Misguided Ghosts Novels & Stories

He opened and turned pages and finally stopped at a specific page. "Is this what it looked like?" He asked, pointing at a ghostly image on the book page. "Yes. They can't be eliminated, two guards are already dead and their faces were blue.. icy blue. Samuel is attempting to hold them off but I doubt he can," "They are cathas, spirits of the forgotten. They were offended. Someone must have done something to wake them, cathas don't appear unless their resting place was disturbed by someone, and the person is usually from the place they appeared. '' Said Robert.

"Is this kid clueless?!" The old man's tone was raised, and he was afraid of others hearing: "Little girl, this is serious. He didn't register at Ghost Escort, he will be fined if caught!" Some departed spirits, usually find it hard to accept that they have already died. For the past seven days, I really tried everything to get back into my own body. Some people, seeing that they can't go back, just crash into others, hoping to see if they can start over.

“I’m not starting, Ghost. Just… clarifying. I’d hate for you to make a mistake.” A commotion at the back of the room drew their attention. A group of brothers burst through the doorway, dusted in grime, eyes wide with panic. Ghost recognized them immediately—two had been on a run that had gone sideways, the result of misinformation, of faulty intel. They skidded to a stop, chests heaving, voices trembling. “It’s bad,” one of them panted. “We walked into a trap. Several of the guys, they didn’t make it.”

My spiritual sight was honing itself, allowing me to perceive the reflections of souls—both living and dead—even as the material world remained a shroud of darkness and red mist. The ghosts surged forward, emboldened by their hunger, attempting to possess Malachi as they had tried with me. He snarled a warning, but they did not falter. Then, his hand moved in a blur, his fist punching directly through the leading three spirits. They recoiled instantly, stunned. The apparitions behind them collided with the wounded ones in a tangle of spectral limbs. It was a perplexing sight; a mortal’s fist should have passed through them like smoke.

"How much do you know about ghosts, Sam Holiday? You're the first man in decades not to run screaming from me. Usually, I spend my manifestation time hiding from the inhabitants of the house. You're the first one who hasn't been frightened." He shrugged. "I've seen a few. I know there are different kinds of hauntings. Some ghosts are really just...echoes, I guess, of some traumatic event. Those just repeat the same actions over and over, which rules you out since we're having a lucid conversation. Others are spirits who've chosen, for good or evil, to remain on this plane for some reason, whether it's protecting their descendants, guarding a sacred site or seeking revenge. Finally, there's t

He asked gently, "What's this talk about ghosts? What has frightened you?" "Let go of me, let go of me …" Misty seemed oblivious to his words, too absorbed in her struggle to break free. "I need to get away from here. Just let me go!" "Misty, pull yourself together. It's me, Cedric!" Cedric gave her a shake, resolutely enfolding her in his arms. In a deep voice, he reassured, "Look clearly. There are no ghosts in broad daylight. What happened to you?" "Cedric …"

I had a very confused look on my face so he proceeded to explain "We call them that now. The people that have the madness fever. They are called ghosts. Over the last few months since we got back from England, a few thousands of them have arised and even more are getting the fever as we speak. There is so much chaos going on up there, schools have shut down as well as work places. The leaders have had to call in all the help they can get and it still isn't helping. The facility was breached and the ones that had been there escaped. The ghosts all went off the radar, we have been unable to find out a location where they all are. Thousands of them and we can't get a location for them" he said.

"What are these things? They're like something out of a nightmare." Caleb's eyes glinted with determination as he stepped forward. "They're nothing we can't handle. Stay together and fight as one. We'll make it through this." And they did. The group worked together, their movements fluid and efficient as they battled the undead horde. Eventually, the last zombie had fallen, and they were able to continue on their journey. Their final obstacle came in the form of ghosts. As they approached their destination, they were suddenly surrounded by a group of ethereal beings, their faces twisted in anger and pain. The ghosts seemed to materialize out of thin air, their moans echoing through the night

“Doesn’t mean they belonged to slaves.” “No matter who they belonged to, how did they materialize in my medicine cabinet?” “That I can’t explain.” “I can,” Harold said, poking suspiciously at the cranberry quinoa salad as if worried that it might actually be mulch and rat feces. “You got yourself a ghost, Mr. Horror-meister. Just like our Melinda, only apparently a lot nastier.” Bias shot him a sharp look. “We don’t know what intentions the spirits in 324 have.”

The way he had in the basement library, when he was trying to decide if he could trust me. "Ghost doesn't take money," he said. "He doesn't take favors. He takes pieces of people. Memories. Secrets. Things you can't get back." "Then we make sure we don't give him anything we can't afford to lose." --- The number on Miriam's card connected after two rings. A voice answered. Not male. Not female. Something in between. Processed through a modulator, scrambled beyond recognition. "You reached the line," the voice said. "State your business."