Hellen Gravely Novels & Stories

They found things even my betas didn't and I am forever grateful for your dedication and unbelievable eagle eyes! To my dear friend and author, Paige Weaver - I look forward to many more lunches, brainstorming over Mexican food as we plot out demise and destruction in future books. Your friendship means the world to me and I thank you for your insight on always knowing which of my characters should become irrevocably evil. ;) To all the ladies in my Graveyard Watchman Reader Group - your support, comments and constant pimping have been beyond incredible and I thank and appreciate each of you so very much!

Pier. I stare at Helia. Speechless. He’s wearing that look again. The one I hate. Calm, detached, smug. “She’s Miss Hills.” He repeats. “She’s related to the Grevelstokes. Jon. Eveliina.” I know the Grevekstokes damn it. And now everything comes rushing back. The Hills’ daughter. The one accused of killing Helia’s father. Her father. I remember reading about it in the news. The girl who supposedly committed suicide.

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

"Hey Adrian! You know me, I'm Maddy, and I've always wanted to meet you. Madelyn Gregory, Mad Greg for shorts to only her cheesy wannabes and haters, and that apparently was about seventy to eighty percent of Ridgewood High girls. Madelyn was one of the three Gorgon's of Ridgewood high (with Devon as number two) a look from either of the three, could petrify the heart of anybody. Her nastiness, and hoedom, made her a beacon of hate amongst the girls. Cheesy bunch! "Don't you have makeups to be applying, or blowjobs to sell somewhere?"

We made a stop for flowers and then Claudia dropped me off at the cemetery gate, parking outside. "I'd wait here for you. Say hi to him or her" She said, patting my thigh. "I will" The minute my legs touched the ground, my mood plummeted. Every step closer to that grave, made my heart ache badly. I didn't deserve to be called a mother because I was irresponsible but then I had learnt my lesson - the hard way though. "Hi baby. It's mama again" I smiled down at the tombstone, dropping my flower on it gently.

--- The narrow tunnel beneath the hospital was damp and silent. The walls were decades old. Every few meters, faded Mercy symbols remained painted on the concrete. Dr. Grant looked around uneasily. "This place hasn't been used in years." Elena's flashlight swept across the walls. Then... She stopped. "What is it?" Adrian asked. She pointed toward several faded names carved into the concrete. Richard Hart. Damian Blackwell. Elizabeth Blackwell. Samuel Vale. Beneath them... Someone had carved another sentence. We will save lives.

His tone made it clear there was no room for argument when he ordered, "Bring her here." There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then, the reply came. "Mr. Flint, Willow was in a car accident five days ago. She died at the scene. Her body is in the morgue, basement level one, of the hospital you're in right now."

He knew that, without a phone or a lawyer, Elara had pulled the final trigger. He let out a howl that was easily seen as lonely and broken. Even the human guards in the hallway stopped their pacing, their hair standing on one end. It wasn't a howl of an Alpha. It was the pain of a man realizing he was standing in a grave he’d spent eight years digging.

Stella approached the tombstone where Hellen's name was indicated. “Hellen Drechsler.” Stella read the grandmother's full name in a somber tone. Stella kneels in front of Hellen's tombstone. “Grandma? Is it true that you were in there? Is it true that the Lord Jesus has called you?” Stella fumbled for Hellen Drechsler's writing with both hands. She burst into tears. Seeing Stella's condition, it naturally thrilled William's heart. However, he deliberately let Stella express her sad feelings.

Just for her. Snow was falling gently, silently, as if the world around me had paused. My boots sank into the soft snow as I crossed the stone field. The little cemetery behind the mansion was an old secret, known only to me and a few trusted souls—none of whom were still alive. I knelt before the most well-tended grave. “Helena Morripin.” Reading her name carved into the stone was still one of the most bitter and painful things I could endure. I took a deep breath, my eyes burned, but I refused to let the tears fall.