Gravestone Stories Novels & Stories

"Because you were about to lock it in. Marry her. Make it permanent. I waited. I gave you time to see it yourself. You used every second to build your clean little life on top of his body and I just kept watching you do it." "If he's really gone," Jose started, "then why dig all this up now, why make me—" "He's not gone." Rainer's voice cracked on the last word like something breaking under too much weight. He looked away. Looked back. "I dug the grave last week. It's empty, Jose. He's been hiding. He's scared. And he hates us both for letting it get that far. For letting her get that close to finishing it."

At a party hosted at our house, my husband sang a soul-stirring rendition of “Missing You Tonight". He poured his heart into it, his eyes misty and his voice raspy with emotion. I secretly recorded a video and posted it online. To my surprise, the video blew up. Hundreds of thousands of likes poured in, with the comment section overflowing with sympathy. Laughing, I handed my phone to my husband. “Jacob, you went viral.” The top-voted comment read: [Girl, I’m not one to stir up drama, but your husband looks like he’s nursing a broken heart.] I thought he’d just laugh it off with a half-hearted smile. Instead, he took the phone and looked me straight in the eye with dead seriousness. “Yo

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.

They had to see us with their own eyes. With the gravesite nearly unearthed, the groundskeeper stumbled out. “Oh, my Moon Goddess! I laid those she-wolves to rest. It’s bad enough that no werewolf held a funeral for them now that they are gone. Why are you digging up their grave?” Dumbstruck, Blake and Kaden paused. “Lucia, I was wrong! It’s all my fault. Come back! I regret everything!” Blake dropped to his knees and struck his palm across his face repeatedly.

To find answers, I had to dig deep. At first, my search was vague. I checked jet words. Names. Nothing specific. I wasn't even sure what I was looking for, just that there was something and that I had to find it. There were no results for an heiress to the Gravestone empire but the more I dug, the more I uncovered. Somehow, inevitably, my search led me there. To an old article. I leaned over my laptop, reading keenly. The headline reported the disappearance of the Gravestones ' little daughter. My breath caught and I clicked.

Once we reached the cemetery, he paused for a second, “I haven’t been here in years.” “We don’t have to, -“ I started, but Zev stopped me. “We do.” I followed Zev around the different gravestones. There were a lot of them. How many of these people had been killed by hunters? “Some packs burn their dead. Especially smaller packs that don’t have the space. Maintaining a grave costs money and time, or it will overgrow and, -“ he said, turning to face me. “Sorry, I’m nervous, so I’m spouting facts. But Luna Grace is the one who keeps my mother’s grave in order.”

“I look at it this way. A few things you might be able to write off as coincidence, bad luck, or someone making up a tale. But there are just so many stories collected in this one place that you have to pay attention. I mean, it seems like something’s going on.” Jon kept his mouth shut. His recent brush with the bizarre had tossed all his old objections out the window. But—he couldn’t help yanking out that but—one of the reasons there were so many stories was that it was one of the first areas inhabited by colonists. The cemetery had some of the oldest graves in New York State. Thus it had more time to collect weird stories than in other places. As for the larger number of car fatalities, th

Dominic’s POV It’s past midnight in the old Voss family cemetery, a place that smells of damp stone and old promises. The headstones lean like tired sentinels, watching as I commit another crime for the sake of a ghost. The grave I came for sits apart from the others, marked by a simple granite plaque: Elia Beloved daughter, cherished friend. A lie carved in stone. The same grave that, according to every official record, holds her remains. The same grave Stanley once ordered sealed and forgotten. The same grave he swore she wasn’t dead in.

"Been here long?" "Thirty years," he grunted, unlocking the gate with a key from his belt. The chain rattled as it swung open. "Seen all sorts come through—grievers, historians, even ghost hunters. You take your time; no rush." I smiled faintly, stepping through. "Appreciate it." The gate clanged shut behind me, and I was in, the cemetery unfolding like a forgotten storybook. The paths were gravel-strewn, crunching underfoot, lined with tombs and markers etched with names long faded. The air carried a musty scent, earth mixed with stone, and the quiet was profound, broken only by distant birdsong. Shay's tomb was deeper in, under that massive willow, its branches swaying gently like a natura

"Well that's not creepy" She tried looking for a way out of the cemetery but couldn't find one. How could a Cemetery not have a gate she wondered. So how did she get here? All these questions with no answers, she decided to kill time by moving around from grave to grave reading the names of people who died and mocking those who didn't live a long life. "How could he die so early, I wondered if it was his crazy ex who did that to him" she laughed after coming across a 21-year-old's grave.