A Ghost In The Trenches Novels & Stories

Click. Heat bloomed in a daisy chain. One crate became six became twenty. The floor kicked. Fire chased itself through ducting, found oxygen in the right wrong places, and roared. Glass lenses burst with popping sounds like cheap applause. The cages howled—then toppled and went silent. A chemical sweetness curled into the back of the throat, stuck there like an old lie. They didn’t run. They did what Ghosts do—vanished between the beats of a siren, bodies finding the negative space between flames and sightlines, feet remembering the way out they hadn’t taken in.

Using his whips he hurled the pieces into the others still carrying guns, wiping them out entirely. A chill skated over me as Caius singlehandedly decimated the men that had taken me. Ghost’s chest rumbled as he chuckled darkly. His lips brushed against the shell of my ear, and I could feel from the tilt to his lips that he was grinning. “That is the man you chose to steal from.” I tried and failed not to shudder. Finally, in one fell swoop the numerous bodies of burn scar fell to the ground, reeking of cooked meat. I forced my gaze away, not wanting to see his severed limbs roll into the dirt. Silence rang out, the kind that had my blood roaring in my ears.

Blood covered the walls the night my best friend, Cody Colfax, was murdered. His body twisted and twitched before my eyes, like a fish out of water splashing around on a boardwalk without anyone to put him back. The possession of his body from the unknown source, the scientists call 'The Ghost,' has haunted the bystanders for weeks now. When we found him, his body was half-naked and covered in ashes. The hairs on his arms were fried by the electrical chords wrapped around his arms. The tattoos on his body were symbolic, otherworldly. The Ghost left them there to make their presence known.

He stood straight with a serious face as he began his explanation. "Ghosts are the souls of dead humans who... well, aren't ready to rest in peace. They don't have powers. All they can do is move from one place to another without being seen. Well, not by everyone though." "But... if you're a demon, why then are you in this form?" She couldn't help but ask.

I reached out and pressed the radio button on the steering wheel. My voice was cold, cutting through the static. "Mason Vale, do you see a ghost in your mirror?" I said coldly into the radio. Those words pierced straight through Mason's last line of composure. His car hesitated for an obvious instant on the straight. Now. I smashed the throttle down. The car tore through the air and pulled alongside him. Ahead was a chain of fast S-curves. Seeing that I was about to pass, a vicious look flashed through Mason's eyes.

I couldn't fault Theron for that, after all, I was doing the same thing. "I am glad you fought not only the threat but also for your dignity and you succeed in both." I murmured, my mind once again conjuring images of Theron on the battlefield, ripping the limbs from ghouls and sending them to their deaths as blood soaked through his uniform. The vision once again caused my heart to beat faster in excitement. Enough! I have to stop fanaticising about that! "I did what I had to do and I do not regret it." He continued, as though the incident was done and dusted in his mind. But those words sent a chill racing down my spine. Would he say the same thing once he had murdered me?

Tessa brought up the rear, her hand clutched tightly around the notebook, her eyes scanning the dark horizon. They passed through a series of abandoned warehouses, their skeletons of rusted steel looming over them like prehistoric ruins. The wind howled through the broken windows, a lonely, mournful sound that seemed to lament the state of their lives. They didn't stop for rest. They didn't stop for warmth. They kept moving, pushed forward by the singular, burning need to see the Ghost Unit exposed for the hollow, corrupt machinery it was.

It was a lot to take in. I needed a long time to process it all. My ghostly roommate was actually a legendary former employee of my own company. I closed my laptop with mixed emotions. “So… did the accident trap you here?” After a long silence, Nathaniel’s voice echoed softly in my head. It was faint, almost hazy. “It wasn’t an accident.” My heart dropped. Before I could ask for details, the voice vanished. The next few days at the office were quiet.

"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."

*]:pointer-events-auto scroll-mt-[calc(var(--header-height)+min(200px,max(70px,20svh)))]" dir="auto" data-turn-id="88630483-7eb5-4271-b05b-c60c7df0102d" data-testid="conversation-turn-186" data-scroll-anchor="true" data-turn="assistant"> The silence after the Ghost’s disappearance felt heavier than the gunfire. Like the air itself was holding its breath.