Ghost Diary Novels & Stories

I kicked Wade in the knee. He screamed and dropped to the floor. I continued facing the camera, my voice ice cold. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened. "Twenty-eight years ago. Same track. Same method. "My father, Daniel Carter, had his spine broken and was left permanently paralyzed by the same man, using the same method." I pointed straight at Mason. "That man is him. Mason Vale." Mason shuddered all over and screeched like a scalded cat.

But your mother's about to die—I know you'll show up. Her words jolted me back to reality. I pressed a hand to my chest, where my heart ached with a dull, numbing pain. How I wished I could tell her myself. That I've been here all along. It's just that... I've been dead for four years.

“Little ghost.” Next: Shatterpoint

She radiated a terrifying presence. However, there was a problem. Eliza, a famous ghost from the fog-shrouded city of Blackmoor, already dominated the long-haired ghoul archetype. Viewers would automatically compare this ghost to Eliza and dismiss her as ordinary, leaving her perpetually at the bottom of the NPC popularity rankings.

" Two guards in black immediately moved in, ignoring Nellie's struggle as they dragged her toward the exit. Around them, guests lifted their phones, snapping pictures and laughing under their breath. Voices overlapped, mocking how pathetic the Scott siblings were, laughing that people like them might as well be dead. What they didn't know was that I was already dead. And Nellie was suffering from the same illness I had. She didn't have much time left either.

Leo hit the Persian rug hard, sliding toward Marco’s feet. "What is this, Gary?" Marco didn't look up. "I’m busy." "Kid’s got something from Pier 7," Gary rasped, his voice like gravel in a blender. "Says a ghost is haunting the deep-water berths." Leo scrambled up, clutching his ribs. "It’s a reporter, Mr. Moretti! She was in a hobo rig—dirty face, gray beanie—but those weren't worker’s eyes. She was memorizing coordinates. The old routes."

I said. I hadn't planned to say it. It arrived the way things arrived when I was tired enough — without permission, without the usual processing, just the plain fact of it stated into the room. I don't know who I am. Not Ghost — Ghost was closed, declared deceased, a case file marked concluded in a precinct on the east side of Lawson City. Not the cover — Chris Lee, documents assembled from fragments, a tool for moving through the world invisibly. Not the assassin — that was a function, not an identity, and functions without a context were just unused capacity.

Ghost moved quickly, eyes locked on me like I was the problem. I backed away, heart still pounding. My throat still burned from the note. But I didn’t look away. He was awake. Angry. Alive. We stared at each other. Both of us were trembling for different reasons. “Call Pietro,” he said suddenly. Ghost turned. “What?” “I want to know what he has found digging up everything on that cemetery. I want names. Records. Visitors. Hell, even from the past year.” Ghost paused. “Yes, Boss?”