me with a scrutinizing gaze. He looked worse than the vampires we had just fought. The wound on his shoulder and calf were still there from when I first watched him fight with the others. His arm was almost completely ripped off, just barely hanging on by a thread as he cradled it to his chest. Blood oozed from a white shirt he had on, darkening the fabric to an almost black color. His face was still distorted as long canines hung from his sneering mouth. “What did you do to them?”

I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, but I saw no one. As I continued to explore the graveyard, I came across a particularly old and decrepit gravestone. The inscription on it read "Here lies a witch, feared and revered in life, but now forgotten in death, but do you think I'm dead?". I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine. The graveyard was definitely giving off a creepy vibe, but it was also fascinating. I couldn't help but wonder about the stories of the witches buried here. Who were they? What powers did they possess? And why were they feared and revered in life, but now forgotten in death?

“Isabel Norret.” Without stopping to think, I stretched my hand out above the grave. True, a woman had died there, and it was a bad death, in hate and agony. That was a haunted place. That was how graveyards could awaken—when the pain of those who lay in the consecrated soil became too much for the ground to bear. And if the thrall who had consecrated that land cared more about his belly than his debt, everything would happen even faster. And the horror would start. Well, it would be a horror for humans. I didn’t really care.

Their words and irrevocable slurs, were nonexistent to him, just as the passing shadow of the morning sun. Although I did see his knuckles bleed, his shirt stained red with the blood of Stewart, James Stewart. He had either insulted his mother, call him names, or played too roughly with him, the rumors had so many plots to the play, but all versions were right at the verse of James getting cornered, and beaten half dead. As he brooded over James' unconscious body, those admirably meek gray eyes turned heavy and remorseless, filled with hate than anger, baked in fear, a carefully masked fear nobody noticed, or nobody cared to give a second look, but it stood out, glimmering like a bleeding so