Ghost Story Novels & Stories

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.

An actual ghost was standing in front of me, which means the ghost story was real and the only people I know to wear all-white outfits are ghosts. The ghost tried to touch me, but I moved backward and tripped over my luggage. To cut the story short, I landed on my butt. "Miss Hillary, are you alright?" The ghost asked me. The ghost could talk. I haven't seen Ghost Talk except in movies and novels, and they are not actual ghosts. "You..." I pointed to the ghost. "How are you talking right now?" I questioned the ghost.

" As he finished, an indescribable stench unfurled, leaving Frank narrowing his eyes in the stink. In a split second, the dark figure before him disappeared, reappearing the next instant behind Frank as if teleporting. "Die!" Ghost bellowed. Frank turned even as he felt the shockwave on his nape but felt the agony in his stomach before he could counter. "Oof…" He gasped, looking down to see that a bandaged hand pierced through his entire stomach. As Ghost pulled out, his hand was now covered in pieces of Frank's innards! "Frank!" Skyler was just coming upstairs and paled when she saw that. "Oh, Torrent's pet? Perfect. I'll wipe you all out right now!" Ghost exclaimed with a maniacal grin, li

I was gone, and it wasn't as though they could speak ill of me now, not while my body was being buried in the ground. Even my mother-in-law came. She was already a frail, tiny woman, but seeing her there made her appear decades older. Grayson knelt before my gravestone, convinced he was performing some act of atonement. But to me, his presence was nothing more than repulsive. After the funeral, he returned to the small apartment. Alice, starved for three days, lay there, barely clinging to life. The moment she saw Grayson, fear overtook her—a fear she couldn't hide.

"When it comes to gossip, nothing gets past me." At 11:00 PM, an understated luxury car pulled up at the school gates. Helena and Howard got out. Celeste and I had already set up snacks and drinks at the reading pavilion, waiting for them to settle down. After they arrived, Celeste cleared her throat. "Helena, what I'm about to tell you might sound unbelievable, but you have to believe me. I'm not crazy." In about ten minutes, Celeste laid out everything about my shadow. I chipped in with details to make the story as airtight as possible, hoping to make it seem as real as we could.

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.

She shoved him aside and walked off. Pierre just stood there, stunned. Tears burned his eyes. That was it. Over. Cameras caught everything. By the time she was gone, the clip was already online. [What's going on? Didn't Sonia Quindt just get stood up by Hedley Hart? Why's Pierre jumping in now?] [Now Pierre's trying to swoop in? Shameless.] [She looks furious. Guess she's still hung up on the first dude.] [Who even is Hedley Hart? How's he got her like this?]

Just poured himself a coffee, black and bitter, and leaned against the counter like the weight of the building could hold him steady. Ghost appeared like he always did, silent and sudden, leaning in the doorway with a cigarette burning low. His pale eyes cut across the room, landing on Rhett, steady and unblinking. “You didn’t sleep,” Ghost said. Not a question. A fact. Rhett took a swallow of coffee that burned all the way down. “Didn’t need to.”

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.

Clara's POV. Nine days had passed since I signed the contract and became Clara Cross on paper. Nine days. In just over a week, my life had turned completely upside down, and somewhere along the way, I realized refusing to break had become my only choice. The whole of America already knew the Ghost of Wall Street had a wife. Ironically, I found out the exact same way everyone else did. Through headlines and posts scattered across the internet. The Ghost of Wall Street Is Married. Who Is Clara Cross?