Grim Grinning Ghosts Novels & Stories

Ghost doesn't exist and evil spirits obviously doesn't exist either. ******

Scar’s weak, terrified voice echoed from the darkness. Ghost’s heart sank. “Scar...” Scar blinked, eyes widening in disbelief. “Gh... Ghost...” Ghost rushed to the cage, pulling at the gate. “Even the devil can’t catch me.” “Oh my God! It’s really you, Ghost!” Scar rambled in disbelief. “You’re here! You’re alive! Those bastards couldn’t get to you.” Ghost grinned widely, continuing to fumble with the gate. “The key, the key is with the ugly...”

Just sat there, watching with the mechanical patience of an apex predator. Griffin tilted his head, an unconscious echo of his father's mannerism that still chilled me sometimes. "Is it him?" he whispered, voice steady despite the slight tremor I could feel through our linked hands. "No." My voice was steel, forged in the fires of survival and tempered by necessity. "Just another ghost." Flashback – Five Years Ago

But something surged up from the soil, through the willow, through her, and into me. A ward. An alarm. A warning. I turned. And there he stood. Silas Grimm. Tall. Still. Ghostly. He wasn’t wearing anything special, but he didn’t need to. His very presence stilled the air. He looked like death incarnate. Not just the absence of life—but the devourer of it. His eyes locked onto mine. Flat. Unmoving. Older than me. Stronger? Maybe. But colder? Absolutely. He didn’t speak.

I sighed and prepared to microwave a box of macaroni and cheese. But when I turned around, I spotted a note pressed under something on the table. It was in Nathaniel’s familiar handwriting, though this time, his note held a hint of cold anger. [Wasteful.] I was stunned for a moment before I burst out laughing. This ghost was not just a good cook, but he was also thrifty and responsible. I liked that. I immediately picked up a pen and wrote back. [My bad, Nat. It’s just a joke. Let’s just stick to homemade food from now on. I won’t bring up that extravagant nonsense again, okay?]

" Two guards in black immediately moved in, ignoring Nellie's struggle as they dragged her toward the exit. Around them, guests lifted their phones, snapping pictures and laughing under their breath. Voices overlapped, mocking how pathetic the Scott siblings were, laughing that people like them might as well be dead. What they didn't know was that I was already dead. And Nellie was suffering from the same illness I had. She didn't have much time left either.

"Grace, look at the snow. They aren't throwing plumes. They aren't using tracks." The Ghosts on the Ridge” I leaned toward the glass, my breath fogging the pane. Through the swirling vortex of ice and wind, three massive shapes materialized out of the white. They weren't armored trucks, and they weren't Vesper exoframes. They were the First Drafts.

With a click, the clasp came undone, and the pendant fell to the floor. In a flash, Zoe’s eyes widened. She grabbed my collar like a madwoman. “Y-You… You didn’t switch fates? You lied to me?!” I looked at her in surprise. “What are you talking about?” Miles suddenly exclaimed, “Ow, Maisie. My neck feels itchy.” He pulled down his collar, exposing his collarbone, and clearly revealed who was actually wearing the demonic fate-swapping lock.

"Look what crawled out of the drain." Three men stepped into the light. They wore oversized hoodies and tactical vests scavenged from the raid. In the center stood Ghost. He was thinner than I remembered. A jagged scar ran from his ear to his jaw—a gift from the last turf war I’d led before I disappeared. "Ghost," I said. I didn't lower the pipe. "Don't 'Ghost' me, you golden-eyed prick." He spat a glob of phlegm onto the concrete. He raised a heavy-duty revolver. "Except your eyes aren't gold anymore, are they? You look... ordinary. Like the rest of us rats."

“Mini-reunion” Alaister POV, "ALAISTER" I saw a guy who's smiling at me I can't figure out who is he. But his smile is very familiar. "Who are you?" when I tried to touch his face my hand suddenly penetrate. I startled. He's a ghost?? "Alaister...I love you so much Alaister" his voice was cold as ice but at the same time, I find it sweet and scary too. "Wait who are you? And why do I feel the same??" I asked him while still trying to feel his warmth oh fuck he's a ghost Alaister!