Ghosts Ellie Goulding Novels & Stories

“Why shouldn’t Angus be strong enough to save me, regain my son, and put an end to the Thane Wrest pack's threats?” “Huh…” my ghost mother sighed, quickly reaching for her left hand, in order to cover her two lips. Whenever she yawned or sighed, her mouth brought out a pungent smell and if not that, it effused fire. “Is it impossible?” I asked her, my face turned back at her. “No smell, Ellie.” My ghost mother retorted, dragging me to the front. “I want you to know that the reason why you're hunted and sought after is that… you are under an obsession.”

But they all felt so fucking real. Jesus! The thought of having sex with a ghost made me sick all over. My stomach knotted as a full-blown terror took root. A fever ran down my body and my skin gallop with goose pimples. "Do you see her?" his question brought me back to reality. I nodded slowly. "So those times I see you talking to yourself, it is her you are talking to?" I motioned. "Jesus!" he exclaimed. "You need deliverance with serious prayers oh!"

“I was in and out of sleep.” “Thoughts of Titanic?” He turned to face her now, and he was sitting more closely than she thought prudent. “Sometimes,” she shrugged. “Most of my ghosts reside elsewhere.” He closed his eyes and turned his head away. “I’m sorry, Meg.” “I don’t need your sympathy either,” she reminded him, though her tone was just as innocent as his had been. “I suppose not,” he admitted, turning back to face her. “But you have it just the same.”

By the time Richard arrived, the funeral was almost over. Everyone who had come to say goodbye was gone. Only I remained. I wanted a little more time with Chloe. She'd always been clingy. And she was afraid of the dark. "Richard, see? I told you Selena was lying. If this were really a funeral, why is nobody here? This is obviously another stunt to get you to come home." Grace's voice cut through the silence. Richard's face darkened.

Pure will and ferocity, probably. When Ellery was done, the silence she left behind seemed to clamor. And then came an explosion of applause—which she ignored, vanishing upstairs almost immediately after the final note was done. The lights came on slowly, and presumably they were expected to go back to do party things. Except she was good exactly where she was. She twisted her head so she could look up at Aiden. “What was that?” “That,” he returned, in his driest tone, “was my sister, Eleanor. I thought you’d met.”

I shrug at Ghost as the Collector snaps up at him. “What group am I?” I ask Ghost; he doesn’t look back at the computer, which means he’s already looked for the information. I can’t say I blame him; I’d want every bit of information I can get if I were travelling with someone like me. "E," Ghost says flatly. “What the fuck is group E and why is Elle in it?” Ghost snarls down at him; his eyes change to a flat red colour, making him look like a demon, when he looks at me, his eyes have returned to normal. I wonder if his eyes going red are like when Gideon’s turn yellow.

She had spent three years pining for a ghost—a version of Tyler Grant she had invented in her own head. She wasn't his partner. she was his "lapdog." The tears won't come, they've been frozen solid. She straightens her coat, smoothes her skirt, and walks back into the neon chaos of the bar. "Lisa? My god, you look like you've seen a ghost," Ellie shouts, rushing over. Mia is right behind her, her brow furrowed with worry. Lisa looks at her friends and feels a lump form in her throat. But she swallows it down.

My surroundings become clear. Ellie and I are standing at the foot of my bed, and I am lying on it. Goldie is holding my hand and crying. “Am I dead? Am I a ghost? Are you a reaper?” I asked Ellie, panicking. “I want you to see.” Ellie opens the door and gestures for me to follow her. She guides me downstairs to the foyer. My aunt is still lying motionless on the ground. Carson and Jasper are arguing with a man I don’t know. They seemed to be intimidated by him.

Pressed number one on the speed dial. It rang three times. Then her voice. "Hey hi, this is Brigail. I can't answer right now. Leave a message after the beep and I'll give you a holler as soon as I can." The beep didn't come. Her voice again, lower this time. Quieter. "Eli, if it's you. Don't bother leaving a message. I won't hear any of it." A pause. "And just so you know. I will nail your ass for leaving. Count on that, Ghost."

The silence that followed the snap of the shadow-blade was louder than the screams of the Forge. I stared at her—at *me*. The Ghost-Elara stood with perfect posture, her blue taffeta dress shimmering in the artificial twilight of the Nursery. She didn't have a single scar. Her skin wasn't stained with the soot of the Clockwork or the blood of the Reapers. She smelled of vanilla perfume and the hairspray she’d used for a dance that never happened. She was the "Correct" version of the story.