A Rather Haunted Life Novels & Stories

It all became a trauma for her and she would feel herself panicking from time to time. The frits she started to experience at night and the memories of the man he killed earlier in front of her eyes came back and started to haunt her. She would feel uncomfortable within herself and it brought tears to her eyes that her simple, happy life was gradually turned into a one living hell which she wished she would escape. *

This is the story of a young man with a secret talent who plays good samaritan and finds himself at the center of a battle bigger than himself... but he won't be alone! At least that's part of the gist for now.😅 Now let's see how it goes… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "The ghosts in my house wouldn't be so bad if they could just stop trying to cook" which will not appear in this form because it's allowed to work around them and so I did.

Death offers nothing to admire, be it the pale skin of the corpse, the stiff joints, the cloudy eyes, the dilated pupils, the decomposed skin, or the white maggots wriggling around. However, taking someone's life, the process of turning something alive into something dead, stealing that divine power, is what drives people insane. When the final shovel of dirt is thrown, it's as if she has buried the hesitant, wavering human beneath the deep pit. The respectful driver with his hands behind his back stood solemnly waiting for him to enter. Alexandra Dhara, with his hand, expressed her desire to enter first, in a very natural and gentle manner.

I hope he will be a peaceful soul now. This house .... it looks more strange than before. When I was here as Mrs Khurana I didn't feel this much strange or fear but now something changed. I felt like I am extra here, I don't have any role in this house anymore. Feeling suffocated I stood from walked like a free soul. Walking through the balcony looking around I think this is the first time I am seeing this whole house. One year , more than one year I spent here but not even for once this house owned me. The great Khurana mansion ... People who curiously watches this house from outside. Maybe for them this mansion will be something they admire but only those who are living inside know the pai

I didn't reimburse scrutiny to the Lieutenant's hand that trudged around my hand and squeezed it lightly to calm me down. Moreover, my crow's feet spoke of gloomy nightmare and the profound furrows in my cheeks told of a woman who gives away deaths like they were wishes. A film of a watermark is dark eyes glossy and my face was fallen, submissive to the gravity. Then, my black hair, normally neatly combined, bore telltale signs that my dappled hands had been run through in suffering. It was a face of a woman who had lost. Losing something she can't bring back. Lives. It was the innocent lives of these people.

The therapist gasped, reaching back. She looked back to the door. The whistle. She heard it so clearly. The door swong open as though pulled by the wind, repeatedly swinging before slamming itself shut. Dr montoya did not mutter a no way. She simply stared. She remembered her black African neighbor Tibo whom she had refused a book for spiritual protection called '112 signs your home might just be haunted. ' but she found the idea of after life residence even in her own home disturbingly funny. She believed in God, not ghosts. She was a catholic. It should have all been a trance because what the therapist quite assumed she imagined to have seen was Ursa Pearson staring right at her through th

Could they hope to see thirty? By now, over an hour passed, and Wanda could still see signs of excited moths waiting to be birthed as they made a mess of Mary’s corpse on the inside. The dead librarian was looking a lot shrivelled from the amount of blood the vampire moths drank, and Wanda wondered if the police would contact the paranormal detectives to take over the case if they left the body as it were. “We might have to call the cleaners to take care of this body,” Wanda sighed as she bottled the twenty-eighth moth. “I don’t think we can explain the cause of death like the others. It looks too unnatural.”

Jon only gave me a brief side glance, almost looking askance at me, but said nothing and continued to drive deeper into the woods. The cabin was now beyond a humble abode, to me the brown wooden structure tarnished with white and black from failed attempts to revive its derelict appearance with paint, resembled those haunted cabins in the woods in horror movies and those cabins were infamous for many things- none of which are pleasant. I felt like I was walking into some deformed serial killer's lair or into a domain for creatures of the night and supernatural entities; ghosts, vampires and wicked witches with an appetite for human flesh.

When Ian picked up the call, Harry's tone had softened noticeably. "Enough with this, Rebecca. You should stop throwing your tantrums. You were indeed wrong this time. I don't care where you are. Just hurry and come home. I'll take your side this time." While Harry was still blabbering on, Ian interrupted him, "Harry Haldeman, were you the one who instructed the maids to burn the dead body? That body was very likely our sister, Rebecca!" There was a moment's stunned silence. Then, Harry's voice started shaking. "That… Could it be… That's impossible. Rebecca couldn't have ended up looking like that. She was locked inside the cellar for just three days. She couldn't have turned into something

The only sound was their footfalls; echoed from the stone of their surroundings. William watched the light dance around them and decided if ever a place would be haunted, this was it. They passed a room that clearly served as the holding cell. It stood empty and stale with disuse. It reeked of impending madness; the opening yawning before him like an omen.