Gravestone Stories Novels & Stories

I recounted the times we sat together, sharing stories of our lives, laughing until our stomachs hurt, and shedding tears of both joy and sorrow. "Remember that time, Grandma, when we sat on the porch swing, sipping our cups of tea and sharing secrets? I can still feel the warmth of that moment, the comfort of your presence. It's moments like those that I cherish the most, and I wish I could relive them once more." My voice softened, filled with a bittersweet tenderness. "It may feel a bit awkward standing here and talking to a gravestone, but deep down, I know that you're listening.."

Each volume of Strange short stories will have 3 medium-sized stories and about 10 short stories. To make it easier to understand and more transparent, this chapter will be like a summary for this and the following volumes. Vol.2: medium stories: The antics of Bia's crew ( ABC) Bia comments on a crew of children of criminals, in an invisible ship. In this world full of magic, demonic beasts and restrictions, they live on the run, abandoned by their parents. Not being accepted anywhere in the world they have to survive on small illegal jobs and from time to time to plunder.

Too much reading, which was good, but humiliating if you couldn't tell your son whether bluebloods had been canceled or capernaum destroyed, or what, in biology, oogonia stood for. For that brief moment after seeing the wierd later on Adulf Cains grave, mrs Damaris could not understand why the therapist looked at the letters personally. All she understood was that who ever had dropped that letter knew the kid personally, somewhat more personally than his own mother if you asked dr montoya. There was also a coin on the hedge stone. "Its ment to pay respect. He's likened for a soldier, the coin is ment to pay honor. " They both turned.

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.

It had been a decade since we were married. I led a group of men to excavate Jackie's first love's grave. Everyone around us praised him for being a loyal man. He never forgot his first love though she'd already died ten years ago. He'd go to the cemetery and celebrate her birthday all by himself every year. Yvonne's name was always at the top of his contact list. I was not angry at all. Instead, I was glad I married someone so loyal.

Luckily, I somehow got bored one day and remembered about this, so I decided to download Wattpad again and recover my old account 🤣 If there's something you wanna say or like stuff, critique or somethin' like that, I would be very glad to read and accept all of that! ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ Story Update: The story will be updated randomly but if you're following me, I'll make sure to always post announcements about new chapters/revisions/updates etc. (I'm trying my best to write as much as I could if I ain't busy.) I already have a planned plot to Stonegrim but putting all the pieces together will really take some time to finish, but no worries, I always spend my free time working on this.

Freya steps down, purchasing a bundle of white winter-blooms from an old wolf-creature tending the iron gates, and hands them to me. "Why are we at the burial grounds?" I ask, my heart beginning to race again as a deep, instinctual panic settles in my gut. "Is this about my grandmother?" Freya doesn't answer. She simply leads me down a quiet, snow-drifted path toward the back row of the warrior monuments—where the fallen soldiers of the Greystone Pack and Whitlock Moonfang Dominion are laid to rest. She stops before a freshly carved slab of dark granite. I step forward, my eyes scanning the runes etched into the stone.

Cold wind howls through the trees, reminding me that there is nothing around, of the endless chasm that stretches out before me. I place my sword back in its scabbard and turn back to the well-trodden path that leads to the manor. The earth turns to cobblestone, and I find myself turning to my side, where a part of the forest is cleared out. Tombstones stand there, more than forty. A personal graveyard for the once revered warrior dynasty of Greten. I used to think visiting was hard in the start, when others were standing next to me, shedding silent tears for the martyrs.

The graveyard was up on the hill. As soon as they arrived, Cassian first noticed six black coffins strewn haphazardly across the hillside. Then, he saw several freshly dug pits, along with a few funeral wreaths, and some other things scattered everywhere. The whole place was a mess. "Mr. Gulley, did all the villagers who died get buried here?" Cassian asked. "Yeah," Darren replied. Cassian circled the coffins and the pits, pacing back and forth as he tried to find even the faintest trace of a clue. After half an hour, he still hadn't found anything of value.

“So I found out that this very dove on the pendant symbolises nothing but death. The letter G engraved on it is nothing but GRAVE.” I said the word 'grave' slowly for it to sink in deep. Adrian burst out laughing, like I’d been telling him a joke this whole time. “You can't be serious right now. We have two exact same necklaces here. I found one in my pack and you said you picked yours from somewhere. So how does the story link?” I hissed. “You don't want to be doomed, Adrian. I studied a five year course on history plus the knowledge I gained from my father. You can't doubt that Adrian.”