Ghost Stories Novels & Stories

A young couple moved in to a new home in Hawaii. They had a young son, Bobby, whom they would put to bed each night, only to find him the next morning sleeping on the floor in the corner of his room ... ... One day, the father put a wardrobe in that corner, and that night while the couple was watching TV, they turned to see their son walking out of his room as if he was holding someone's hand. Just before he got to the door, he dropped his hand as if the person had let go. He woke up crying. The couple were scared, and they called a Hawaiian priest for help. He told them that their house was built on a "night marching trail" — a path taken by ghosts. The priest said Bobby always slept in a c

"But. . . but. . ." "Seriously, there's no such thing as ghosts, or witches, or witch hunters," Gina raged, reaching her limits of patience. "Those are just make-believe scary stories. Lame ones for that matter and if you're so scared by a story told by a sick, dumb girl then you don't deserve to be in the vampire team." "Okay, sheesh! There's no need to get all snappy," Katie said, stepping forward before she turned to the others. "Come on, guys. Let's get this done with."

Ghosts must be real. The ghost stories here are too many to keep track of, although Leonard knew them all. "Which story is this ghost from, Leonard?" I had a bit of liquid courage left. Leonard didn't answer me but I had hope that he'd hit the security button at his desk. It was a silent alarm. Then it spoke. "I guess you could say a ghost and I share a few things in common, but no love, I'm no ghost. Tethered spirits and lost souls are what humans call "ghosts"."

" She was terrified. She trembled and clapped her hand on her mouth? It was awkward because the mansion was encircled by a concrete wall fence. "It couldn't have been an intruder. Perhaps it was a roaming dog, but they didn't own any in the mansion. It couldn't be a dog because there was no way it could have jumped over the wall fence unless it had wings. She was confused. "Oh, mother Mary, I am scared." She hauled the blanket over her head shaking tremendously. Suddenly she vividly recollected the story about ghosts; Her mother had once told her that in some families, the dead return during the night to haunt their enemies or watch over their loved ones.

Ghost stories around a bonfire—what could be more suspenseful and playful? Alastair settled down next to me, his hand finding mine. He gave it a reassuring squeeze as he began his tale. "Once, in these very woods, there was a legend of a ghostly figure that would appear every full moon. They say that those who encountered this spirit were granted a wish, but at a great cost..." His words hung in the air, and the pack leaned in closer, their eyes locked on Alastair, captivated by the haunting tale. The crackling of the fire seemed to echo the suspense in the atmosphere.

I whispered. Gina was shaking, terror flashing in her eyes. I wish I knew what to tell her but I knew nothing about ghosts. My brothers did but during their time as hunters, they dealt more with the physical. I would have learned about ghouls last in my training and it would have been light reading. "I think this is your unique gift as a vampire," I said since it was the only thing that could explain why she was seeing ghosts in the first place. "Seeing ghosts?" She asked, taking a few careful steps.

Strickland was not on her side. Patsy would have helped her; she was almost certain. But she had taken ill recently and was on leave. She hoped that, once she recovered, her mother would have her back, and then she would tell her everything. She knew that Patsy would help her. The other ladies were all strict and rude, just like the aptly named Ms. Strickland. It would do no good to try to tell them. So Meggy cried herself to sleep each night, hoping to be lucky and not to be awoken in a few hours by the sound of the monster creeping up the stairs. This night, she tucked herself in tightly, hoping perhaps if the blankets were taut enough, he’d give up and go away. That had never worked befor

Epilogue: Now that I have written several of these stories, I find that my old ghosts have started to haunt my dreams yet again. It is amazing that once things are written down, they begin to take on a life of their own. Just remember, if you don’t want things to go bump in the night, don’t tell anyone else about them.

It was a Psychological-Horror landscape—the sanctuary had become a gallery of Elara’s maternal trauma. "Elara, stay back," Kazimir warned, drawing his Glitch-Blade. The flickering edge hissed as it moved through the air, sensing the Corrupted-Code of the ghosts. "The garden is dying, Elara," the ghosts whispered in unison, a hundred different voices creating a Polychromatic Chorus that shook the ground. "The General is gone, but the shards remain. We are the 'Infection' you can never delete." One of the ghosts—the one in the lab coat—walked toward Elara. She didn't have feet; she drifted across the grass, the moss turning to gray ash beneath her. She stopped inches from Elara’s face.

*]: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.