Novelas y relatos de Ghost Trapped In A Jar

The girl trembled violently with fear and could not speak out a single word. "It seems that your eyes betrayed your feeling," the man revealed his chilling white teeth, lifted the girl by her smooth chin, and said, "what a vivid life. I guess your blood tastes good." As he said that, he opened the jar with one hand. A gust of thick black smoke spread out from the jar, accompanied by gusts of chilling wind. All of a sudden, the girl's pupils dilated, and she struggled desperately. From inside the jar, a withered claw stretched out, followed by another claw. Slowly, a rotten head peered out. At last, a small infant climbed out of the jar with his withered skin covered by sticky liquid. It crie

He dropped the toolbox and grasped at the thing’s hands, realizing in horror that though his fingers dug deep grooves into the skin, no blood flowed. Kicking and scratching, he looked down. A withered, leathery, decaying face with cracked and bleeding lips leered at him, showing slimy, broken teeth. “Gonna fuck you up, cheater! Fuck you up BAD!” *** Swaying in the thing’s grip, hands clawing and flailing, Jarred tried to scream but only gurgled. He felt the warm flush of his bladder releasing and somehow that was the worst thing; that he was going to die pissing his pants.

She wished not to see the same dream again. "A nightmare on the second night of your stay in your new home? A female ghost? But, was she violent in your dream? Had she tried to hurt you?" Marvina bombarded her with questions. "She didn’t hurt me,” Jennet looked at her hand. She still could feel the cold sensation of the pale hand that grabbed it last night. Did she felt the sensation of a ghost holding her hand? “I jerked awake when she grabbed my hand because I was trying to flick her hair from me.” She continued while inhaling deeply.

she gasped into the wife’s mouth, and he obeyed, pounding deeper, the bed creaking under them. Another ghost produced antique toys from thin air—pearl vibrators, glass dildos, silk ropes. They bound the second husband’s wrists to the bedpost and guided his wife to straddle his face. She lowered her pussy onto his mouth, moaning as he licked her. The ghosts pressed a vibrating pearl to Mira’s clit while the stranger fucked her, the buzz sending shocks through her core. She came hard, pussy squirting, soaking the sheets and the stranger’s thighs.

YOU SHOULD CALL ME DAD MELANIE'S POV~~ As I slowly emerged from the depths of a restless sleep, I awakened to a pervasive sense of exhaustion that clung to me like a shadow. The constant, dull ache in my leg persisted, reminding me of my fragile state. I found myself trapped in a vortex of thoughts, each more troubling than the last, when suddenly, a soft knock echoed from the door. My mind raced with possibilities—who could it be at this hour? Perhaps it was Bryan, ever watchful and concerned.

She tried to cry out, but only a muffled squeak escaped. In a swift, practised motion, Ghost, no longer mumbling, shoved her into a large, canvas laundry sack that had been discreetly draped over the cleaning cart. The sack was surprisingly thick, suffocating. Darkness enveloped her, the scent of stale detergent and something metallic filling her nostrils. She thrashed, desperate, but her movements were severely restricted. Ghost moved with terrifying efficiency. He hoisted the sack onto his shoulder, the unexpected weight barely slowing him. He then sprinted down the corridor, his heavy boots echoing on the polished linoleum.

Warmer than it had been the last time we were here, playing with that toy. I gripped the porcelain sink and stared at myself in the rusty mirror, noting how all my facial features looked the same and reassuring myself that this heat was a coincidence and not because Dad had succeeded in his experiments. After I thoroughly convinced myself, I took a deep breath and headed out the door, bumping into the one and only incubus Jaroth. He smirked down at me, his eyes surprisingly clear and not lust-filled, like usual, and grabbed my wrist. “What are you doing?!” I whisper-yelled at him, then tugged my wrist out of his hold.

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.

She put down the picture and ran to the sofa, her eyes sparkling with hope. “Mommy, you’re being lazy again! I’m going back to our old home to get the music box. Then, I can wake you up!” Seeing her determined to leave, I instinctively reached out for an umbrella, wanting to remind her that it was raining outside. Alas, my hand passed right through her body! In that instant, I suddenly remembered—I was dead. I could never protect her like before.

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.