Ghost Story Writing Novels & Stories

Because the message was only one sentence long. One sentence. Twenty years of silence. Twenty years of questions. Reduced to seven words. I swallowed hard. Then read it aloud. “If you’re reading this, we’re already losing.” Nobody spoke. The words settled over the room like smoke. Darius cursed under his breath. Zariah stared at the page. I stared at Gabriel’s handwriting. For the first time since this nightmare began, he no longer felt like a ghost. Ghosts don’t leave messages. Ghosts don’t make plans.

She called it a ghost. Most people say that ghosts exists. They say that they are spirit beings that didn't die properly. Others say they are evil people who didn't live a proper life. What do you have to say? I think ghosts are spirit creatures that were invented to scare little children away. If you want to doubt me, you can, but take your time to read some of the stories about ghosts. Most of them don't make sense. Who would imagine creating a being that is always on white? Wouldn't it be someone who has an alternative meaning hidden away from the world? Just think about it for a while. Let me see what you can come up with.

"That is exactly the point of writing it there. Not to tell us something true. To make us stop trusting the people who are actually still loyal, one careful drop of doubt at a time, until none of us can tell friend from ghost anymore." Rosa appeared in the doorway then, wrapped in a shawl despite the warmth of the kitchen, her eyes moving from my face to the ledger and back again with the particular dread of a mother who has learned to read a room before anyone speaks a single word to her. "What has that book done to all of you," she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "It has given us a ghost to be afraid of," I said, "instead of a person." "Ghosts are worse," Rosa said simply. "You ca

he said. "Good." The air was electric between us. He breathed in and out, and my skin tingled. But he stepped back, forcing himself to calm down. Again. Like a coward. We kept walking. Hours later, I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I couldn't sleep, and I didn't even try. Instead, I took a piece of charcoal and wrote on the stone wall above my bed. I used an old language, and I wrote a poem I'd written before when I was someone else. The moon knows my name. And so do the ghosts.

Stunning in its perfect hostility. "And speaking of the past..." he says, lowering his glass with deliberate slowness. "I'm told we have a very special guest with us tonight. A ghost, really. One I spent years chasing through continents and silence, through encrypted messages and dead ends." Flora's heart slams against her ribs with such force she fears everyone can hear it echoing through the cavernous space.

Ghost is a dark fae, which means he’s greedy, likes death, and likes pretty women with spunk. His short white hair is spiked. Ghost wears a black sleeveless hoodie and black and white checkered jeans with black boots. His eyebrows, nose, and lips are all pierced with gages in both ears. His pointed ears give him away that he is fae. Ghost has all black eyes, much like one would think a demons would be if they were real. Some things are just stories made up of distorted truths. Demons and angels fall into that category. Ghost's pasty white skin almost glows under the glow of the flashing lights.

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.

I wrote down every expensive ingredient I had ever heard of but could never afford. After finishing the list, I glanced around the room guiltily. The air was dead silent. I placed the list in the center of the table and went to bed with a sense of anticipation. The next day, the first thing I did after waking up was rush to the dining room. The table was empty. There was no breakfast whatsoever, let alone Australian lobster or Wagyu beef. I was a little disappointed. I may have driven the ghost away with my outrageous demands. I sighed and prepared to microwave a box of macaroni and cheese.

The dinner plate was overturned and crashed onto the floor with a piercing noise. Patrick’s hands trembled uncontrollably, his phone nearly slipping from his grasp. He roared in fury, "What the hell are you talking about? What rental apartment? Are you messing with me? Do you have a death wish?"

I rushed as I observed both Kyle and Alex hyping themselves up to cause trouble. I took a deep breath and continued. "A ghost is basically an assassin who is above the law, because they neither exist nor is considered nonexistent. They work by contract or freelance. This person has the ability to kill with no remorse and get away with it, because technically he does not exist in the eyes of the law. He has no identity, yet he has multiple identities. No one has ever successfully gotten close enough to a ghost to uncover their true identity and if there is a ghost amongst us then we are all in deep trouble. I do not know for sure if he was hired by Richard or the other people who wish to kill