Schoolbus Graveyard Novels & Stories

We both walked down the street together but he walked faster, dragging me towards the graveyard. Preston Graveyard. EST 1504. "That's pretty old." I said and the boy nodded while taking me into the graveyard. I walked with him and gushed at the prettiness of the place. The white roses stood out the most . At the middle of the graveyard, there was a huge circle with beautiful flowers and butterflies. It looked so alive. I walked towards the grave and smiled at the glass tombstone. Mabel Adriana Carter 234AD -1999 My birth year. My birthday. I frowned and shook my head in pain. Don't think like that.

Father open the back of the car and grab the basket full of fruits, lunch, and snacks. "You sure, honey, you won't let me help you? I can the grab other side of the basket," mom told, as we took the blankets out. "Thank you, honey. It's not that heavy, I can do it," dad said. We entered the cemetery. This graveyard is wide. You can see beautiful trees and growing grasses with flowers. As I expected, there are no plenty of people visiting this day. I could only see four to five people? If I'm not mistaken.

Then I ran up the next bus stop and took a sharp turn to the next faintly-familiar street, tracing my way back home. I veered onto the pathway that led through a cemetery. Like the rest of the neighborhood, the cemetery had been left neglected, with weeds growing everywhere around, and within the slow cracks of tombstones. Street-gang graffiti, spray-painted art covered almost every surface of the graveyard, including some of the stones. I recalled running through this same route with some of the kids from school almost every day when I was fourteen. Some days we would stop and sit on the tombstones and gist before we continued. Other days we'll keep running until we start dispersing to our

Out the window, where the last distant shards of the Mirror Labyrinth were dissolving into the mist. The bus lights dimmed. The hum of the engine shifted pitch. Overhead, the destination sign glitched, cycling too fast to read—names half‑forming and dropping out like bad subtitles. \[NEXT STATION: \[STATIC\]\] \[NEXT STATION: BLOOD…\] \[NEXT STATION: AUTHOR…\] \[NEXT STATION: …YARD\] The letters stuttered, rearranged, finally locked into place. \[NEXT STATION: THE AUTHOR’S GRAVEYARD\]

It doesn’t look really like a school bus but kinda like a party bus or airport transportation bus. The next week Junior Year starts and us kids, Matt, Alice, Kim, Crystal, Jackie, Bella and I, all go to school in my brand new truck. When I pull into the parking lot, lots of people stare with shocked and awed faces, except for Mary Jo and her 2 minions Angie and Sasha.

That unease crawled up my spine before I even realized why. “Where are you taking us?” I asked at last. He didn’t look at me. “The exact location Killian sent.” That didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. We drove in silence for a few more minutes until he slowed down and brought the car to a stop. I looked up, and my chest tightened. Tall iron gates loomed ahead, worn but well kept, and beyond them stretched rows upon rows of gravestones. This wasn’t just any burial ground. This was where the pack laid its important dead, Alphas, Lunas, warriors whose names still carried weight long after their bodies had turned to dust.

“That would be the old shipping yard near the pier.” “Where is that?” I ask “Somewhere dangerous.” Cillian offers, stepping between Nikolai and me. The two men exchange a look. “What?” I ask, my eyes bouncing between them, “Tell me.” “It is an industrial graveyard. Rusted containers, blind corners, plenty of places to hide a dead body. Or an ambush. If they have scouts posted on the crane towers, they will see any vehicle coming from a mile away.” Shit. Shit. Shit.

From the helicopter, I watched Alfred race to the crash site, clutching the fallen license plate, crying out, "Helen, Ruby..." It did not take long for the internet to explode with news of Ruby and I dying in that fiery wreck. I held my sleeping Ruby tight, put away my phone, and whispered, "This is it, Alfred. We're done for good." Alfred was haunted, thinking it was all some nightmare. He would slap himself, pinch his skin, and even jab himself with a knife, desperate to snap out of it. However, the pain, sharp and undeniable, kept telling him the brutal truth.

The night was shrouded in darkness, and the ancient crypt stood silently, holding secrets from a time long forgotten. A group of high school students, each carrying a flickering flashlight, crept through the overgrown graveyard. They were the unwitting explorers of a destiny not of their own making.

Hayley was always the smart one amongst us. When the bus reaches us, we climb in and ride all the way to school. On arrival, I find Greystone High to be way bigger than anything I imagined. A tall, regal building draped in the town's traditional colors of black and gold, the school stands at an imposing height, it's rooftops serenaded with flags and banners that cascade downwards. The moment we step off the bus, there’s a buzz of activities all around us, as students rush past in every direction, yelling greetings and bumping into one another with reckless abandon.