روايات وقصص ضمن Ghost Reading A Book

He flop himself on the bed and check out the book she's reading. "Actually, before you barge in my room, I'm reading a book that could add on my knowledge while I wait for Diz' call. Heather's been ghosting ever since that night." She snatched the book from him and plank a pillow on his face before sitting at edge of her bed. Placing the book back on her small shelf and face him.

Hello to my readers. First of all I want to say thank you to y'all that would be reading my book and I want to assure you that, you won't get bored while reading the story! Secondly, its a book about Eight College Students that went on a vacation and ended up having illnesses. This book contains mental illnesses that are psychological and beings such as ghosts. Thirdly, be rest assured, its my original work, anything in it that relates to human beings or to real life is nothing but a coincidence and please no plagiarizing.

My breath falters once. I don’t know the name. That should be enough. I steady my breathing and listen. Nothing outside but wind through the trees. Still, I step back. Ghosts don’t keep personal items. They don’t have pasts that can be written down. I open the cover just enough to see the first page. My name is there. Written in a hand I don’t recognize. Footsteps approach. I snap the book shut as the door handle turns.

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 rubs her thighs together to calm the want coursing through her and luckily it helps and she sits beside him. "You ain't my kinda female, don't you get that?" He blurts stands up and walks out heading to his little bar a few steps away from him. She stands and trails behind him. "What do you mean by that?" "What you just heard." He picks out a bottle of whiskey, pops it, and starts drinking directly from the cap. How is it possible that he can drink in his ghost form? She thinks forgetting about his reply. "How is it possible that you can drink? Thought you said you're a ghost?"

The remnants of someone’s bedroom that was long forgotten about crashed around us. We screamed in terror. I was beginning to fear the house was going to fall down on us. We continued to hear the sound of slamming and fighting happening through the house. I was clawing at everything to try and find an escape. Out of nowhere, a book dropped in my lap. It was old. It looked like it used to be cream colored with purple lace. This matches Gabrielle’s style. I saw a key lock. Suddenly, a key dropped from the binding of the book. It was a diary of some kind. I think Gabrielle’s spirit or someone wants me to have this. I shoved it into my bag and peaked out the door. I could tell it was still not s

Sometimes, I wonder if she’s the one I am feeling in this room. I don’t believe in ghosts or that shit. I grab a blue hardcover, with the name, ‘Herbs for healing sleeping sickness’. I flip the pages, leaning on the bookshelves, as the pages flip, a paper falls out. I grip it, the paper is nearly old, the edges almost torn off. The writing is legible.

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.

But the fear that had been gnawing at her for days pushed her forward. She opened the book. The first pages were cold, filled with business notes and travel schedules. But as she flipped forward, the handwriting changed—it became jagged, frantic, and deeply personal. Her eyes landed on a single sentence near the end: Some ghosts don’t stay buried because they were never dead. A chill crept down her spine, turning her blood to ice. Before she could process the words, the lights throughout the estate flickered once, buzzed, and died. The house fell into absolute, suffocating darkness.

"Wait. I need to know. Why did, uhm, whatever, carelessly pick me?" "Go back." The woman wasn't paying her any attention. She kept on plucking cowries and attaching them to her head. "What is he? Oh, don't answer that one. He's a ghost. I know that. Why is he in that state? No, no, why can I see him? Why can l feel his touch, ghosts can't do that, can they? What does he need me for?" The old woman stopped her scaly hands from further movements and stared directly at Geneva through her foggy eyes that obviously saw clearly.