A Rather Haunted Life Novels & Stories

It could pass through your skin in seconds and come out the other side, causing bleeding that is very difficult to heal. Monique cries inconsolably. She is emaciated, her hands and feet are bound with metal handcuffs, and her face is pale. On the other hand, Harrison ... I can't even say for sure that it's about him. His hands, his face ... all of him is with remains of burnt, raw, a product of the fire that I caused to try to kill him. It's fucking scary. I don't know how the fuck he's still alive. That man must have made a pact with the fucking demon. - Mom ...- Lailah murmurs almost in a whisper. Looks like he's been shocked.

I said. He shrugged. “Had a shitty life. Figured if there is an afterlife, it was going to be badly moderated.” He looked back at me. “How long have you been in the queue, horror girl?” Horror girl. The nickname hit me oddly—light, teasing, but without the contempt I was used to when people referenced my writing. No sneer. No air quotes. I rubbed my bandaged forearm. “One world,” I said. “Castle. Vampires. Throne with issues.”

And now he is having fun with the woman and their child. "Ah ... this unlucky guy continues to be in my brain. Why do I know such a despicable human?" I shook my head, trying to get rid of all my thoughts, but he just kept haunting me. "Gerald ... don't continue to haunt Rara. Rara also wants to be happy. Rara has given up everything. Don't be present in Rara's life. Give Rara a little space. I want to experience life like any other normal human." I'm still sobbing. I wanted to forget, but all these problems still haunted me. Ah, the unlucky man in my life!

In front of other people, she always cared so much about her image. But today, I wasn't going to let her have her way. Before I could even put on the French maid costume, the banquet hall erupted in laughter. And then—over the speakers—came that unmistakable, indecent sound, echoing from every direction. Jody's hand froze mid-makeup. She couldn't believe it. She ran out the door. On the screen, a loop played. She and Pete—on the swing, in the car, on the rooftop—messing around.

It was unexpected that a simple game like chasing could be this fun. Fritz, who was familiar with the laughter, immediately approached. He was a little astonished when he entered the haunted house. This haunted house had absolutely no particular partition used for ghosts. This haunted house was like an ordinary house. The furniture is still complete, and there are still many items, such as glasses. The only difference is that the walls are burnt, and some have collapsed in some parts, overgrown by wild plants. Because this haunted house was burnt initially, it has no perfect roof. But Fritz didn't care about that. His mission was only one: to shoot Edgar dead. Fritz hid behind the wall. He c

She sooner realizes the phantom that has haunted her steps was born of her imagination, nurtured by fear. The thing that haunted her in the dark was not the monstrosity she had imagined. It was a truth so strange, so alien to her expectations, that it felt like a different kind of nightmare. When the veil of fear is finally lifted, she sees clearly—what had been hunting her was not a demon or a shadow-born fiend, but a reflection of her own misguided terror.

It was her first time she’d been to Leila’s home. “About fuckin’ time girl. You know a man died in here, right? Harry’s son hung himself right from that beam about twenty-years back. Before Harry rehabbed the space to make it into an apartment, us local kids would scare the shit out of ourselves breaking in and looking for his ghost. Of course, Zanna would tag along just to pray for his soul to keep it from damnation. The man was said to be a bastard who roughed up women, treated them like pieces of meat, and gave half the county herpes or some shit.” Leila didn’t speak to her friend until she had a sip of the coffee in her, “Thanks for that charming tidbit about my home. I really appreciate

Savannah. "Scarlett, what are you doing? What did you do?" She asked, horrified as her eyes darted between me and the room, the realisation dawning on her. Grabbing me by my upper arms, she shook me violently. "What did you do, Scarlett? What madness is this? You've gone too far, Scarlett, too far." She cried out. Breaking out of her hold, I snapped, "I've gone too far? Really, Miss Hawton? I just got thrown across the room like a ragdoll by some freaking invisible force, and you're telling me that I've gone too far? You've got to be kidding me. Tell me the truth; I want to know what the hell is going on in this place. Is this a haunted house or something? Are you all in some kind of freak c

I've just gotten back from a business trip when my wife, Lisa Irwin, steps onto the windowsill. She looks at me, tears streaming down her face, and whispers, "I'm so sorry, honey." Then she jumps in front of me. Our three-month-old daughter, Ariah Conner, lies silent in her crib. She's not breathing, and her skin has turned a deep purple. Beside her, our nanny, Aunt Caitlin, lies unconscious with blood pooling from a head wound. The police tell me Lisa was sexually assaulted before she died, and Ariah suffocated. The security cameras were down. There was no sign of forced entry. In a single day, my whole world shatters. Every clue points to a phantom who doesn't exist. I spend five

This was becoming a dangerous obsession. Over the last six months, these hauntings had increased in intensity until they felt less like dreams and more like a parallel life. There was no defense against it; the mere memory of his gaze drove me to the edge of madness, compelling me to touch myself with a desperation that both terrified and thrilled me. With a shaky sigh, I finally forced myself out of bed. The mundane world was calling. College awaited, and with it, Selima, my only confidante, who was undoubtedly already downstairs, enduring my mother’s small talk while waiting for me to emerge from my secret, sapphire-blue cocoon.