The Graveyard Novel Novels & Stories

Hayden said as he led me by the hand. We walked uphill a little bit through the grass before we arrived at what I suspect was our true destination for the night. Unlike the unkempt grassy area from before, the landscape in front of me seemed to be well maintained. The grass short and orderly and there were enough light on poles to properly illuminate the area. However, I never would have guessed that he would bring me to a place like this… A graveyard…and a very large one at that. “This graveyard belongs to my family. Well, the Torex family or if you would like ‘the gang’. Everyone from the gang who dies is buried here,” Hayden explained.

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.”

“This place is weird and if you look too, it just becomes more peculiar. So, I’m not surprised if it did. Now if that’s the case. Is it welcoming the Fae or hiding from them?” “That’s the million-dollar question.” They rounded the bend in a road that no longer existed in the physical realm for a long time. This is one of many slight differences that could make things creepy. At the end of this road was a graveyard. If they didn’t see them within the Dream Realm, it would have stayed long forgotten. It like so many others was a family’s graveyard from the early eighteen hundreds. Even within the Dream Realm time lost their names beyond their last name, Colton. Catherine dodged into Yolanda to

My husband and my best friend had become my nemesis. I didn’t know how they dragged me out of the building, but when my eyes fluttered open, I was lying helplessly in the graveyard. The night air was cold against my skin, and the stench of freshly dug earth filled my nostrils. Derek’s voice pierced through the darkness, awakening me from the edge of unconsciousness. '‘I’m done digging her grave, help me grab her by the legs,’' he said, his tone cold and unfeeling, as he dropped what looked like a shovel onto the ground.

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 tombstone glowed faintly in the dark soil. Vincent staggered back, his claws scraping against the stone. His name was etched into the granite—Vincent Fox. A growl tore from his throat. "No..." he gasped for breath. "No!" The ground beneath him rumbled as if something buried deep wanted to break free. From the shadows, the ghost’s whisper slid through the air: “She buried you with her. The grave doesn’t belong to her anymore; It belongs to you.”

“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.

By recruiting people the underworld had left for dead, she built the system—shadows who had once been destroyed by the mafia world. With her five most trusted pillar members—people she lifted from nothing—they were all ready to give their lives for her at any moment. The Graveyard was an anonymous network that sold silent operations. It operated in the shadows of the mafia world. It wasn’t a family. It was a system. A broker of power and debt. They handled contracts, secrets, and operations too dangerous or politically explosive for mafia families. For the last two years, The Graveyard had shaken the system in Italy.

It showed the newest handbag of the season. After I sent the recycler out, I asked Susan Yegler, my best friend, to check out a place. I brought her to the suburbs and parked the car in front of a graveyard. Susan stared at me in surprise. I did not explain and just dragged her in. The graveyard was on a mountain, and it even had a river. It was the first pick for many rich families as their final resting place. The staff gave us an enthusiastic introduction to the place. After looking around, I picked a spot I liked and paid the deposit.

The night tastes like blood. It stains the air, thick and metallic, clinging to my tongue no matter how many times I swallow. Bodies lie everywhere: wolves, vampires, and witches, all broken, torn, and twisted at angles no living thing should bend. This isn’t a battlefield anymore. It’s a graveyard. I move from person to person, checking pulses, forcing my hands to stay steady even though they won’t stop shaking. My dress or what’s left of it, is stiff with blood and dirt.