One Foot In The Grave Book Novels & Stories

“Isabel Norret.” Without stopping to think, I stretched my hand out above the grave. True, a woman had died there, and it was a bad death, in hate and agony. That was a haunted place. That was how graveyards could awaken—when the pain of those who lay in the consecrated soil became too much for the ground to bear. And if the thrall who had consecrated that land cared more about his belly than his debt, everything would happen even faster. And the horror would start. Well, it would be a horror for humans. I didn’t really care.

The footsteps above had faded, the hushed voices were gone and the silence had returned. Very good. It was time now. They left me in the coffin because they were confident. They were confident that I’d stay buried. The thought I would break. I exhaled air slowly through my nose. “They don’t know Grave.” My fingers traced the inside again. This time, it was slow, steady and deliberate. If I wanted to escape this shit hole, I knew I needed to use the dead part of my brain. The insides was cheap rough wood. It wasn’t smoothened. It wasn’t a sealed airtight one either and that explained the small amount of air that was filtering in.

Locked there—two broken pieces of the same ruined family. And then, before I could say anything else, Evelyne turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall. Leaving me standing there. Alone. Again. ---- The graveyard is suffocating in its stillness. The air is thick with the scent of decay, the chill creeping under my skin as I push the gates open. The rusted metal groans in protest, but I hardly notice, too lost in my own thoughts. Each step deeper into the graveyard feels like I’m being drawn into the past—into something that doesn’t belong to me, something that never should’ve been.

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.

Jose lay awake staring at the ceiling. He slipped out of bed and checked his phone in the bathroom. One message from an unknown number. A photo of Elias's grave at night, dirt freshly turned. Then another, right behind it. Camille's old number. I did what you were too weak to do. Jose's stomach dropped through the floor. He wanted to throw the phone. He wanted to crawl back into bed and fuck Camille again until his brain went quiet. He wanted to drive to the cemetery right now and dig until he knew for certain.

With the moist soil offering me some solace, I closed my eyes. It was at that moment that I felt myself returning to life in its rawest essence. As my consciousness faded during my last breath, I sensed nothing but peace and relief. ‘I’m coming for you, Lucia. Are you still waiting for me?’ Yet, she was not there. My soul rose from my physical body, only to find emptiness all around. Lucia was nowhere to be seen. Finding me lying lifelessly in the grave, the groundskeeper sighed. He covered the burial site with loose earth and picked a handful of fresh flowers for us.

I regretted not immediately calling Troy that day, regretted marrying Lucas, and even regretted falling in love with him. Back in the living room, I sat beside my own body. I gazed at her for a long, long time. “I hope you find happiness in the afterlife.” The next afternoon, I watched as they moved my body and transported it to the funeral home. People came and went in the hall, many of whom I didn’t recognize. I quietly observed from the side, suddenly reminded of Lucas. I hadn’t seen him among the mourners. Even after everyone had paid their respects at my gravestone, I couldn’t find his figure among the crowd.

No statue of angels or gargoyles stood sentry near or around it, just untrimmed shrubs and towering trees that looked as old as time. Carved on the black stone were the initials E.R. It was meant to be unanimous to all who looked at it, but to the mage, he knew exactly who this person was buried six feet below. From his coat’s pocket, he fished out a booklet with tattered edges and dog ears. With a single sweep of his palm on the cover, the booklet grew in size enough to read the contents without wincing. It was the necromancy book. He flipped a page with the bookmark and then chanted its contents while shutting his eyes close.

Come pick a bouquet from these Flowers in a Dumpster. Eidolon Avenue: The First Feast by Jonathan Winn—where the secretly guilty go to die. All thrown into their own private hell as every cruel choice, every deadly mistake, every drop of spilled blood is remembered, resurrected and relived to feed the ancient evil that lives on Eidolon Avenue. Through a Mirror, Darkly by Kevin Lucia—Are there truths within the books we read? What if the book delves into the lives of the very town you live in? People you know? Or thought you knew. These are the questions a bookstore owner face when a mysterious book shows up.

"I am strong. I am worthy. And I will not be defeated by your lies." Cassie, too, was trapped in her own nightmare. She was standing in a graveyard, the air thick with the scent of death and decay. The graves were fresh, the earth still damp. She could hear the distant sound of weeping and the muffled cries of the people she had once loved.