Ghostly Fnf Novels & Stories

"Trace this." Ghost rocked forward, his hands flying over the keys. He'd done...something...to their phones that now allowed him to do some sort of techno-magic. "Go," Ghost said. Marco jabbed at the green button. "Hello?" He drummed his fingers on his knee. "Marco?" Fiona's voice wavered. His stomach dropped through the floor and he sat up straighter. "Marco? Are you there?" Fiona's voice broke at the end, fracturing a bit.

I’m guessing if his eyes were open, I’d see tears blurring them. “You should be on the fuckin’ farm Phelan, why the fuck are you this far away from it?” Ghost growls from beside me. he’s not stepped between us but when I look down I see he’s got one foot in front of the other like he’s ready to bounce forward if he needs to.

She lightly out the glance on him and had to stop. That man was Gael. Gael Greyson. The person who died three months ago. She paused and looked at him rather confused. "You can see me right?" He took a step towards her making San took a step back. "I thought so." He walked towards her and lifted his hand as tried to touch her face but his passed through her. San suddenly felt scared. "But I can not touch you." He nodded. "G...Gh...Ghosttttt" San suddenly shouted as she ran towards her apartment. It was a ghost. It was definitely a ghost.

At our class reunion, my so-called best friend, Shannon Drew, pulled out a box stuffed with folded notes. A line was taped across the top— [Draw one of Mia Martinez's hopeless-romantic quotes.] The room burst out laughing. Someone pulled a love letter I'd written to Damien Byford senior year. "Damien smiled at me today. I want to give him all my tomorrows, too." Someone else grabbed one from college. "It's okay if he doesn't text back. He'll think of me when he's not busy." Damien had never replied to a single letter. I'd always figured he'd tossed them years ago. Then Shannon drew letter No. 99. Leaning against Damien, she laughed as she read, "If you ever decide you don't want m

Her eyes went wide with shock: tiny skeletal remains slipped out. She froze, watching in horror as the bones instantly shattered, turning to a fine dust that vanished before her eyes. Ghouls rushed forward, sickles raised to cleave her. Suddenly, Horan surged between them. He cursed with every ounce of his being, delivering a bone-jarring kick to the face of each attacker. "I don't give a damn about bad deeds in times like these!" he spat. "Jennet, get up!" Horan nudged her leg, his voice sharp with urgency.

She radiated a terrifying presence. However, there was a problem. Eliza, a famous ghost from the fog-shrouded city of Blackmoor, already dominated the long-haired ghoul archetype. Viewers would automatically compare this ghost to Eliza and dismiss her as ordinary, leaving her perpetually at the bottom of the NPC popularity rankings.

I NEED to know who he is, and something tells me I won’t discover much if I approach him as Phantom Reaper. I don’t really even know who I actually am, to be honest. I never indulged in friendships or relationships with others. It’s just always been survival. The only person I had any kind of positive relationship was my mother. I don’t know my father but because of my hair color, I’m fairly certain my father was Christian Bartoa. I know he frequented the slave cells whenever he was bored, and the urge arises so it doesn’t surprise me, but I don’t intend to ever claim him nor carry his surname. The thought of actually SPEAKING to Damien makes me feel a weird sense of anxiety. I’m unsure if i

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.

Slowly, Abigail got up from her seat and walked towards the back corner booth, it was the only one with a window that looked out into the alley, she wanted to see what was going on. Abigail could not hear anything that was said, but she could tell the conversation was anything but calm. Suddenly she saw it, Mr.Goldbergs eyes flashed yellow, and Daniel’s flashed the color of midnight. She could believe what she had just seen. Abigail was completely engrossed as she watched pitch black wings extrude from Daniels back, he was the epitome of Death in its purest form.

Oscar spoke into the radio which was followed by more silence. Kimberly looked into her binoculars and saw eight children playing a game of soccer on the open space in front of the huts. She dropped the binoculars and reached for a small carton from her backpack. She removed a stick of cigarette from the pack,lit it and took a long drag. There was static from the radio once again. “Alpha to base over.” Oscar repeated. Three seconds later, the gruff voice of the colonel was heard. “Alpha, this is base over. I read you loud and clear. What is the situation over there?”