Ghost Plot Novels & Stories

When I turned back around, I noticed a new note pinned to the table. It was the same familiar handwriting, but the strokes seemed to carry a hint of chill this time. "Squanderer." I froze, then started laughing out loud. So this ghost couldn't just cook—she was also a thrifty, budget-conscious woman. I liked that. I immediately grabbed a pen and wrote back, "Sorry, Ivy. I was just joking. From now on, let's stick to regular dishes. I won't bring up such ridiculous things anymore." I made sure to apologize sincerely.

Ghost grabbed the other hand, and the remaining five fingers also fell to the ground. Marcus and Mark had lost the ability to speak as they looked on in fear. Ghost used a special technique and broke Layla’s limbs. She could not move, and the only thing she could do was scream out in pain. She wanted to faint, but the pain woke her up every time. Ghost looked towards the door and ordered, “Come.” A few men in white lab coats carrying unique briefcases entered. They looked like doctors, but when Marcus had a clear look at the badges on their chests, he was so dumbfounded that he ended up vomiting blood.

Her body would simply fail, and she would fall. But not today. Today wasn't the right day. The light was wrong. The angle was wrong. The wind was unpredictable. Ghost had learned patience the hard way by staying alive when he should have been dead. He watched her disappear into the building. Then he waited. Ghost ate protein bars and drank water from a bottle he'd prepared the night before. The apartment was empty except for him and his equipment. He'd rented it under a false name, paid in cash, told the landlord he was a photographer working on a project about the Manhattan skyline.

Her eyes swept across my small studio apartment with contempt. “I heard the rent for this place is ridiculously cheap. There couldn’t possibly be something wrong with it, could there?” I said flatly, “It’s quite good. It’s spacious, bright, and the neighbors are nice.” Whitley laughed exaggeratedly. “Neighbors? Would you even dare to go out at night in this building? I heard someone died here.” She was just here to gloat. I could not be bothered to deal with her. So, I turned to close the door.

she went back to the gap looked at the stars as she talked to herself. she wished her life was perfect like what the neighbors thought of it. she went down on her knees and pleaded before going to bed. Baraka, the boy living subsequent house to mercy, was at the dining table by himself, his parents were out on a business trip as usual. after he’s done with his meal, he went to bed, took his phone and called mercy to say goodnight. ‘‘I can bill the gloom in your speech even from the phone, so what’s going on with you?’’ baraka commanded

She'd been right about Paoli. He was an honest-to-God blood sucking vampire. Not really alive, but not dead. He was undead. There was no telling how many innocent people he'd killed. Well, she wasn’t about to be added to his numbers. She jerked the gaudy silver cross from her pocket and shoved it against his forehead.

“Does your... friend... have any idea of where we should be looking?” At my question, Geo looks away and to a spot right beside me, causing a chill to race down my spine as I understand that the ghost must be there beside me. “He says it is in the burial grounds behind the temple.” Geo says quietly. “But there are boobytraps set up everywhere to stop people from getting near it.” Boobytraps… Were we characters in an action series? Why were things turning into some sci-fi movie? It was mind-blowing, but I guess just the fact we as wolves existed and hid our identities from the humans made it clear that anything was possible.

It resembled heat haze over a frozen pond. Roric raised his lance, but Kael gestured for him to wait. "Don't waste the charge." Out of the gray mist emerged a wolf. But it wasn't an ordinary wolf; it was a Ghost-Packer. It stood nearly seven feet tall, made of a translucent, oily smoke that shifted and swirled. Instead of eyes, it had two hollow cavities filled with flickering violet static-the remnants of a soul deleted by Liora's "Link," yet refusing to leave the physical plane.

“Where’s my pretty little prize?!” I ignored him. Focused. The walls were cracked. Paintings burned. Smoke thick. The air shook. Smoke rolled like claws through the hallways. My ears rang with static and fire.” I hit the back room. Nothing. No fire. No sign of life. No blankets. No dishes. No beds. No girl. Scarface stormed back into the hall. “Where the hell are they?!” “They’re not here,” I said. In the ashes of the fireplace, someone had drawn a red spiral. The symbol Ghost used to leave on his kills. Only this time, it wasn’t a kill. He was mocking us.

He was dressed in the same white attire the Council members had been in, but unlike them, he had black hair which seemed to have grayed from age and eyes that looked to be ink black. “You should let go of that,” he said, and I turned to my gaze to find the ‘child’ I’d held unto was actually a rotten corpse with maggots falling off it. I shove away from it, wiping the grease on my hand on my pants. “I heard it speak,” “Yes. Down in the Forgotten Pits, when people die, their souls remain here as ghosts. There’s no escape from this place, not even in death.” I looked up at him, wondering if I was seeing things or if this man at least was real. He looked real enough.