Graveyard Keeper Stories Novels & Stories

he said quietly, once, like he was talking to the tower. The spiral was a story told in grit and echo. The Keeper had kept his house, ropes coiled, paint flaking in respectable sheets, a broom leaned precisely against a wall that had never been clean enough. Halfway up, a small shelf where men set offerings when they are too proud to say they pray: a scrap of ribbon, a coin with a hole drilled, a stone shaped like a heart that had no interest in being one. At the service level, we found him.

“When you knocked on the door, I expected you to be Kyra. I expected a gun to be pointed at my chest. I did not expect you and Corina’s head.” “You are really trying to tell me that everyone is dead?” “Come with me.” He rises from his seat and heads to the door. “Let me show you something.” I follow him from his office out through another door that led to a garden. “You can’t smell it because they are buried.” He points to hundreds of plots of heaped dirt. A single rock on top of each pile. His own little graveyard. “Why did you let this happen?” I stare at him in shock.

Another carried a carpenter's tool belt. A grey-haired woman adjusted the glasses hanging from her neck. None of them carried weapons. But every one of them wore the same small silver compass pinned discreetly beneath their collars. Grace stared in disbelief. "I thought you were the last Keeper." Michael smiled. "I am." He looked proudly at those gathering around them. "But they..." "...are the first of what comes next." As the newly revealed Keepers formed a protective circle around the Chamber of Records, the unknown voice echoed through the maze once more.

"Our music may unlock the deepest secrets within these stories." Draken, the guardian protector, scanned the horizon. "As guardians, our duty is to safeguard the realms. These stories hold the answers we need." Lysandra, her determination unwavering, said, "We must follow these tales wherever they lead. Our destiny awaits." As the guardians delved deeper into the Whispering Grove, the cryptic tales whispered of forgotten realms, powerful artifacts, and ancient alliances. The path ahead was fraught with mysteries, but they were now armed with the knowledge that could hold the key to reuniting the realms and fulfilling their ultimate destiny.

As I approached my Mom’s grave, I saw the figure once again, slipping away into the distance. “Not this time,” I muttered under my breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I began to chase. But once again, the figure vanished without a trace. Determined, I sought out the grave keeper, hoping to get some information about the mysterious visitor. But he remained silent, refusing to divulge any details, saying it was confidential. I wondered what would be so confidential to me about my mother’s own grave. Frustrated, I executed a plan to distract the grave keeper, long enough to sneak a peek at his records. As he busied himself with some paperwork, I slipped into his office and began rifling th

It was an apartment block the size of `half a skyscraper, colored in grey, white, and cream with a big sign hanging off one of the buildings that had the name of the apartment on it, and at the entrance stood 4 security guards. “Good day, Dr. de Villiers, it’s great to see you…hope the trip was great?” asked one of the security guards with a warm smile. After pressing some things on his phone, the gate opened and the Uber driver drove in and was told where to stop, Etienne had a glance at Andre due to the formalities he had just witnessed. “Go this way, the elevator is on the right,” said André as the two dragged their bags on. “André, this place looks like a business park than an apartment”

"Just like my mom was. The Keepers are a group of women whose job is to guard powerful old things, to keep them safe from bad people. The job gets passed down from mothers to daughters. My mom's name was Lyra and she told me your grandmother was the one who taught her everything. She said your grandma was the smartest and strongest Keeper." He took a shaky step closer, needing her to believe him. "My mom figured out that some of the Keepers had turned bad. They didn't want to protect the powerful things anymore; they wanted to use them. So she came to your grandmother for help. They knew they had to hide the journal. It was the most dangerous thing of all. It's not just a book, it's like a k

The message contained only one attachment. A scanned newspaper. Dated twenty-seven years earlier. The headline read: LOCAL PHILANTHROPIST DIES DURING PRIVATE CEREMONY Below the headline... A grainy photograph showed mourners gathered around a coffin. The Keeper stared at it. His face turned white. "No..." Lucien looked at him. "You know him." The Keeper nodded slowly. "The man in the coffin." "Who is he?" The Keeper swallowed. "That's the Founder." Alexander frowned. "But..."

Kazan noticed. "You know what it is." "No." "Bullshit." "I know stories." "Same difference." Viktor closed the book. "Not this time." He walked several steps away. Then stopped. "My mother used to tell us old wolf stories." Kazan's expression hardened. "Our grandmother?" "Yes." "I barely remember her." "You were young." Viktor looked toward me. "She believed there were things older than the realms." "The Keeper is older than the realms." "No." He shook his head. "The Keeper belongs to creation."

I did not look back, so I did not see Julian Sterling standing lost and hollow behind a pine tree not far away. He watched my departing back, then looked at the nameless stone. A strange, sharp pain rose in his chest. He stopped the cemetery keeper nearby, his voice dry. "Excuse me... who is buried under this nameless stone?" The keeper rolled his eyes impatiently and opened an old burial register. "You people come to sweep graves and don't even know whose grave it is? It's written right here." He pointed to the line and read aloud. "This grave was set up three years ago by Ms. Caroline Eckhart herself. It belongs to her son, who died before he could live.