Excerpts Horror Read an Excerpt From Carry Me to My Grave by Christopher Golden A man tries to protect his dead mother’s body from the evil that is hunting them. By Christopher Golden | Published on June 9, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Carry Me to My Grave, a new horror novel by Christopher Golden publishing with St. Martin’s Press on July 21st. Maggie Wise will take your eyes.When Malcolm was growing up, the local kids made up that chant about his mother, claiming she was a witch. He and his siblings did their best to ignore it. Now, Maggie is dying, and those same siblings have left Malcolm and his sister-in-law Violet to hold a vigil at her bedside.But they’re not as alone as they think they are. A dark figure waits and watches from beneath the willow tree across the street. Hundreds of miles away, an ancient evil stirs in its burrow under a farmer’s cornfield. Across the country, other buried things begin to dream in anticipation of Maggie’s demise. On her deathbed, the old woman elicits a promise from Malcolm, her youngest child―when she dies, he and Violet must return her body to her birthplace in Shediak, Maine.From the moment she takes her last breath, before her remains are even loaded aboard the baggage car of the Imperial Limited, there are forces trying to stop Malcolm from fulfilling that promise. Violence erupts on the train, evil preys on its passengers, and once the sun goes down, those long-buried things are coming to make Maggie Wise pay for her past. God help anyone who stands in their way. The wind fought back as Malcolm forced the door closed and threw the dead bolt. Hundreds of leaves had blown across the threshold. Violet stood in his mother’s bedroom doorway. “I almost wish that guy would try something, so I’d have a reason to…” He faltered when he understood the impatience in Violet’s eyes. “Hurry,” she whispered, as if they were trying to keep his mother from learning her death was imminent, though Maggie knew better than anyone. Malcolm squeezed Violet’s hand as he passed her, heading into the bedroom. “Thank you.” He expected to find that his mother had taken a turn for the worse, or woken up with the gift of clarity and strength that the dying sometimes received in their final hours. Instead, Maggie lay on the floor of her bedroom, tangled in her blankets, reaching toward him as he entered. Her eyes were yellowed and pleading, her skin so gray she looked almost bloodless. “Momma!” Malcolm called, rushing to kneel on the floor beside her. Maggie chided him with her eyes and clucked her tongue. “You’re a grown man, been to war, killed your enemies. You’d better not need a ‘momma’ now.” He couldn’t help but smile. Her voice might be a thin, reedy version of itself, but it still held the pride of her life. Maggie had always told her children that she loved being their mother, but wanted to be a person to them first and a mother to them second. Thus, she was always “Maggie.” Other kids were amazed by this, and their parents found it disrespectful, but she stuck to her guns. “Crazy old bat,” he said, and slid his hands beneath her. Maggie groaned in pain as he lifted her and settled her into her bed. “What were you thinking?” Her eyelids were heavy. The effort of getting out of bed had drained the last of her. “Maggie,” he said, clapping his hands to bring her around. “What happened?” When she spoke, she had a raspy echo in her throat, as if there were open doorways deep inside her, letting in a draft. “I needed you in here,” she said. “There are things you have to know.” Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed, sheets crinkling beneath his weight. “Maybe start with who the hell is out there watching our house. I don’t think he’s going to leave unless I get the police to drag him off, or I get violent, in which case they’ll drag me off instead.” Her eyelids drooped. Her breathing softened. “Maggie?” No reply. Still alive, but no longer with him. He swore. The hinges creaked. He whipped around to see Violet in the doorway. What a strange life they were leading, the three of them, but at least it had been quiet until now. Maggie coughed and blinked her eyes open as if the cough had pulled her back from the brink. He didn’t know how much time remained, but not much. “You had things you wanted to say,” he prompted. Her eyes were green. They weren’t always. Sometimes blue, sometimes gray. The whites were sickly, but her irises glinted as she looked at him. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Maggie said. The floorboards creaked as Violet took a step into the room. “He’s not alone.” Maggie looked at her, nodding slowly, eyes glistening. “You’re as good as a daughter to me, Vi, but leave us now. This part isn’t for you.” Violet looked stung. She loved Maggie nearly as much as Malcolm did. He’d often thought she loved Maggie more than he did. At times, it was easier to love someone else’s mother than it was to love your own. “Shout if you need me,” Violet said quietly, before she withdrew and closed the door behind her. “I wish you hadn’t sent her out,” Malcolm said. “You know what you mean to her.” “Don’t chide me, boy. Not today. This is just for you, because everything depends on you now.” She gripped his hand. “What time is it?” “Half past three in the morning.” “A few hours yet.” Malcolm started to ask what she meant, but she shushed him. Buy the Book Carry Me to My Grave Christopher Golden Buy Book Carry Me to My Grave Christopher Golden Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget “Just listen.” He wanted to go to the curtain and look across the street. The man in the raven mask would still be there, he was sure. “I’m listening.” The gleam in her eyes dimmed a little, and so did the strength of her grip. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to stay awake. Or conscious. Or alive. “Death is coming for me, and long overdue,” she said. “I’ve held it off as long as I can.” “Held it off?” Maggie clucked her tongue to shush him. “I’m a lot older than I look, Mal, and I know how I look, so that’s saying something.” She’d alluded to such things before. They went along with the mystery within which she loved to immerse herself. “I nearly gave in while you and Violet were cleaning up after dinner, but I fought it off.” Withered and gray, she barely had the breath to speak. “It would’ve made things much harder for you, and I want to give you as much time as I can.” Malcolm lowered his head, trying to keep himself in her field of vision. “Time for what?” Her chest had gone still. He inhaled sharply, but then she squeezed his hand again, still alive. “Sunrise is just after seven,” she said, so quietly he could barely make out the words. “I can hold on till then. You have a few hours to prepare.” He’d have asked her to elaborate, but she didn’t need prompting now. “It’s a long journey, Malcolm. But when you’re sure I’m dead, you’ve got to move me right away. You’ve gotta take me home. Bury me in Shediak.” “In Maine?” She’d been born in Shediak. It was more than a thousand miles away. “In Maine,” she echoed. “Once my heart stops, you’ll have two nights. I’ve got to be in Shediak by the second sunrise or it’ll all be for nothing.” Malcolm sat back. “Maggie… Mom. This is crazy.” Her eyes widened, and she focused on him, keenly alert for the last time in her life. Truly seeing him for what would be the last time. “This isn’t some whim. It’s important in a way most folks couldn’t imagine. You’ve gotta be quick, and careful, and ready to fight. There are people who’ll try to stop you.” Malcolm thought of the raven, out beneath the willow tree. “People… and things,” she rasped. He’d had enough. “Okay, what in God’s name does that mean?” Her gray pallor had blanched nearly to white. “Nothing godly, son. Not this trip.” “Maggie—” She shushed him. Her body and voice were so weak now that it came out like a tiny whistle. “Ring up Paxson when I’m…” Paxson Keates. The old man who owned the funeral parlor on Church Street. Malcolm had no idea his mother even knew Paxson Keates, but she had always been a bottomless well of secrets, and now they were spilling out. “I’ll call him,” Malcolm vowed. “What else?” But there was nothing else. She hadn’t left her mortal shell quite yet, though her eyes were closed. These might not have been her last words, but the supply was running low. Malcolm felt a rising bitterness toward his siblings. Jennie and Elias should have been here with him. With their mother. It had been over a year since either of them had crossed the threshold. He understood—she made them all feel both loved and discarded, sometimes in the same breath. “Ah, Maggie,” he whispered, “what am I going to do without you?” He sat with her for another quarter hour, listening to the rasping of her breath, before he allowed his thoughts to return to her final request. Maine, of all places, and in two days? She insisted it wasn’t simply a whim, that it was important in some larger sense, but Maggie was a narcissist, which meant anything having to do with herself always seemed important to her. For Malcolm, it felt like some kind of morbid prank. Or it would have, if not for the other strange things that had happened over the course of his life as the son of Maggie Wise. Not the least of which was the tall man in the raven mask who even now stood across the street, waiting for his mother to die. You don’t have to be here for what comes next, the raven had said. But that wasn’t true. Jennie and Elias didn’t care enough to be at their mother’s bedside, which left it to him to fulfill her final wish, no matter how crazy it seemed. Because even if he sometimes hated her, he loved her, too. And because if he let himself accept the ominous tone in her voice when she insisted on the importance of this task, it scared him a little. Malcolm would bury Maggie in Shediak. If the man in the mask tried to interfere, he would show that son of a bitch the error of his ways. He had fought for his life along the Nakdong River and made it home with just a few scars. One asshole in a Halloween mask wasn’t going to give him much trouble. Excerpted from Carry Me to My Grave, copyright © 2026 by Christopher Golden. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>Carry Me to My Grave</i> by Christopher Golden appeared first on Reactor.