Ghostwritting Novels & Stories

I call ghost, he got more than one skill, and opening closed-door virtual and real ones are one of his many skills. He uses his key locks tools and messes with the door for a bit until it opens. Finally, I walk down with ghost behind me, I find a small girl laying naked on the floor. She's thin, too thin, her blond hair match mine only hers is dirty and matted on her head. Her blue eyes are hardly open, I can see bruises all over her fragile body. Taking off my shirt I cover her quickly and pick her up leaving this hell behind. "You're safe now baby sister" I whisper in her ears she closes her eyes letting darkness take her.

Daphne had told me that this would work on any flame, so this should work, too. Then I opened the drawers, found some stationary with light pink flowers, and a pen. I tried to find some plain white paper, but this was all we had. But then again, if I saw someone with this paper, then I would know. On the paper, I wrote: "Dear Spy, I know who you are. You won't get away with this for long. And if Cruz or anyone else I care for dies, then you're next. I suggest you leave the pack while you still can." Then I signed it, Luna Kalyssa Carran.

Nathaniel announced as he raised his glass of wine. Raising her glass, Chloe blushed as the soft clink of crystal on crystal filled the stifling air. She never thought about drinking alcohol because technically she was underage but also because she doubted it would be allowed. It carried too many side effects even for werewolves. Right now though, she was grateful for the large glass of wine in her hand and unashamedly gulped down two mouthfuls greedily, letting the wine burn in her stomach. Surprisingly, Nathaniel seemed pleased by this and quietly refilled the young woman’s glass.

The ground cracked open again, and from the crack rose the black journal with its pages flapping in an invisible breeze, glowing faintly red. The ghost's whisper enveloped them. “Every page is written except for the last one. Do you know why that is, fox? Because the last page holds her truth…the truth she has never spoken. If she writes it down, she’ll be free. But if she keeps it hidden, she belongs to me.” The journal floated toward Camela as one chain unwrapped from her wrist and pressed a quill into her hand. “Write it,” the ghost commanded. “Tell him…tell the fox what you’ve never told your father, your city, or even yourself.”

I'd been there since she had nothing. Still meant nothing. If I disappeared, she wouldn't even blink. I was halfway through drafting my resignation when she showed up behind me. I froze, then switched my screen like nothing happened. She stared, voice sharp. "What are you writing?" "Nothing. Just some contract drafts." Her brows pulled together. She didn't catch on, just said, "Hedley, come with me." As soon as she called me out, whispers exploded.

Slowly, she stepped back, but the bus just waited, its entrance gaping open like a whale ready to swallow her whole. Willa wasn’t stupid. She knew danger when she saw it. “Hey…” she screamed, but nothing came out. Her voice didn’t go beyond her ears. At only twenty-one, she had become the most sought-after ghostwriter in the country. Platforms like Ellalux, Febnovel, and even the mighty master of webnovels, Koodnovel, had sought her services. Known as the horror-story specialist, she crafted dignified deaths, haunted struggles, and glorified survivals.

yeah). I've got a pile of ghostwriting work to do. **screams in madness** my last brain cell isn't even a full one, I swear. 😭 — Lashes (who is a second away from collapsing) P.S: I love you guys so much. Thank you for sticking with this unhinged author so far. <3 oh and... what do you think: ***** Ethan Moreau is fast—Olympic fast. But his speed isn’t talent, it’s vampirism.

*]:pointer-events-auto scroll-mt-[calc(var(--header-height)+min(200px,max(70px,20svh)))]" dir="auto" data-turn-id="88630483-7eb5-4271-b05b-c60c7df0102d" data-testid="conversation-turn-186" data-scroll-anchor="true" data-turn="assistant"> The silence after the Ghost’s disappearance felt heavier than the gunfire. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

The only way I could speak was through the **Code**. My fingers began to move. Not because I wanted them to, but because the chair was sending electrical pulses into my nerves. It was "Ghost-Writing." The machine was using my brain as a processor, but it needed my "Soul" to give the words weight. ***"The girl in the garden looked up,"*** I typed. On the screen, I saw Elara fall to her knees. The "Plastic Sky" above her began to glow with the words I was writing.

On Tuesday morning, we all arrived to an email in our inboxes from the ‘owner’ of Written Ink. ‘Thank you to you all for your continued hard work. This year has been a bit of a hurdle, but we have successfully jumped over it and landed in a good position going into 2025. I would like to invite you all to a Christmas Written Ink party being hosted by myself....’ It then listed all the details, nearby hotels to book, and how to RSVP. We had never heard the name of the owner of Written Ink. No one knew who they were or anything about them. It was a complete mystery.