Kill Grave Novels & Stories

In my previous life, when I was curled up in the hospital in the late stages of stomach cancer, racked with pain, did she kneel before the doctors like this, crying and begging them to use the best medicine? No, she didn't. Instead, she only wept and told me, "Honey, the money is all in fixed-term deposits. We can't withdraw it, so just try to endure." I slowly knelt down, meeting her frantic, pleading eyes at eye level. Then, in a voice so soft only the two of us could hear, I said emphatically, "Myra, if Dwight's life matters, then what about mine? Is my life worth nothing?" Myra stopped crying and pleading abruptly. She had understood the deeper meaning in my words and finally realized th

They couldn't have been more than fifteen years of age and were both intelligent looking. "We are the new fates, brothers Jackson and Nowell and you two are Rai, the Grim Reaper and Sebastian, a Death & Life soul cultivator, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Jackson stated and presented his open hand to us as he stepped closer. Rai shook it first and said we needed to clean up the mess. "We will deal with it, you both enjoy your newly engaged selves," Jackson grinned. We both thanked them profusely and stood back as they waved their hands over the corpses and the bodies and blood all vanished.

“Are you certain?” “I have his grave if you want to see it.” I stand up abruptly. “Show me.” --- The grave is at the edge of the village, marked by stones and covered in wildflowers. A simple cross carved with his name: Kael Vargasin. I kneel in the dirt, pressing my hands against the stones. My father. The man I never really knew. The one who spent years as a captive, who died alone without ever getting to know me. The warmth in my chest surges, breaks, and floods through me. I press my hands to the grave and let it all pour out. The stones shimmer, the flowers brighten, and the earth seems to shudder.

All Regar had to do was bless the body before burying it in the cold cemetery ground, Karen's mature suitor dug the grave. Only Viktor and Karen attended Regal's short funeral service with Gravedigger Joset Lohreich alongside him. The menacing clouds finally let their rain fall, as if Mortis himself mourned the death of his servant even though no other inhabitant of the town did so publicly. After all, Brechtal had been a black-hearted man, and Viktor was the first to admit it.

The lifeless corpses strewn about, evidence of the horrors that had unfolded within those grim walls. My ears resounded with the haunting echoes of Killian's sadistic laughter, forever etching itself into the depths of my soul. The sound of him coldly pulling the trigger, taking lives without a shred of remorse or empathy. Each life lost, a painful reminder of the inescapable darkness that encased me.

"He deserves to die. Now it's up to you what kind of death you choose for him." I swallowed a sudden knot in my throat. "Can a vampire bleed out?" Nicor shook his head. "Cuts on vampire skin heal too quickly…" "Not if we make the cuts using the knife dipped in silver and ash from the sacred trees," Calvel said, a dark smirk curving his lips. I nodded. "Then I want him to be drained of blood and decapitated afterward." Calvel laughed. "Nala, I think I like you even more." His words sent an uncomfortably pleasant shiver through me, causing my lips to twist in a nervous smile-like grimace.

Twenty minutes later, I’m done and turning my paper in to Professor Vassily’s desk. “Already?” He takes the paper from me. “Yeah. I love the book.” He chuckles. “You take after your father, I guess.” I stare at him. Professor Vassily rubs his temple. “I read your file. I saw that he was a professor. I’m sorry for your loss.” The suffocating feeling I’m always working so hard to keep at bay presses down on my chest. I’m right back there, standing in the living room with the phone pressed to my ear, hearing those awful words: “terrible accident”... “passed away”...

[ZEKE] Jake Myers — 26 June 1995– 18 April 2024 Here lies a man who called this place home. That’s what the grave reads. Beside me, Camilla goes completely still. My own hands curl into fists. I force myself to look at her, watching as her lips tremble. She’s struggling to react. Vance waits with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixated on the tombstone. He watches it like he sees something deeper—the man himself, probably.

A survivor too young to understand what she’d already lost. She slipped the card in behind the frame. Closed the drawer. She didn’t need reminders anymore. She was done flinching. She opened her laptop again and pulled up the message thread between Charles Vale and Elena Marsh the one that called for her death in language so polite it could pass as corporate policy. She stared at that final line. “Quinn dies in silence. The boy cannot know.” Her reflection shone faintly in the screen. And for the first time, she believed what Cassian had tried to say in his own broken way:

Pulling the trigger, his body seemed to pause for the smallest moment before plunging to the ground. Thomas's gun went off, killing the other man with a gun. Gray Beard wasn't out in the open like the others, and I couldn't see him. He was the only one I wanted to kill. "Do you smell that?" Thomas whispered. Inhaling, I instantly smelled decay and rot. "Yeah. That's what that guy was talking about. There must be a group of biters coming." Assessing our surroundings, I couldn't see any of the dead yet. The only movement was the man with an arrow in his belly. He was trying to stand with the help of his friend.