A Ghost In The Trenches Novels & Stories

The march to the Eastern Caves was a procession of ghosts. We did not speak. The only sounds were the crunch of heavy boots on the tundra, the howling of the relentless Northern wind, and the ragged, agonizing breathing of the wounded. We had left a trail of blood on the ice, but the snow was falling fast enough to bury our tracks before the Aurelian scouts could find them.

It wasn’t like he was going to be stepping into any big role right away like me. His old man goes by “Ghost” and I hope he’ll be like him. Ghost is kind of Grouch’s right hand. While I’m the enforcer, the one with the most flies, Ghost is usually the one who gets the guys that come into the basement. You’ll never see him coming until he’s putting zip ties on your wrists and a bag over your head. He’s a huge dude but he’s light footed and sneaky. Professional stalker is the term I use.

But the ground was shifting beneath her feet, and the walls were beginning to crumble. “No,” she said, voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. “If we retreat now, the ghost wins. I’m going in.” Marco’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a trap. This place could collapse any second.” Riccardo looked at her, an unspoken agreement passing between them. “We cover you. Move.” Camilla sprinted forward, her boots pounding against the cracked concrete. The ghost’s tendrils — digital and spectral — snaked out from the servers, aiming to ensnare her, dragging her into a virtual abyss.

Outside, the wind picked up and sent a loose piece of tarp slapping against the garage wall in irregular intervals. I found myself watching him without intending to. Ghost was maybe mid-thirties, hard to tell precisely. His face was unlined but experienced the kind of face that had been places and made a decision not to carry them visibly. The scar on his neck caught the light at certain angles. I had assumed blade wound at first, the way it ran vertical and deliberate. But watching him work, the way he angled his head to keep his neck away from the heat of welding sparks, I revised that guess. Burn scar.

I hooked my arm through the loop, wrapped it twice around my wrist, and they hauled us both into the air while the door gunner laid down a storm of lead that turned the courtyard into a slaughterhouse. We collapsed inside in a heap of blood and limbs. Ghost’s head lolled against my shoulder, breath wet and ragged. I pressed my hand to the hole in his chest, felt the warm flood soaking through my fingers. “Stay with me,” I rasped, voice breaking. “You hear me? Stay with me.” He tried to laugh, coughed blood instead. “Trying, boss… trying.” Medics swarmed, needles flashing, pressure bandages slapping on, voices shouting numbers I didn’t understand. My own side was a furnace, every breath slici

FALLING FOR A GHOST 3 - For Nevaeh is back from the land of the dead with a single purpose; avenge her own death and that of her sister, Heaven. Uche, a good-looking young man in his early twenties, who also happens to be an atheist has been unlucky with women in his previous relationships, he seeks true love and hopes to find it if only it existed.

He stood up and walked to where he used to out his books, he took a small but old looking book and came back to where he was sitting, next to me. "I read it in this book , there is a certain theory which say that people might have ghost clones, these clones looks and dresses exactly like the original you and they can do anything you can do. Sometimes if you are lucky you can have a good clone but if you are unlucky you are likely to have a bad and evil clone , which means you are unlucky because yours is evil" he explained. His explanation shocked me , i have never heard such things and I've never believed in ghost theories.

Tasha was devastated about the reality of her being a ghost. She thought she was dead, she had dreams. Even if she acted like a slut whose only interests were parties and getting boys hard for fun. She wanted to be a doctor, just to save lives. But everything was never gonna happen for her, and she thought everything had ended for her.

“I was in and out of sleep.” “Thoughts of Titanic?” He turned to face her now, and he was sitting more closely than she thought prudent. “Sometimes,” she shrugged. “Most of my ghosts reside elsewhere.” He closed his eyes and turned his head away. “I’m sorry, Meg.” “I don’t need your sympathy either,” she reminded him, though her tone was just as innocent as his had been. “I suppose not,” he admitted, turning back to face her. “But you have it just the same.”

They were midway across the path, in front of a cemetery when suddenly graves started opening. "What is going on?" Isabella asked, clutching onto Chris tightly. Chris was suddenly sweating so furiously but Ariel was cool and her face was blank and devoid of any emotions. They stood there watching six tombs open and six scary-looking ghosts walked out. Isabella was already whitish in appearance knowing who they are. Chris's hairs were all up and his eyes green, his normal sight nature. "GREETINGS TO THE SPECIAL ONE." One of them muttered. "GREETINGS TO THE LITTLE GODDESS." Another muttered.