07 Ghost Characters Novels & Stories

"With everything that happened. Starting with me trying to go back to Boston, then realising I'm a ghost. I went back there and jumped into that empty grave, Trying to kill myself" "Wait wait wait." Austin interrupted her, smiling. "You knew you were a Ghost, and you tried to kill yourself " he raised his hands in apology, as he couldn't control his laughter. He saw she wasn't having any of it, and stopped laughing, but the smile on his face couldn't fade away.

He drove with purpose, and I, like a phantom shadow, drifted along in his wake. I followed him as he made his rounds in a department store, buying things he had never once considered buying for me. It wasn't hard to see the distinction between love and indifference. My ghostly form seemed to grow heavier with every step, weighted down by the bitterness of seeing the man I had loved so deeply pamper another woman so thoroughly.

She put down the picture and ran to the sofa, her eyes sparkling with hope. “Mommy, you’re being lazy again! I’m going back to our old home to get the music box. Then, I can wake you up!” Seeing her determined to leave, I instinctively reached out for an umbrella, wanting to remind her that it was raining outside. Alas, my hand passed right through her body! In that instant, I suddenly remembered—I was dead. I could never protect her like before.

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Ghost. No last name. Adopted by Christopher Blackwell as a child. No blood relatives listed. No history of lasting relationships.” Vladimir put special emphasis on that word before trailing off. “Greymount, you said you sensed something earlier?” “I have commitment issues.” Snatching the olive from my drink, Ghost placed it between his teeth. “My favorite food is pancakes and I last took a shit this morning. I’ve also been having this reoccurring dream lately—”

"What are these things? They're like something out of a nightmare." Caleb's eyes glinted with determination as he stepped forward. "They're nothing we can't handle. Stay together and fight as one. We'll make it through this." And they did. The group worked together, their movements fluid and efficient as they battled the undead horde. Eventually, the last zombie had fallen, and they were able to continue on their journey. Their final obstacle came in the form of ghosts. As they approached their destination, they were suddenly surrounded by a group of ethereal beings, their faces twisted in anger and pain. The ghosts seemed to materialize out of thin air, their moans echoing through the night

He was not worthy of being called a man. If he could possess someone’s body, the first thing he would do would be to beat that bastard Lucien senseless. Watching the small girl continue to cry softly, the ghost raised his hand and placed it gently on her back in comfort. Then he mocked himself for being childish. He was only a ghost. How could she possibly feel his consolation? Yet Elowen truly felt a cool sensation against her back. She immediately straightened up and looked around. Seeing no one, she quietly thought that she must be having hallucinations again.

He wasted no time weaving through the mass of spirits as he barreled across the charred ground to the mess house. Roy braved a look in Angel’s direction. Jackson was right. She was getting uncomfortably close and the spirits that had proven themselves lethal by tearing Harold into pieces only to become like zombies were acting a bit more animated. “Did ya make that change in the spirits? Is it yer magic that’s keeping them calm?”

With a click, the clasp came undone, and the pendant fell to the floor. In a flash, Zoe’s eyes widened. She grabbed my collar like a madwoman. “Y-You… You didn’t switch fates? You lied to me?!” I looked at her in surprise. “What are you talking about?” Miles suddenly exclaimed, “Ow, Maisie. My neck feels itchy.” He pulled down his collar, exposing his collarbone, and clearly revealed who was actually wearing the demonic fate-swapping lock.

"Look what crawled out of the drain." Three men stepped into the light. They wore oversized hoodies and tactical vests scavenged from the raid. In the center stood Ghost. He was thinner than I remembered. A jagged scar ran from his ear to his jaw—a gift from the last turf war I’d led before I disappeared. "Ghost," I said. I didn't lower the pipe. "Don't 'Ghost' me, you golden-eyed prick." He spat a glob of phlegm onto the concrete. He raised a heavy-duty revolver. "Except your eyes aren't gold anymore, are they? You look... ordinary. Like the rest of us rats."

"Elle, you need to see this.” Ghost calls out. I push the knife a little harder into the Collector’s shoulder before jumping to my feet. I give him one last look before turning my back on him. His fingers have stopped twitching; even if I take the knife out, the damage is most likely permanent, and he’s no threat to me anymore. I see Ghost has walked behind the counter; he has a computer in front of him and the glow of the screen is lighting him up, making him look like some kind of otherworldly ghost. I kind of get the name but it seems more like a punishment to me, like his parents judged him on how he looked when he was born and decided to brand him with the name forever.