Cat Named Ghost Novels & Stories

she whispered. Vincent’s claws shook with tension. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he bared his fangs at the ghost. “You’ll never take her,” he said sternly. The ghost tilted its head slightly. “She already belongs to me, and soon…you will too.” Camela screamed, her voice breaking. “Vincent!” Without hesitation, Vincent lunged forward, driving his claws deep into the shadowy figure’s chest. The ghost let out a shriek as its form began to dissolve into smoke.

“What’s the cat’s name?” “Jack. His owner’s obsessed.” “Jack, like the one from Titanic?” I ask her. She looks me dead in the eye. “No. Jack, as in Jack the Ripper.” She opens the door, and we finally go inside. The black cat, Jack, is in the hallway, staring at us. “Why Jack the Ripper? He doesn’t seem that bad.” I move closer to pet him, but the cat hisses and tries to scratch me. I jerk back, eyes wide. “Holy crap, this cat’s worse than Amanda with a cross!”

Caius tipped his head to the side, eying me in a way that made me feel even more underdressed than I currently was. “We call him Ghost because of how quickly he kills.” The nightclub sat on the corner of a busy street, making it difficult to place a car to stakeout the place. A line full of people wrapped around the side of the building, trailing off past a liquor store and a few closed shops.

Instead of feeling sad, she smiled widely. She jumped off the bed, slid the glass door to the side and went to the balcony. There, she inhaled a deep breath. After a while, she chuckled alone. Once again, she recalled the frivolous dream of last night. The long-haired blond with the beautiful appearance lingered on her mind. “What am I thinking? Someone like that cannot exist in this world.” She shook her head. She smiled all alone at the balcony while thinking of him. She felt a weird kind of relief after knowing the ghost she saw in her dream wasn’t a female. She thought it was funny but at the same time, it was impossible to forget such a person who possessed an appearance that was like n

"How is it possible that you can drink? Thought you said you're a ghost?" He scoffs at her. "Thought I said...," he pauses and takes a peek at his body before turning back to her. "Isn't that my body laying lifeless down there?" "Hmm, how is it possible then that you can drink?" "Because my mum is from the ghost clan while I'm from the clan of the ghost of terror. So even in my ghost form, I can do anything I want. Although I don't feel comfortable with being a ghost and there are certain limitations."

I was even able to see her broken neck bone… She was a karkinos ghost, I instantly recognized her as I remember reading about them in my grandmother book, as per ancient culture, Ghosts with small means are classified under three category first one is Needle-hair ghosts who have hair like iron needles, distressing to themselves and other, second one is Smelly-hair ghosts who have spike-like hair that emits an awful odor and lastly karkinos ghosts who have large goiters on whose pus they must feed. She was karkinos ghost, her state looked horrible… my gaze were tentatively fixed on her when she suddenly lifted her right hand up and pointed in left direction….

Mom’s name hung in the air, a ghost that hollowed me out every time. I sat up, pressing my back against the white headboard of my bed. As I sat up, the plush rug brushed soft under my feet, but a chill snaked through me. “Aziz,” I whispered, glancing at my black cat perched on the windowsill. His yellow eyes glowed in the dark, steady and calm. “He’s at it again, isn’t he?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mom’s name hung in the air, a ghost that hollowed me out every time. I sat up, pressing my back against the white headboard of my bed. As I sat up, the plush rug brushed soft under my feet, but a chill snaked through me. “Aziz,” I whispered, glancing at my black cat perched on the windowsill. His yellow eyes glowed in the dark, steady and calm. “He’s at it again, isn’t he?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You—You can’t—” Ghost moved fast, the cloth twisting around the man’s throat, not choking, just enough to remind him of the line between air and none. He leaned in close, his voice a whisper against the man’s ear. “Who sent you here?” The man tried to laugh, but it cracked into a cough. “You think—” Ghost pulled tighter, just for a heartbeat, then loosened again, letting the man drag in a desperate breath. His pale eyes never blinked. “You think I won’t take you apart piece by piece?” Ghost asked softly. “I buried men alive in Cambodia and listened while they begged me to let the dirt finish the job. Compared to that, you’re a child playing outlaw. So I’ll ask again.”

"Elle, you need to see this.” Ghost calls out. I push the knife a little harder into the Collector’s shoulder before jumping to my feet. I give him one last look before turning my back on him. His fingers have stopped twitching; even if I take the knife out, the damage is most likely permanent, and he’s no threat to me anymore. I see Ghost has walked behind the counter; he has a computer in front of him and the glow of the screen is lighting him up, making him look like some kind of otherworldly ghost. I kind of get the name but it seems more like a punishment to me, like his parents judged him on how he looked when he was born and decided to brand him with the name forever.