Pet Sematary Novels & Stories

After that, June voluntarily resigned from her position as station chief and quietly left the base. No one knew where she went. And no one asked. … In the blink of an eye, three years had passed since I left the desert. The year I returned home, I managed to locate my parents' graves with help from the local community office. I brought their ashes with me and relocated them to this small city. There was a cemetery in the southern part of town. It sat against the mountains and beside the water, peaceful and beautiful. I laid my parents to rest there and visited every week to clean their graves. I always brought flowers and sat with them for a while, telling them about my life. Telling them I

Amara woke up after a night of partying with another of her regular customer. She turned on the tv and watched the news. When the segment for the famous reporter Bartholomew Carter started, Amara's eyes were nailed on the television. "Good morning, Martindalle! This is Bartholomew Carter, reporting to you live at the Rose Alley Inn where the dead body of a renowned painter, Salazar Simmons was found by one of the hotel staff. He was said to check in with a young woman on the night of his The Soul exhibit, where he proudly displayed all of his artworks for the past thirty years. Artworks that features teenagers that he said he helped to reach their dreams."

Sarah's pov The funeral parlor smelled like flowers and death. I sat in the front row staring at Tommy's closed casket, trying to remember him alive instead of the way I'd seen him at the crime scene. The mortician had done his best but two gunshots to the chest left damage that makeup couldn't fix.

After taking a few sips, she followed him into the cemetery. The one Seth brought them to seemed to have been there for quite some time now. Along with the sparsely placed tombstones, the place was filled with overgrown weeds. The lone cemented road they followed led them to a few more scattered graves, and before long, the pair spotted Seth standing in front of a whittled tombstone. The sky was devoid of sunshine, the gloomy surroundings and wild forestry around them further accentuating the darker tones of his suit. Undoubtedly, the atmosphere had a touch of eeriness to it, and Josephine gripped Lewis' hand tighter on instinct. The warmth flowing from his palm to hers calmed her slightly.

Kevin and I were both die-hard horror fans. We’d once argued for three straight days over the ending of a niche film. In that movie, the protagonist entered a string of numbers at the very end, unlocking his only way out. I tried it. “19870521.” Victoria typed it in. With a soft click, the drive unlocked. Inside were neatly organized folders. [Evidence of William’s Bribery] [Evidence of Ethan’s Embezzlement] [The director’s Affair Scandal] I sucked in a sharp breath.

January 17th At 7 am sharp, Brian walked to the lobby and found Smith was already there. He walked straight to the car and soon, both of them left, heading to the cemetery. When they arrived at the cemetery, they saw uncle Yates, the cemetery caretaker. Brian got out from the car and Smith followed him from behind. Seeing two men walking toward him, uncle Yates frowned and said, “Handsome men, can I help you?” “We’re looking for Christopher Smith's tomb. I wonder if you could help us……”

Richard's affairs were attended to by Matthew, and on the day of the burial all were present; the weather was fine, and flowers actually bloomed around the grave; spring had visited Hustleburg overnight. The Harringtons stood quietly at the headstone, saluted, and left. Matthew was the last to leave, and he took Serena's hand and was just about to say something to her when he saw a low-profile black sedan stop a short distance away.

"Sorry. They don't like me remembering." Something was wrong. Really wrong. But they were already on the highway, already heading south, and behind them Kai was alone with the Cemetery Keeper coming to collect. Tamara's phone buzzed again. This time from Derek. *Gran says to hurry. The seal in St. Louis Cemetery is reacting to something. Drawing shadows like moths to flame.* She looked at Smith. His hands were steady on the wheel now, but she could see sweat on his forehead. See the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting something.

I slide into the driver’s seat without hesitation and punch the address into the navigator. The route loads—and my stomach drops. It’s in an entirely different city. “Hey, Mike. Look at this.” I tilt the screen toward him as he leans forward, squinting at the map. “That can’t be a coincidence,” he says, his head cocked slightly to the side. “My thoughts exactly.” The previous residence of Rebecca Smithsdale—what we’ve come to know as Nicholas Peterson’s final resting place—is only a block away from where Jessie’s parents were killed in that so-called car accident. Too close. Uncomfortably close.

Samael closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and a brilliant spark fled the cat's chest and flew into Death's heart. He opened his eyes slowly, and they flashed like ice under the moon. His gaze was distant, and his form shifted, as if he were not really there at all. Lazily, he glanced down at me, daring me to speak. “I'm going to bury it,” I said softly, carrying it outside. Iron Jack's cult had fled, their cars gone from the lot. I sensed Samael behind me, clinging to my shadow and patches of darkness as we passed under the street lamps. The hairs stood on my neck as I reached the unkempt grass that bordered the road. I knelt, tentatively plying the soil with my hand. It was still wet