The Grave Novel Novels & Stories

Sharon’s POV The wind was cold and bitter, carrying the scent of damp earth and sorrow. Gray clouds rolled over the horizon like a curtain being drawn shut, and the low growl of thunder trembled in the distance. I stood still, my hands clasped tightly before me, as Morris’s men lowered Lilian’s body into a shallow grave. The graveyard was quiet, eerily so. It was not the kind of place anyone came to mourn. The air here was thick with disdain, the ground littered with crooked headstones that bore a single word etched into their surfaces: Traitor.

The remains buried in the mass grave behind The Abyss were finally identified and returned to their families. At my gravestone, Vivienne poured a glass of my favorite whiskey. Her voice trembled as she spoke to the earth. "Cassius... are you resting well over there?" Tears slipped down her cheeks as she choked out, "I'm so sorry. I was too late." A crybaby. How did I never realize she was such a crybaby? I stood behind her, trying to wrap my arms around her, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. As if she felt it, she murmured, "Cassius... for the rest of my life, you are the only one in my heart."

Whatever that thing was, but how were they connected? My visions of Grisha were painful, they were draining, and they were chilling. But my vision of the burning bird was calm, peaceful, and utterly soul-fetching. But why did it scream Grisha? Because I heard it, I heard it loud and clear and I knew it screamed Grisha! What in the hell was Grisha and what did it have to do with the burning bird? For an umpteenth time ever since I set my foot in Varagrafena, I laid awake at night, filled with nothing but questions, and more confusion!

Anne wished they hadn’t spoken to that batty old man, listening to his riddles and dead-end tales. The later discovery of alternate tales, crude folklore and legends betrayed by a handful of the old or wandering mad reinforced Damon’s suspicions of an ancient grave site, though there was no recorded information of its existence until Damon’s final research paper. There Damon recounted it by name, “The Mourner’s Cradle.”

She tried to concentrate, but her emotions overwhelmed her, making it difficult to focus. Suddenly, the sound of something breaking pierced the silence. Lilith's eyes shot open, and her breath caught in her throat as she beheld the sight before her. The grave was now completely shattered, its pieces scattered around, but it wasn't the broken grave that terrified her. It was the lifeless girl lying in the open grave, her eyes wide open and fixed upon Lilith, wearing a somber expression on her face. A scream tore through Lilith's lips, and she crawled away from the grave in sheer terror, panting heavily.

My hands clenched around the steering wheel as I glanced one last time at the spot we had left behind. The grave was a fresh mound of dirt, a sad moment in the life that could have been. The darkness of the night seemed to swallow the small grave, the shadows pulling at the edges as if the earth itself was mourning. If it weren’t for the series of carefully planned lies Damien had told, if it weren’t for his twisted manipulation, we wouldn’t even be standing here. I turned my gaze away, focusing on the road ahead. But in my mind, the image of the grave, the fresh dirt that had been shoveled over her, haunted me. That mound was for Gwen. For Gwen.

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,

** **The grave belongs to a woman named Sophia Calloway. **Date of death: three years ago.** **Next of kin listed: Martha Calloway.**

She sat in her car and opened the headline which didn't take her by surprise because she knew it had to happen. Iris Grave is Dead! Yes, Mrs Grave. The radiance of Mr Grave is no longer breathing. She died in a car accident, her body was found burned to ashes. Her death was an unpredictable turn of events and deeply grieved news for her loved ones. Condolence to her family and loved ones to lose such a gem. This might have come as an utter shock but what's more dazing was Mr Grave's statement. 'We divorced six months ago.' What could be the reason for the rising couple to split up?

Would she find her happily ever after somewhere in the bosom of Selene the moon goddess? My meditation was interrupted by the arrival of the black hearse. I watched pallbearers carry the casket from the hearse to the burial site, where the body of whoever this hole was bored for would rest. I walked deeper into the graveyard. Memories flooded my brain as I did so. I stopped at the innermost part of the graveyard, I noticed that most of the headstones were damaged and faded with the passage of time. I can tell that the graveyard was more than 150 years old by some of the legible inscriptions. There’s an inscription of a man who died in 1861. He probably lived in an era where there was no tele