Gravestone Stories Novels & Stories

Luckily, here I am. I took one of the candles and lit it, but it was soon blown off by the wind. Before dropping my words and chatting with the gravestone, I gave a bitter smile. "I hope you're still listening to my stories, Azazel." I spoke while looking at the tombstone, his tombstone. "I'll be the one telling you stories now since you didn't get to continue telling your stories to me." It's been hours... hours of talking to the gravestone as if he's there.

Emmet trailed off, not sure what to say to Jasper's summation of one of the primary symbols of poverty for the generation of his grandparents and parents. He had never existed during a time when graveyard burials were the norm. Humans were mostly made of water. They had existed encased in water before they were born, and to the water they would return again after they died. It felt poetic and poignant when he first heard the line, but as he grew up, it felt ugly and he felt that he needed to distance himself from it and others from it. Stories to justify the supposedly correct way to have a burial must exist everywhere. "How did Gryaz bury their dead?" Emmet inquired, repositioning his body

Maybe. A smile crept up my lips, uninvited. I could still hear his arrogant voice declaring himself nature’s gift to wolves. “What’s so funny?” Grandma Jade snapped. “The stars too fanny for you?” “Tch.” I turned to her, voice sharper than I meant. “Will you tell us anything about the graves being emptied?” “Bodies disappearing?” she echoed, tone shifting as she gently patted a young wolf’s head. “There’s been an uprising issue in Nightbane and the neighboring towns,” Antony explained. “Graves dug up. Mostly human corpses taken.”

Would she find her happily ever after somewhere in the bosom of Selene the moon goddess? My meditation was interrupted by the arrival of the black hearse. I watched pallbearers carry the casket from the hearse to the burial site, where the body of whoever this hole was bored for would rest. I walked deeper into the graveyard. Memories flooded my brain as I did so. I stopped at the innermost part of the graveyard, I noticed that most of the headstones were damaged and faded with the passage of time. I can tell that the graveyard was more than 150 years old by some of the legible inscriptions. There’s an inscription of a man who died in 1861. He probably lived in an era where there was no tele

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.

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?

“There’ve been whispers. Nothing solid. Just… rumors. There was one I’d heard about a grave.” My brow arched. “A grave?” “Yes. An empty one. They said two corpses lay on either side, drained dry. Whoever stumbled on it swore it was linked to Dracula himself.” I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Dracula? Really? That’s the story floating around? Most of those tales are campfire trash meant to spook kids.” Her frown deepened, though a flicker of curiosity lingered in her gaze. “Maybe. I’ve never seen a vampire myself. Tell me the truth are they trying to spark another war?”

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.

“Interesting,” Calisté stared up at Ghost. “I don’t think I’ve heard this story before.” “I never bothered to tell you,” Ghost smiled. “But I think I can now. I found Draymond’s body in a cave, abandoned, mud stained and stinking. Apparently, he had been dead for days. When I found him, he was already breeding maggots from his body but nothing is too hard for Calisté I suppose.” Ghost smiled at Calisté and she frowned and turned away looking at Jimin who seemed to be disappointed in her just hearing the beginning of the story.

“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.