Ghost Fanfiction Novels & Stories

When I was six years old, I came down with a terrible fever. Doris carried me through a blizzard and begged a clinic doctor to treat me. She spent her entire life pinching pennies, setting aside every dollar for my future wedding. "Mark, ghosts are easier to deal with than people. A ghost just wants your life, but people will strip you to the bone." She used to say it while sipping her tea. ‘Doris, you were wrong. ‘In this world, people are far more poisonous than ghosts.’

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

（William’view） After leaving Chicago, I went back to the only life I truly knew. The life of a mercenary. Five years of comfort hadn't dulled my instincts. It was like a blade that had been kept in its sheath—once drawn, it was sharper than ever. I wasn't William Windemere anymore. I was 'Ghost' Noah, the king of mercenaries who called the shots in the black market. I reveled in it. The adrenaline of calculating trajectories in a firefight, the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat on a stealth op. This was the real me. A man who lived on the edge of a knife.

Once they stepped outside, Lucas angrily threw the fake money on the ground. “Damn it! How dare they trick me?!” Meanwhile, I was secretly watching the whole scene and laughing my head off! … The following day, while Lucas was sleepy, I pretended to speak casually and said, “I heard there’s a big bag of money near the third pillar at the lakeside gazebo. It’s about to get ruined in the water.” When he jolted awake, I slipped into the crowd unnoticed. Lucas excitedly told Zoe about the news. She hesitated a bit after yesterday’s fiasco, but he insisted, saying an opportunity like this would not come again. They had to go and check things out for themselves.

One or two just… flickered, as if the system didn’t know whether to mark them as alive or dead. I’d written maybe two chapters of “Bone City” before abandoning it for Neon City fanfic. “Ghosts in the Vents” was three lines of an idea in a sticky note app. “Dead Girls Don’t Trend” had been a half‑drunk rant to a friend that never made it past the message window. They were all here. On my grave. My throat closed. Behind me, the soft shuffle and rustle of boots on paper told me the others were moving, fanning out, discovering their own stones.

I move toward the back, where Ghost is posted up with that smug look he always wears after something interesting walks through our doors. He clocks me and pats the seat beside him. “Sit, brother.” I drop down and take the glass he slides my way without a word. “So?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the bar. “What’s her story? We don’t get girls like that walking in off the street. Not unless they’re already tagged by another club.” Ghost lets out a quiet grunt, amused. “Danielle says she’s in an open relationship. Boyfriend’s idea. Sounds like he’s getting bored and looking for a free pass.”

Or I might just be hallucinating in fear. "Erm...errr....I, I just don't want to become a virgin ghost, that's all. Do you know how vengeful virgin ghosts are? They are like super scary and stuff and they can't stand lovers because they themselves died before doing the deed, you know. I just don't want to be as pitiful as them, not that I pity them or something like that. It's just super sad and I don't want to end up like them." Oh God I was babbling. Please don't kill me! Please don't kill me!

*]:pointer-events-auto scroll-mt-[calc(var(--header-height)+min(200px,max(70px,20svh)))]" dir="auto" data-turn-id="88630483-7eb5-4271-b05b-c60c7df0102d" data-testid="conversation-turn-186" data-scroll-anchor="true" data-turn="assistant"> The silence after the Ghost’s disappearance felt heavier than the gunfire. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

Those who had discovered the truth were swiftly silenced, their secrets dying with them. The rumors about The Ghost were the stuff of criminal legend. They said he could walk through walls, that he had spies in every major organization, that he could make people disappear without a trace. Some said he wasn't human at all, but a vengeful spirit who had returned from the dead to punish the wicked. Victor did nothing to discourage these tales—in fact, he cultivated them.

You just appeared in my DM talking about my late best friend, speaking in words I don't understand and you're telling me I'm pretending? My blood was boiling as I sent out the message, my hand flew to my chest and I could hear my heart thumping. I stood up, unable to sit, as I began pacing around my room, staring at the three dots, and the message dropped again Ghost: I won't ask you this again, the one who fed you lies, what did he tell you about the death of your late best friend? Is this person mentally unstable? What did who tell me? Does the person not have a name? I dug my finger into my scalp, trying to figure out what they meant, and it just clicked: could this be...