Gravestone Stories Mga Nobela at Kwento

Ophelia laughed amused at her vague response. "Sounds horrible." She smiled, shaking her head. "I wouldn't say that he's just and I'm just you know it's hard to explain." Ophelia chuckled. "It will get better." Lilith sighed seeing they arrived at their destination. "Everyone keeps saying that." She wondered when their words were was going to come true. "We're here." Lilith looked around it was the graveyard for the fallen. The gravestones were made out of ice that couldn't melt, names were engraved on them.

“Vincent! Don’t give in!” His roar thundered through the chamber. “I won’t! I swear it!” The ghost’s voice slid into the atmosphere, sharp as a knife yet smooth as silk. “Swear all you want, fox. The gravestone tells no lies. One name carved in it means one silence sealed. And when it's done, the bride will vanish forever.” The dark hole beneath the gravestones widened further, sucking in all the air and pulling the chains even more. The fire hissed as if it were alive.

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.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR The Flesh-and-Blood Ghost “You have to understand what this land means to my family,” she started. “I grew up hearing stories from my grandmother about how our ancestors were buried here, people who had been forced to come to this country in chains and treated like beasts of burden. Then, when they died, either from mistreatment or being worked to death or in some cases taking their own lives to try and find freedom in the afterlife, they were thrown in unmarked graves in a slave cemetery that no one cared for. As if to add insult to injury, when the city began to expand, they built right on top of the graves. They didn’t bother moving the bodies. Why would they? They did

Birdy nodded in agreement, "It is time for the ghost stories to begin and be spread. Stories of a pack of wolves that live nowhere but everywhere, who rescue the weak, broken, and unchampioned, taking those they rescue away with them and disappearing with no clues to who they are or where they came from." ​Three gods and one vampire nodded in agreement. "Let the fun begin. Go lay the groundwork to make the stories true when our wolves awake," Hyperion ordered. ​Cronos snickered, "This is going to be so much fun. I am glad Gaia is letting me loose to help lend credence to the stories." ​"What good are the stories without those needed to make them come true?" Bob wondered out loud.

The smell of rotting flesh seem to seep out of the coffin. In the end, we had to have a closed burial for him. ++++++++++ Death offers us so many tnrills and chills. And in most cases, it's not even personal experiences that drive us a bit off the edge when we hear those stories. But again, I would like to remind you that some of these stories may or not be real, but it is the absolute truth for those who shared those tales. So once again, I bid you farewell from The Supernatural Spa, dear reader. This has been your Storyteller, The Diwata, saying goodnight and we hope to see you soon. Fare thee well...

I couldn't even muster up the energy for my usual midnight half-bath ritual. Waiting for sleep to come, I couldn't help but drift back to a memory from my childhood when my deceased grandmother had told me an odd but interesting story. "The Stones were once the wealthiest family in Flintstone City. At one point, our land stretched as far as the eye could see, Elizabeth. But the Phoenix family managed to take it all away from us. They tricked your grandfather, and now all we have left is this house." These were my grandmother's exact words.

"Anyone can have a once upon a time or a happily ever after, but it's the journey between that makes the story worth telling." -Chris Coffer- *** It was a quiet and sunny Sunday afternoon, In the vast graveyard lane, Ana was dressed in a soft black gown with two bouquets of red roses in her hand. She slowly walked over to her parent’s graves and gently placed the bouquet on top of the tomb. When Grigory was murdered he was buried right beside his wife whom he loved so much so the two of them could keep each other company even in death. She found it quite touching and to this day, Ana still regretted the fact she could not be there during his burial, which was why every few months she would c

CHAPTER NINETEEN 1 THE FOLLOWING DAY The Rock River Guardian carried a story about the newest plague pit found near town, and how the grisly remains of twenty-four hapless souls had been pulled from the mass grave so far. There was no mention of Henry Putnam’s inexplicable rebirth last night, of course, just a short paragraph regarding the family’s tragic carbon monoxide deaths.

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.”