Ghost Realm Novels & Stories

"Three, it's a short distance from the portal entrance to the destination, but it can take a lot of energy, so keep moving straight for the exit portal rip and do not stop." We all stepped into the open tear, and it instantly closed behind us. I could see the exit a few yards ahead and went towards it. The souls of the dead blended into the grey mist that clung to the edge of our lit road. The rogue's eyes were glued intently on the faces of the lost dead as I reached out and pulled him on. He pulled against me slightly, but I managed to get him to move. The ghost roads were cold and chilly, and the longer we stayed on them, the more dangerous they became. They were not for the living. I cli

My voice bounced around the tiny apartment, thick with rage I couldn't hold back. The ceiling light started going berserk, flickering on and off wildly. A chill shot up my spine, sharper and deeper than ever before. In the corner, a patch of shadow began to twist and ripple, gathering into one spot. A human-shaped silhouette, darker than the darkness around it, slowly peeled itself out of the shadows. The figure was tall and slender—it was a woman's outline wrapped in an indistinct shroud of black mist. There was no wind, but it felt like the air had been sucked from the room in an instant. Then, an icy, emotionless voice rang out. It wasn't in my ears, but directly inside my head. "Say that

She saw herself, bloodied, broken, standing over his corpse. Then, she saw something new. A figure, wreathed in darkness, stretching out its hand. Her lips parted as a whisper escaped, unbidden. "The Void..." A chuckle rippled through the abyss. "Ah, so you do remember." A rush of ice surged through her veins. She did remember. Buried deep within the histories of the Moonborn, whispered in hushed tones by elders afraid to speak its name; the Void. A realm between life and death. A place where lost souls lingered, bound by unfinished business or cursed by forces beyond their control.

Eleand gathered his thoughts for a moment, where he before he started his story. “All right, this may sound weird, but it looks real. Well, in my mind. When I was in a coma, I dreamed about a faerie realm called Erganiv, and it has four domains— Gwiazda, Noyuh, Alsache, and the Capital City, Argia.” “All right, go on.” Ezekiel listened carefully. He jotted down all the information in a long bond paper. Even to the smallest detail, he explained everything. His younger brother looked interested, and he didn’t laugh even if he sounded crazy. Until they noticed it was past midnight after they had been finished discussing.

There were several way to access hell. First is through a direct portal that was made millennia ago by none other than the first witch, my mother. Or the only other way was through consecrated ground. Every grave yard had a tomb or mausoleum that was the gateway to hell. It was done that way so that when a human soul passes on into the next life, their soul would either be collected by heaven, or else the portal would open delivering them into hell. I apparate to the site immediately, only to find the cloaked figure of Lysander already there.

She opened her mouth, and a lullaby began, but the melody cracked and faltered, the notes dissolving into the sound of the surf like tears into the sea. Liora woke with the ghost of the broken lullaby in her ears and a wetness on her own cheeks. She knew, with the certainty of a Scribe, that this was not a monster to be fought. This was a wound that had never been cleaned. A story that had never been finished. At breakfast, she told them about the dream. "A ghost?" Ronan asked, his practical nature wrestling with the supernatural. "An echo," Liora corrected. "Like the ones in the Ashen Wastes. But this one isn't trapped in a battle. She's trapped in her grief."

It was woven from the hatred of countless wrongful deaths, stray threads of leaking chaotic energy, and the ancient malice locked beneath long-forgotten seals. When it thickened, faint faces would surface in the gray. There was a white-haired elder, a broad-shouldered man twisted in agony, a woman in tattered robes, and a child that wouldn't stop crying. They writhed and reached out with pale, grasping hands toward anyone who passed, their mouths stretched open in piercing, soundless screams. But the moment any of them drifted within arm's reach of Landon, the heavenly energy around him burned them into nothing on contact. These were the ghosts of everyone who had ever trespassed on Grief Pe

I paced across the room, my heart racing as the echoes of my last dream still clung to my skin. The furies. The whispered warnings, the icy grips, and the terror—they were becoming more real with every passing day. The eerie connection between me and the Underworld was no longer something I could brush aside.

I could hear an erratic heartbeat. ​I used my senses to direct me until my feet came to an immediate stop where the scent and sound met. I take a hesitant step forward, looking down into the barely visible opening between two grimy walls. It was a space which held a small, shaking body, perfectly hidden behind the patches of grass. “​Mate,” Theo declared once more, his glee bubbling over into my chest. ​But within that same moment, the scent clears itself to reveal the underlying truth. The sweet aroma was coming off a human. A fragile, completely human girl.

The way he had in the basement library, when he was trying to decide if he could trust me. "Ghost doesn't take money," he said. "He doesn't take favors. He takes pieces of people. Memories. Secrets. Things you can't get back." "Then we make sure we don't give him anything we can't afford to lose." --- The number on Miriam's card connected after two rings. A voice answered. Not male. Not female. Something in between. Processed through a modulator, scrambled beyond recognition. "You reached the line," the voice said. "State your business."