The Graveyard Novel Novels & Stories

*This book is a work of fiction, no persons, places, names, and events are not in any associated with actual places, names, and events. This book is made for entertainment purposes. Enjoy* It is written that you only realize how much you love something or someone when you are no longer with them, as humans once we realize this we do whatever it takes to get that thing back. Working for a prestigious company and coming from a wealthy and highly educated Family, Bryson Lawrence had everything that one needs in life.

"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.

“When you knocked on the door, I expected you to be Kyra. I expected a gun to be pointed at my chest. I did not expect you and Corina’s head.” “You are really trying to tell me that everyone is dead?” “Come with me.” He rises from his seat and heads to the door. “Let me show you something.” I follow him from his office out through another door that led to a garden. “You can’t smell it because they are buried.” He points to hundreds of plots of heaped dirt. A single rock on top of each pile. His own little graveyard. “Why did you let this happen?” I stare at him in shock.

“Running around graveyards?” The man looked confused. “I like to take walks, sure, but I’ll just go around parks at most. I’ve never been to a graveyard before!” “Us elderly people are most afraid of that!” Harvey couldn’t wrap his head around the situation. ‘He’s never been to a graveyard?’ “Did you pick up money on the road with a note inside, saying that a few years of your lifespan is being borrowed, or something of the sort?”

So he waited until they entered and then took a running start, jumped catching the top bar of the iron fence that was ten feet up and vaulted over it landing in a crouch. His eyes scanned and he saw movement of two figures to his right. That wasn’t all he saw. He stood and his jaw clenched. They were in a fucking graveyard. He thought vampires couldn’t walk in graveyards, but then again he had met a giant who managed to find a way to shrink himself, so stranger things had happened. The fact they were in a graveyard was concerning to him actually. They were dealing with an item that belonged to Hel, and she was a goddess of the underworld. Or part goddess and he’d been at this too long to no

The zombie grunted and made a concerted effort to move the soil from the grave in greater quantities, all while sending me little glares from his empty eye sockets—it had less impact without actual eyeballs. “Endora.” I screeched. I may be the most evil of witches in the entire country, but it’s still a dark and quiet cemetery on Halloween. Swinging around on my heeled boots, I scowled at the ground-keeper sneaking up on me like an ancient ghost. The gnarled old man in his late seventies was one of the few humans to be aware of our existence, only because most of my work was done in the very place he managed and he’d seen more than his fair share of hands breaching fresh graves.

I make a mental note to prepare something to thank them with later. When we finish digging two six-foot-deep graves, I try with all my might not to let the tears flow. Together, the men lower the bodies, wrapped only in plain white cloth into the holes in the ground. As we cover them with soil, I whisper a silent prayer, for God to lead my parent’s souls into heaven and should they be reborn, for them to have a better life.

The combination of the silvery moonlight and the flickering glow of the lamp that the men had placed on the ground near where they worked only made the trees look even more eerie. For a moment, Viktor almost forgot about the highwaymen chasing him due to how much he was intrigued by what was happening before him in the graveyard. It might just be the city's undertaker and his assistant, but something else, something that resonated with him as the son of a priest of the death god, told him that these men could hardly be doing any good. Otherwise, why do it overnight? And he had heard of men like that before: grave robbers, body thieves, exhumers.

“You’re looking at it, Nestie,” said Lisa, her eyebrows raised as she observed Nestie’s reaction. “What do you mean?” asked Nestie, not quite understanding. “You mean this is it?” Nestie could not quite believe that they were standing in front of a tomb. “Yes, Nestie. This is it. Carmela is buried under the weeping angel,” said Lisa. Nestie hastily took a step backward. “I thought the graveyard is next door,” he said.

Her eyes scan for movement, but in this wintry darkness all that comes back is the whitened ground and the outline of tombstones almost lost to the night. Rows of tombstones stood erect in silence to the left and right, in front and behind, like a sea of the dead. Some were crumbled with the weathering of centuries, some were smooth marble with new black writing and laid with floral tributes. Most though, were overgrown and unkempt, for now, even their mourners had joined them under the clay soil. An upon the hill a new grave had been dug to await it's a new occupant. She passed by the graves and blood was dripping from her injured hand.