From New York Times bestselling author Christopher Golden comes a high concept horror novel about a man trying to protect his dead mother’s body from the evil that is hunting them.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Carry Me to My Grave by Christopher Golden, which releases on July 21st 2026.
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.
EXCERPT
The traveling case lay open on top of Malcom’s bed. He stood beside his bureau, staring at the open drawers. What would he wear to bury his mother? In the next room, Maggie’s heart continued to beat, and he fought the urge to go in there and try to wake her— she would have an opinion about proper mourning clothes. If there was one thing Maggie never lacked, it was opinions.
Those days are over, he thought. Gone would be the pressure of being Maggie Wise’s son, the expectations she had placed upon all her children. The army had given Malcolm a temporary re spite, but of the three of them, he was the one still here. The one who could live up to Maggie’s standards, or so he told himself.
He laughed softly at the idea that going to war in Korea had been easier than being home in Elkhart. The smile remained on his face as he slid a pair of folded shirts from a drawer.
Muffled music came through the wall from Maggie’s bedroom. Malcolm hadn’t wanted to leave her alone, but she’d waved him wordlessly away— she wanted him to get ready to travel. Maggie had often said music was the only company she ever needed, and the velvety voice drifting from the next room belonged to Billie Holiday. “I’ll Be Seeing You” was a haunting tune, full of longing and regret. A number of crooners had recorded it, including Sinatra and Bing Crosby, but the Billie Holiday version was Maggie’s favorite.
His mother lay dying, listening to her favorite song, and just across the road, a stranger wanted Malcolm to abandon her.
Not a chance in hell.
The curtains billowed. When the gust deflated, he lay the folded shirts on top of other clothes he’d placed in his traveling case and went to the window. He had no view of the street from here, but he suspected the man he thought of as the raven remained there, watching.
He surprised himself by not caring. His mother had set him a task and he meant to fulfill it. Whatever this guy wanted, he wasn’t going to get it. Maggie Wise would be dead and unable to pay her debts.
Debts. Shit.
They’d discussed the idea that the raven might be a bill collector, but those guys weren’t out knocking on doors in the predawn hours unless they were leg breakers for some loan shark, and no body in this house would have gotten involved with people like that. Distracted by grief, he hadn’t considered that there were other members of the family.
Goddamn Elias. Malcolm sniffed derisively. That must be it.
The guy out under the willow tree had said some strange things, even maybe threatened Maggie, but as Malcolm played the con versation back in his head, he thought maybe it hadn’t really been about her at all. Except as a target.
Elias probably owed somebody a lot of money, a gambling debt that had grown so large that the person he owed had sent the raven to collect in any way possible. There wasn’t much of value in the house, but the raven didn’t know that, so he was threatening Maggie because her son had skipped out on some gambling debts. It made so much sense, viewed in that light.
“Elias,” he whispered to himself. “You dumb son of a bitch.”
How much money did his brother owe, and to whom? Had Elias told them he would inherit the house after Maggie died, used that as collateral? Malcolm didn’t know what Maggie had written into her will, but he figured Elias would receive at least a one- third share. Maybe he would own the whole thing, and whoever he owed planned to take it once she’d breathed her last.
Either way, his debts would prove a problem for Violet in the days to come.
Malcolm resolved to help her as best he could, but whatever trouble Elias had brought to their doorstep would have to wait.
A black suit hung in his closet. He touched the sleeve, rubbed the fabric between thumb and forefinger, and wondered at the necessity of bringing it along. He didn’t know anyone in Maine, and if they had family up that way, Maggie had never mentioned them, so her funeral was likely to consist of a graveside blessing followed by the rhythm of shovels in soil. Travel light whenever possible, Maggie had always said, and he meant to follow that advice.
No black suit. He could mourn his mother’s death without wearing a necktie. Though in this weather, he’d need his over coat, which was gray tweed.
As he wondered what he might have forgotten to pack, he ran a hand over his jaw. If he meant to commit himself to Maggie’s instructions— and he did— he’d have precious little time to waste from the moment she passed. He ought to have a bath and a shave right now.
“This is absurd,” he whispered.
A quiet knock came at the door.
“Come in, Violet.”
The hinges squeaked as she stepped into his room.
There had been many nights when he’d lain awake thinking of the way Violet sometimes looked at him, and how often they shared a contemplative pause after an unintended touch. Those nights, the knowledge that Maggie would hear the squeak of his hinges was sometimes all that kept him from rising from bed and going to Violet. Decency and the law demanded he not dare, but honor couldn’t change how he felt.
