Kill Grave Novels & Stories

She felt her heart sink once the boy pointed at his grave, two women standing next to it. Akira and Gian approached and read the writing on the marble. Keith Von R. Cruz, our beloved little angel. “So young,” Akira began, and the women smiled sadly. “I’m sorry.” “We’re still trying to wrap our head around it. It’s only been a year,” One of them replied. “Our Keith already had liver complications ever since he was a baby. He was gone before his body could wait for a match in the transplant list.” “We’re so sorry to hear that,” Gian answered.

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

I had four days left before the poison consumed my organs entirely. All I wanted was to spend whatever time I had left with the woman I loved, but I could not reach her. The next day, I learned that Enzo Marchetti, the first love she had never forgotten, had returned from overseas. "Let's get divorced. The love of my life is back." I clutched my chest as a searing pain tore through it. "I'm at the family hospital. I've been poisoned. The doctors won't let me leave.” Her voice turned sharp and cruel. "I don't care if you're poisoned or dying. Even if you drop dead the next second, you need to come back and sign the papers." The last trace of warmth inside me went cold. I answered calmly,

she says. "We wait." I kneel one more time at the grave. I press my right hand flat against the marker where Lorenzo's name is carved, and I leave it there for three heartbeats. The watch stays on the stone. The gold catches the last light, and I think of my brother at twenty-four, the same age I was when our uncle sent me to Buenos Aires, laughing at something I said across the dining room table the night before he left for Palermo. I think of the call I got from Salvatore two years ago, the morning voice on the line telling me my brother was dead and the family needed me to come home. I think of the oath I swore at this grave with blood on the stone and a priest as witness, and I think of

ODETTE I placed a daisy on Slash's grave and used the back of my hand to dry the wet which had collected beneath my eyes. Jericho had buried him at home in the garden. A massive rock served as a headstone with Slash's name engraved. Each day without Slash felt incomplete. When he died, he left a gaping hole in our hearts. I knew Jericho took it badly. He would wake up in the mornings, forgetting Slash was no longer around, and call out for him. Sometimes I would catch him retrieving Slash's leash to take him out for a walk only to realize he could no longer do that. The look of anguish which hijacked his face each time made the whole situation so much worse. I hated seeing Jericho in so much

Ken made his way back to the cottage, grabbed Nicky by the leg and pulling her towards the dug grave. The reluctant corpse made it hard for him, getting stuck at different positions. She seemed heavier than usual and had gone darker, her injuries had gone black and stunk of dried blood. Ken gave a sigh and rolled her into the grave, tears formed in his eyes as he scattered the soil over her. He made the sign of the crucifix and pinned the shovel on the grave.

Gray who spoke. “Well, I actually thought the same code name as the killer didn't give us one himself,” confessed Mr. Anderson. “Of course, great minds think alike,” said Mr. Gray proudly, and everyone else in the room felt a little uncomfortable seeing Mr. Gray's sudden boasting. “Ok …... and finally, the killer somehow transfers the dead body to the victim’s house in the victim’s funeral outfit. He even left the victims in their own room in a position as if they were simply sleeping. And even after doing all these no one ever saw the culprit. There's not a single witness.”

"You are an insult to his grave." ​The Echo-Alpha tilted its head, the movement jerky and unnatural. "Graves are just pockets of nutrients we haven't reclaimed yet, Killian Nightshade. You speak of insults while standing in a room built to lobotomize the very ground that feeds you. Look down. Look at the prototype."

His conscience wouldn’t let him. “Yes, I knew her.” He let himself be carried away by his emotion. “We talked for only a few minutes before she was killed.” He noticed Lawrence’s eyes widened at his response. “Before she was killed?” he mouthed in disbelief, taking a moment to draw meaning from that phrase. And just then, Kevin realized he had made a mistake—a costly one at that. “How exactly did she die?” came the inevitable question. The question cut him to the quick, and for a long second, he was awfully quiet. Kevin struggled to collect his wits. “She was disembowelled by T-Murek,” he finally answered, hesitantly.

She had the features that I wanted to see with my mate, but in the wrong position considering that the two of us were theoretically supposed to be against one another. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I need to weigh a few options. We might head to the cemetery as well. Therefore, keep yourself ready for all the options that will come.” I said, and Elena frowned. I knew that she was trying to understand what was going on. But the pictures that she showed me told me that she was right. The grave was not dug out by a normal wolf. These were Lycan claws. And if it were Killian’s grave, then we were in deep trouble.