Novelas y relatos de Ghost Trapped In A Jar

It wasn’t particularly cold. “Oh come on,” I said. “It’ll be fine. If it’s one of those girl ghosts with the long black hair we’ll easily beat the shit out of her.” I followed Jespert through the gravestones, sword in hand just in case. Sadly, Sadako never appeared. In the middle of the cemetery there was a stone building. A crypt. The doorway was a gaping black hole. Jespert disappeared into it. I paused in the doorway and looked back at the Scooby gang jostling to let someone else go first.

“We just figured out that the warehouse was abandoned five years ago. The victim’s time of death might have been around that time, too.” Jim froze for a moment before the electric saw started buzzing. But in the next moment, he regained his composure and calmly turned off the saw. My soul levitated in the air, and I felt a bitterness settle in my heart. So, I had been dead for five years? After I turned into a ghost, I was stuck in a dark basement. Every day, I watched cockroaches and rats climb all over me, but they were unable to bite into my flesh. Then, one day, a livestreamer who proclaimed himself to be a nighttime explorer opened the basement.

In awe of the bizarre sight with her jaws dropping, she moseyed around the hidden stash of queer, old racks but she was afraid to touch anything. The slow and unhurried floor was treacherously wet and Maria’s left foot skated. Slide! Her companion jerked and kicked one of the lowest jars amongst the shelves. Bump! Crack! “EEEEK! What have you done?” A slimy liquid oozed out of the broken jar and a rotten stench suffused the crisp sea breeze. The wind spoke. No more a wicked Baal could enter the spirit world of Mundu forever! Maria’s face stiffened and worried. The wind was just swooshing. “Let’s go back near the entrance!”

Mason's face changed. He tried to pull his hand back, only to find mine locked on him like a steel clamp. "Mason Vale, you'd better pray your life is hard enough." I stared straight into his eyes. Seeing this, Wade rushed over like a mad dog and shoved me away. "Jake Carter! What are you doing? Trying to hit someone? "Security! Get security here! Throw him out!" Several guards came running and surrounded me. I shook out my wrist, swept a cold look over Wade and Mason, then turned and left the pit garage.

But the fact that he'd dared to ignore them on his way up meant those things downstairs were nothing to him. Even with those three priests present, he'd just need to waste some time before getting out. The only thing he feared was the Soul-Summoning Plaque. As long as he didn't face that, not even the Phantom Patrol could stop him. But before Jarold could finish his thought, an invisible force slammed him backward. He crashed hard onto the floor. "What the hell!" This was impossible—there couldn't be a manifestation here! Those three arcane seekers were all upstairs, weren't they? He'd checked everything.

He looked like someone’s father. He didn't look up when I appeared. "You're quite persistent, Kaima," he said, his voice echoing in the small office. "Most assets would have accepted the deletion. But you... you found the exploit. You used the 'X' to bridge the gap between the virtual and the physical." I looked at my hands. They were solid. I had skin. I had blood. I was no longer glitching. But as I looked around, I realized the horror. There were thousands of jars on the shelves. Inside each jar was a small, pulsing violet light.

I was doing this, wasn't I? Slowly and carefully I placed the jar back on the stand staring at it for a moment before yanking the lid off and rushing backward my heart drumming within me, waiting for a scare of some sort. But nothing happened. My eyebrows arched for a moment, gaze set on the vase. It remained inactive. I moved toward the jar, turning it upside down and stepping back. Still nothing. I let out a loose breath picking it up once more. Why would Stephania be guarding an empty Jar? I didn't get it. And why did she always seem one step ahead of us? It was. So annoying.

But, oh well, talks with Sharon did this to her. She came closer and her brows flew up. She definitely didn't see this before. There was a locket right beside her snacks. She hastily looked around the silent house. The house suddenly wasn't seeming so silent anymore. There was something eerie about the way that the trees that she could see from her window were dancing and clapping without a definite pattern. There was something definitely wrong with the way she was suddenly feeling like a shadow lurking behind her. Returning to her senses, Geneva pursed her lips and flicked her forehead. What was she busy scaring herself for? Ghosts do not exist neither do vampires or any other form of creat

When I picked it up, my stomach twisted as I realized what it contained - a still-beating heart, most likely belonging to Victor Blossom. Abigail came sprinting into the room, her eyes wild with fury, her footsteps echoing like thunderclaps against the stone floor. She skidded to a halt, chest heaving, her gaze fixed upon the jar clutched in my hands. "You're a traitor to your blood," she spat, her words dripping with venom. She lunged forward, her fingers outstretched, trying to snatch the jar from me. But her hands passed through it uselessly, as if grasping at smoke.

The Ghost. My jaw clenched, a low, savage pulse of possession throbbing deep in my gut. For a year, I had believed I was holding a delicate, bruised songbird in a velvet cage. I had spent countless nights lying awake beside her, holding my breath, terrified that my darkness, my brutal corporate lifestyle, would shatter her. And all the while, she had been a phantom. A lethal, beautiful monster hiding behind soft smiles and trembling hands. The heavy steel security door at the end of the bunker corridor let out a sharp, pneumatic hiss as the multi-bolt deadbolts unlocked.