Ghostly Apparitions Novels & Stories

the whispering spirit mumbles and all her body disappears. "What the fuck is that? Shit!" A voice wails at a being that just appeared in his room.

“He’ll be angry.” “He needs you.” “Don’t,” the female voice whispers. Their unearthly voices send shivers up and down my spine. It’s like they’re whispering directly against my ear, more a hum than noise. It’s the only time I’ve ever felt afraid of them, like I have to be reminded of what they are. Ghosts. Apparitions. Maybe even demons trapped in a cage. “Careful,” she whispers to me when she realizes I can’t just… turn around, not now, not when her companion is willing to show me the way.

I whispered, my words slipping through the air like a sharp blade. Her face paled, and her hands trembled as the realization washed over her. Samantha, the ghost from our past, a specter we had long thought banished to the depths of forgotten memories. Yet here she was, resurfacing like a vengeful spirit, intent on wreaking havoc upon our fragile existence. I moved swiftly, my hands still feverishly gathering our belongings, tying up loose ends. It was a race against time, against the shadow that loomed ominously over us. I refused to let Samantha's malicious intent extinguish the fragile flame of hope that burned within our hearts.

She said, "Alright. I know I can't help, but if there's any news, please tell me as soon as possible." Sebastian nodded, and Whitney turned to return to her room. After she had gone, Sebastian turned to Lyanna and asked, "What were you talking about? Corpse-devouring ghosts?" Lyanna nodded heavily and said, "Corpse-devouring ghosts are a kind of revenant. They aren't hard to subdue for experts in yellow paper charms." Sebastian thought for a long time. He suddenly remembered a passage recorded in the Sacred Medicine Secret Annals. There was a kind of spiritual being that only ate human hearts. These spiritual beings weren't corpse-devouring ghosts. They were called cave sprites.

The dust from the stranger rose into the air, swirling into a shape she recognized—The ghost. His face was thin, pale, and endless. His voice echoed from every direction at once. “You killed one, but I am many,” the ghost whispered. “I am every fear you refused to confront and every truth you refused to speak.” Vincent’s claws shook with tension as he spoke. “You don’t belong here either.” The ghost smiled. “Neither do you.” He raised his hand, and the sky tore open to reveal a red storm filled with faces—thousands of brides all screaming, with their mouths stitched shut.

With a click, the clasp came undone, and the pendant fell to the floor. In a flash, Zoe’s eyes widened. She grabbed my collar like a madwoman. “Y-You… You didn’t switch fates? You lied to me?!” I looked at her in surprise. “What are you talking about?” Miles suddenly exclaimed, “Ow, Maisie. My neck feels itchy.” He pulled down his collar, exposing his collarbone, and clearly revealed who was actually wearing the demonic fate-swapping lock.

“Um, they’re like, evil spirits? From some kind of hell dimension?” Vincent sighed through his nose. “A crude oversimplification. Demon is our word for the otherworldly beings that, before a few generations ago, could only partially access our world. Hauntings, poltergeist events, and other semi-material supernatural phenomena in the past were often the result of their attempts to affect conditions here. Other common examples of this would include…” He gestured for the class to call out answers. “Ghost lights,” called one student, and another said, “Crop circles, right?” Others threw out things like Bermuda Triangle disappearances, skyquakes, even spontaneous combustion – a bunch of stuff th

I reached out and pressed the radio button on the steering wheel. My voice was cold, cutting through the static. "Mason Vale, do you see a ghost in your mirror?" I said coldly into the radio. Those words pierced straight through Mason's last line of composure. His car hesitated for an obvious instant on the straight. Now. I smashed the throttle down. The car tore through the air and pulled alongside him. Ahead was a chain of fast S-curves. Seeing that I was about to pass, a vicious look flashed through Mason's eyes.

Marcus, the quiet guy from accounting leaned against the door, arms crossed, with a bitter smirk twisting his lips. “McAllen,” he said. “You’ve been looking real happy lately. I see you enjoy your late night with the boss.” My stomach dropped. “What the hell are you talking about?” He stepped closer, I could see the jealousy in his eyes. “ I saw you leaving the private elevator. Looking like a man whose ass has taken some cock. You’re not the first, you know. The Ghost destroys anyone who tries to get close. You’re just the latest toy.” “The Ghost?” I laughed it off, but my voice sounded shaky even to me. “Sounds like some movie legend bullshit.”

One face after another, as if emerging from the ground, just staring at Amelia and the other person through the mist. There was pain, there was pleading, there was anger, there was malice, and there was bloodlust. Each of them had their mouths open, as if speaking something. At first listen, it seemed no different, but upon closer inspection, it was a voice demon that could drive one insane. Amelia had never met before, but she had heard the old man mention her. This is called the wailing of a hundred ghosts, and it only appears in times of great disasters and catastrophes.