Lingering Memories Novels & Stories

“Why didn’t you leave me alone? You crept me for weeks and made me have nightmares… Horrible ones.” “We, Lingerings, are wishes from the past. Born from hatred towards the world. We feed on the lively and sleep in the shadows. I want my will to be realized; the one who died giving birth to me had a wish, he wanted. If you don’t help me, I will stick to you until you do.” “What can you give me in return? What kind of help can you provide me?” I frowned smiling.

His fingers drummed on the edge of the table, his gaze hardening as he thought of Rebecca’s sudden appearance and the chaos that had followed. A few hours passed, and Micheal found himself revisiting memories that had been locked away. That night from years ago surfaced again in his mind, the same hazy images returning like ghosts — flashes of a woman's blurred face, her touch, the blur of his senses as he stumbled under the influence of whatever had been slipped into his drink. He shut his eyes, forcing himself to recall more, but the memory resisted, slipping away like sand through his fingers. The frustration gnawed at him, feeding his restlessness.

Antoine watched Camille, his eyes filled with concern and curiosity. Camille’s emotions surged, and tears began to roll down her cheeks, salty and bittersweet. How long had it been since she last remembered the scent of her mother’s lily of the valley? How long had it been since she felt the vibrant essence of fragrance, the subtle bond between scent and memory? 'Muse' didn’t just analyze the scent—it awakened a corner of her mind she thought lost forever. It allowed her to 'see' images again, to 'hear' sounds, and to feel the delicate stirrings of emotions she believed had disappeared for good.

I would honour their sacrifice, and carry on their legacy. I jolted on the bed breathing heavily, with my body tense, drenched in a cold sweat. The echoes of the nightmares, more of memories, the memories from thirteen years ago still lingered in my mind, refusing to release their grip on my consciousness. It was as if I was trapped in a never-ending loop, reliving the horror of that fateful night.

Instead of giving me a clear sequence of events, my mind just kept circling back to the exact same three memories, looping them like a broken record over and over again. First, the memory of Marcello’s lips against mine, hot and desperate amidst the chaos, a contrast to the violence surrounding us. I could still feel the pressure of his lips, the bruising grip of his hands, the unspoken finality behind it. It now felt like a goodbye, a desperate anchor before everything fell apart.

the thoughts rushed into my head, yet, something told me… I had to. Five years had come and gone, yet I remained stuck in place, watching life move forward without me. Seasons changed, people grew, but I stayed behind—held captive by a memory that refused to fade. You were always there, lingering in the quiet moments, in the spaces between my thoughts. I still felt you, like a whisper against my skin, like a ghost I couldn’t let go of.

“Tracking something.” His gaze sharpened. “The variable?” I didn’t answer. Orders weren’t meant to be repeated. He smirked faintly. “You’ll know it when you find it. That’s how they like to play it.” Varek stepped closer, lowering his voice. “They’ve been making more of us. Faster. The last batch didn’t last a week before the memories started.” My fingers twitched. “What memories?” He tilted his head, studying me. “You’ll see. If you live long enough.”

Elora (unwritten but nearby) I’ve stopped assigning names. Now I wait until something returns to me more than once. A shadow across the same stone. a recollection of multiple breaths. A warmth by a doorway. And then I press my palm to my own chest and murmur: > "You've occurred once more. So I’ll remember without trapping you in ink.” That’s the only rite left to us now. Memory that does not capture only companion. Lila We gathered that evening without asking who was missing. We laid five riverstones beside the basin not for balance. For rhythm.

“It does. But the more we resist it, the more it tries to break through. That’s why you can’t stop remembering me. That’s why your dreams are overlapping now. It’s trying to confuse you—wear you down.” She bit her lip, remembering the images from the night before. The fire. The glass. A hand—his—covered in blood. But also something new. A stone altar. A heartbeat slowing under moonlight. “I’m not confused,” she said. “I’m just—” “Waking up,” Lucan finished. “It’s always like this.” Seraphina searched his face. “You said we’ve done this before. That I always die when I remember. So why do we keep trying?”

"It consumes continuity." He continued. "When a person dies naturally, something remains. Memories survive in stories. Families remember names. Legacies endure through those left behind." His eyes drifted toward the darkness. "The Hollow Arc devours that process." A cold sensation spread through the clearing. Because we all understood what he meant. At least partially.