Conversations With A Spirit Novels & Stories

This question that I've asked countless times is like a bottomless abyss, and before I fall in completely, I hurriedly pull myself back: now I should be thinking about Zephyrine, not the damn diary. "I've heard of the so-called 'ghost experiences' of quite a few of my friends around here, but if you ask me," Caleb bristled, "the so-called 'spirits' ' would be a magnetic field, or energy . . anyway (anyway), I'm not really sure."

When one's soul is heavy, how can one smile? Adelard kept talking without giving any chance for silence. He was just afraid of the silence between them. He was as afraid of silence as a deer is afraid of a lion. For silence would be a trap for the two of them. And if they were silent, the pain would win. But who wants it to be painful and difficult? Maybe that's why people are always talking about different things that don't matter. Like the weather or the most obvious things. "The weather is nice today. It's springtime. And then it will be summer," Adelard said, looking out the window.

The man who just confessed his soul while balls-deep inside me. I reach out. My finger hovers over the screen. "Partner," I whisper. I tap the glass.

the Spirit’s smile faded. “Hmph…are you scared?” Diego asked, feeling she had gotten through to her. The Black Spirit showed no sign of fear. She called Diego’s bluffs, “You’re not nearly that stupid to take your own life.” “You don’t know how crazy I can become,” Diego snapped back. “Funny, we are one being. You are crazy, and I’m outa my mind,” the Spirit laughed. “Be gone, Diego!” The spirit, hanging her head, continued her singing.

I reply, turning to face the spirit. The spirit is wearing a half black mask, but I swear I know this spirit. The spirit chuckles as if my words are funny. I don’t have time for games. I want to end this as quickly as possible because whoever lives here might be back any second now, and I don’t want to be caught here. I raise my war scythe and bring it to full size as I strike the spirit in the chest, but to my dismay and surprise, I can’t reap the spirit's soul. What the hell!

she said by the door before leaving completely. Chance finally stood straight and held his chest, breathing hard. "Is she really human? I swear i got the chills, her eyes were staring directly at my soul, and my soul was begging me to stop" he said funnily. "You're madder than I thought, seriously" Delilah said. "He's actually senseless, not mad" Jezebel replied beside her, and she turned to her. "Heard you're a b**ch too, how about we get along?"

The two still had it in them. " You need to listen to me." I warned the spirit wolf, " We are not your enemies here. Don't allow yourself to be used." She launched at me again, and I aimed and punched her jaw hard. She clawed my chest before falling. Then she did something unusual and turned to mist. The mist held me down. I couldn't touch her, but her face was clear, and her eyes had an evil glint in them. "You dare to fight your god." She said.

He swore he would make Frank pay. Frank was deported, and he finally signed the divorce agreement. My life got back on track. Two years later, I started a new relationship with Livio Gentry, a guy I met at a bar. He was a grad student at a nearby school, five years younger than me. His family matched mine. Despite his mature, outgoing look, he was a shy guy. I teased him often. "You don't think I'm old?" "Age doesn't matter. Feelings do," he'd reply earnestly.

Leila spun around to see a woman in her forties, wearing a navy coat and mirrored sunglasses. “I was talking to my dog,” Leila said, forcing a smile. “She gets bored easily.” The woman tilted her head. “Right. Well, I’m Paula Sanchez, giving a lecture here tomorrow. Shamanic rituals.” Leila nodded, pretending to care. “Leila Weinrich. Just visiting my aunt.” “Well, let me know if you need any help. I know this area like the back of my hand,” Paula said with a smile, then walked off, leaving Leila alone.

She looked nothing like the old librarian she was used to with her big spectacles and prominent wrinkles on her forehead. “G-good morning, ma’am!” Millie greeted the lady with a timid smile. The librarian lowered her specs and studied Millie like she was a police officer. “What can I do for you missy?” The lady spoke in a harsh tone which seemed natural for her. “Uh… I was just wondering, is the book called, The Art of Poetry available right now, ma’am?” Millie asked her. “The Art of Letting Go is the only one available, but if you want to see it in the big picture, you can just go into the movie house…” The lady blurted out, chuckling a bit.