Ghostwritting Novels & Stories

​The crimson text continued to scroll across the terminal screen in a rhythmic, merciless cascade. ​WARNING: EXTERNAL PROBE DETECTED. SUBNET PINGBACK IDENTIFIED. TRACE ORIGIN: DEEP-ARCHIVE GHOST NODE. ATTEMPTING RECONSTRUCTION OF PURGED FILES... ​My breath caught in my throat, freezing the air in my lungs. For a sickening second, the cozy warmth of our new coastal home vanished, replaced by the suffocating, claustrophobic terror of the underground bunker.

Jenna cleared her throat, "I'm an author, well quite famous among limited circles," Jenna replied gracefully as if she was really famous. Adam frowned, "What kind of author? Limited circle? Do you write books on political economy or something?" Jenna chuckled, "I'm an online platform novelist! Huh, I'm quite famous!" Adam suddenly seemed to have an idea. "So you can pretend to be a famous Ghostwriter in America or England or whatever! So my mother won't be able to find your name. Ghostwriter won't leave any traces,"

Kyle said in a scary hollow tone. I pretended like I did not hear anything. “Please, please I will do anything. Just leave me alone.” Richard pleaded. “Okay. Then I will give you a chance to bring me back to life. You just have to repeat these words after me. I RICHARD BLACK DECLARE MYSELF A WUSS, A WIMP, A DICK, A GAY AND A SPARKLY UNICORN. I HAVE PROBLEMS WITH MY GENITAL AREA AND I USE VIAGRA. I AM A PROUD GAY THOUGH AND I HAVE A CRUSH ON MR.MAXWELL. I HAVE CRABS AND I USE STEROIDS. You have to repeat my exact words in front of the entire school. Then you will be free of the ghosts’ visits.” Kyle told them.

Austin asked, almost not believing what she said "How is you seeing me possible?" She asked, and he rolled his eyes, knowing she made a point. "With everything that happened. Starting with me trying to go back to Boston, then realising I'm a ghost. I went back there and jumped into that empty grave, Trying to kill myself"

I stayed with Justin throughout the morning. Luckily for him the wraiths had improved. They were faster and more precise and could even doge slightly. For being soul spirits of the deceased they had improved greatly. At around midday Justin waved the wraiths off. “They are doing better.” I spoke carefully watching him dunk a bucket of water over his head. “Not good enough. They need to not hesitate. Kill faster and more cleaner.” Justin paused “If they are not ready by Summer Solstice, Eric will not let it go lightly.”

The wind whispered against the glass as if attempting to bring him some consolation or answers. He clutched the bus ticket in his hands, feeling the crumpled paper between his fingers. With a sigh, he took a pen from his backpack and began scribbling on the back, listing the pros and cons of his decision. Each stroke on the paper felt like an internal struggle between his heart and his mind.

“Does it scare you?” Mala wrapped an arm around me. “I’ve been worrying since you stopped talking about shopping secondhand books and started talking spreadsheets and stock returns.” I sat taller at that. “Yeah, I’m scared that I traded in my pen for a paycheck, and forgot how to fight with words.” She let me sit in that, then she said “He didn’t just rewrite your memoir babe, he’s drafting your life, and ghostwriters don’t keep their names.” I inhaled. “But I agreed to it.”

He drove with purpose, and I, like a phantom shadow, drifted along in his wake. I followed him as he made his rounds in a department store, buying things he had never once considered buying for me. It wasn't hard to see the distinction between love and indifference. My ghostly form seemed to grow heavier with every step, weighted down by the bitterness of seeing the man I had loved so deeply pamper another woman so thoroughly.

I knew it was bad, it had to be. When I arrived, Brodie was pacing back and forth, a steaming cup of coffee clutched tightly in his hand. The atmosphere felt tense, with only Tyler and Gerald in attendance. The bare presence of these two did little to ease my apprehension; if anything, it signified that the news was likely to be dire. Brodie had intentionally selected only those he was confident he could trust, a clear indication that whatever he had to discuss was serious. The faint sound of his shoes scuffing against the floor echoed in the silence, punctuating the weight of the moment. “Today’s paper.” He slid it across the top of the table towards me. The front page was filled with some

Farewell from the Ghostwriter: I suppose this is the final update regarding the saga of the Ice Wolf and his Hidden Mate. The reality is, this narrative wasn't a fabrication. These individuals are prominent figures within our supernatural community. I altered the specifics—the names, the exact coordinates of the Navarro Ridge, even the specific hockey positions—to prevent a pack war. But truth has a way of breaking through the ice. The parties involved recognized their own heartbeats in the prose. I’ve been served with a formal "cease and desist" by the Navarro legal council.