Novel & Cerita Ghostwriter Memoir

Sitting down comfortably on my bed was the moon lady. I became light-headed and with a scream, landed on the floor with a loud thud, feeling so much pain coursing through me. "What do you want?" I whimpered. "I'm sorry for what just happened. Please, Ghostwriter, I need your help." "What!" My heartbeat hastened. "Please calm down. I know you must have questions about what killed me and how I knew I was gonna die." "Please leave me alone," I retorted, pulling the sheet to cover myself.

He sighed, set the drink down. “I’m writing a memoir. Chapter One is Cassandra. The prodigy. The runaway. The girl who once wept in my car while I read her sonnets and told her she mattered.” “You destroyed her.” “No,” he said, voice tightening. “She destroyed herself. I just gave her a stage.” I stepped closer. “Why now?” He smiled. “Because she finally started pretending she was clean again. Published books. Symposia. A tidy house and a beautiful son. A new young lover, I hear. The scandal writes itself.”

--- That night, after everyone was asleep, I found something in my drawer. An old notebook. The one I'd started writing in years ago. Our story. I opened it. Read through. Page after page of memories. The kidnapping. The ghosts. William. Hope. All of it. At the end, I added a new page. *Year sixteen. Will is driving, dating, becoming. Katie is having another baby. Louis and I are older, grayer, still in love. The ghosts are memories now. The fear is gone. All that remains is this. Us. Our family. Our love.*

I said. My vision began to clear. The Weaver's logic—the cold, analytical overlay that had been dampened by the sound of Florence's raw cry—didn't return. Instead, something older took its place. The unpolished, messy instinct of a woman who had spent fifteen years ghostwriting stories for people who wanted to feel something real. Stories about billionaire monsters, werewolf mafia lords, and high-tension tragedies where the only way out was to burn the whole book down. I didn't reach for a needle. I didn't reach for a scepter.

Samantha's with me, I didn't want to risk her life but, with what happened a while ago, she's at risk. The memories were still hunting her every time she hears gunshots and things involving violence she would space out or hallucinate. She panicked a while ago and now, she's sleeping on my shoulder. I guess the past was still a dark room for her, it left her unhealed scars. She couldn't let go of it. I was like her when my parents died. The scenery I witnessed kept on bothering me every time I closed my eyes but a mafia boss couldn't be weak, so I tried my very best to remove those memories from me and finally move on from it.

Ryder turned to look at him, “You don’t remember?” Ghost thought about it, it wasn’t that he didn’t remember, he did. Flashes of what had happened but it was so horrific, it felt like an outer body experience. When he first turned to his wolf, it felt like all was finally right with the world, like he was one with the beast. All his senses heightened, he felt much lighter and then suddenly it felt weighty, “I don’t trust my memories...” Ryder nodded in understanding, he could only imagine the kind of suffering he was going through at that moment, “You were attacked by the mafia, your people...”

shouldn’t he do something? I didn’t peg him for being the ghosting type. I mean he ghosted me for 5 years, but this was different right? This was...don't even know what this was. “My world, what am I doing? Fuck." "Right here." "Wha-" my words got cut off, a hand grabbing me and pulling me into the ladies room with immediate effect. door lock sounding perfect. Him. "How you doing?"

Ruby surprised me by finishing for me. I froze. “Yes, how did you remember that?” “My memories came back when I turned into a vampire,” she admitted simply. “I remember everything, and I know my memories were wiped. I remembered my connection with Carter from before and I remembered how upset he was that the decision to wipe my memories was made. I also know the reason he ghosted me wasn’t because he didn’t love me. It was because he did love me and he wanted better for me. He didn’t want me to be in danger and being with him would have put me in danger. But I guess now that I’m a vampire, that doesn’t matter anymore.”

Still unconscious. The words no longer felt real. They were sentences from someone else's life, repeated until they lost meaning. Clara pulled her journal into her lap and opened to a blank page, the familiar scent of leather and paper grounding her. She uncapped her pen and began to write, the ink gliding like tears: “The world continues, but I do not. I breathe because he once told me to. I move because he would have wanted me to. But I have not lived since the second his eyes closed. I am a ghost waiting for the living to return.”

he said before he walked back to his car and drove away. “Always lucky huh, I remember back when I was a pretty girl” my mother slurred while I got my bags and boxes to my room. I walked through the living room, climbed the stairs, and found my square room with a grey floor. The white walls in this house were awful, too sterile for my taste, but tomorrow I could take a bath in my own bathroom, in my bathtub, and forget about the last few years for a while. As I came downstairs my mother poured me a glass of whiskey.