Beyond Living Novels & Stories

Mandy looked terrified. "James, could she be right? Has Emma turned into a ghost? Do you think she'll come back for revenge?" She wrapped her arms around Chester, her whole body shaking. "James, should we call in someone with spiritual know-how to cleanse the place?" James felt torn. He knew his family never cared for Emma, but to think their indifference could drive her to take her life… "Mom," he managed to choke out, "there's no such thing as ghosts. Emma's probably just sick. I'll get a top doctor to check out her records."

“I realized I can't do this. Don't bother looking for me. I'm fine.” —Penelope. If she thought her life couldn't get any worse than her misfortune weeks back, she was in for a treat.

Why? It's so annoying that I can't undo the damage. It's something I'll have to live with for the rest of my miserable life. It's my curse to bear for love. Endless suffering and torment of pain. Relieving a painful memory. Good Lord, help me! I lay there alone, my eyes fixed on the ceiling of the room. It's clear now that I'm a meaningless fellow, left with nothing to lose. Luka is dead, my life is a piece of shit, and I fucking have no idea what comes next.

Is one quiet night really too much to ask? I clasped my hands on my ears as the sounds of moans and groans from the other room was piercing through the walls of my bedroom. This is what I get for agreeing to living in the same house with one of the biggest players in campus, just so I could pay cheap rent. I laid down in bed, defeated. I couldn't even get through one sentence with all of the commotion from the other room. What the heck is he even doing to these women to make them scream all night? Is he really that good in bed?

And outside, the sun rose higher over Manhattan, bathing the city in light—even as one woman sat in the dark, trying to untangle what was real… and what was just another scene for the show. Meanwhile, in Manhattan, The phone screen dimmed, and the livestream ended. Beth smiled with satisfaction as she carefully placed her phone down on the dresser, her glossy lips curved into the kind of smile that belonged on magazine covers—polished, triumphant, perfectly hollow. She turned back to Kingsley, who still sat in the bed with the untouched bowl of fruit in front of him and the croissant he could no longer taste wedged between his fingers. “Well,” Beth said brightly, brushing her long curls back