Mythical Ghost Novels & Stories

“Little ghost.” Next: Shatterpoint

Those who had discovered the truth were swiftly silenced, their secrets dying with them. The rumors about The Ghost were the stuff of criminal legend. They said he could walk through walls, that he had spies in every major organization, that he could make people disappear without a trace. Some said he wasn't human at all, but a vengeful spirit who had returned from the dead to punish the wicked. Victor did nothing to discourage these tales—in fact, he cultivated them.

Ghost is a dark fae, which means he’s greedy, likes death, and likes pretty women with spunk. His short white hair is spiked. Ghost wears a black sleeveless hoodie and black and white checkered jeans with black boots. His eyebrows, nose, and lips are all pierced with gages in both ears. His pointed ears give him away that he is fae. Ghost has all black eyes, much like one would think a demons would be if they were real. Some things are just stories made up of distorted truths. Demons and angels fall into that category. Ghost's pasty white skin almost glows under the glow of the flashing lights.

"Wait. I need to know. Why did, uhm, whatever, carelessly pick me?" "Go back." The woman wasn't paying her any attention. She kept on plucking cowries and attaching them to her head. "What is he? Oh, don't answer that one. He's a ghost. I know that. Why is he in that state? No, no, why can I see him? Why can l feel his touch, ghosts can't do that, can they? What does he need me for?" The old woman stopped her scaly hands from further movements and stared directly at Geneva through her foggy eyes that obviously saw clearly.

Everything disappeared completely. For a moment, they even felt that nothing had happened tonight. "The Five Ghosts Skill is a necessary skill for chasing ghosts and taking demons in Taoism's metaphysics. Although the Five Ghosts are evil, they gather all kinds of ugly states in the world and know all kinds of states in the world. It is naturally the best choice." "My Dragon-seeking Skill has at least ninety-nine thousand ghosts to help me find people. Not to mention that you are a True God in the sky, a mortal in the earth, or a bird in the sea, as long as you exist in this world, there must be traces."

"And yet here you are, dying slowly in a realm between realms, proving that martyrdom is just another form of suicide." Her voice carries the cold mathematics of cosmic forces, utterly without warmth or humanity. "I took a more... direct approach. I consumed the Primordial, absorbed its essence completely, and ascended beyond mortal limitations.” “In my timeline, I am both savior and deity—though admittedly, the humans find my methods somewhat... overwhelming." The Ghost-me finally speaks, her voice barely a whisper: "You all fought. I... I just let it happen. Watched it all burn from the shadows, did nothing, saved no one. I'm the coward who lived by being irrelevant."

He wasn’t summoning beasts. He was dragging the in-between into the now. Cracks tore open in the sky. The air turned sharp, cold, wrong. Ghosts spilled through the veil—wolves, twisted and lost, turned half-mad by unfinished lives. Not just spirits. These were memories that had forgotten they’d died. They surged toward me. I roared, driving my dagger into the ground. A ring of light exploded outward. The ghosts wailed, some vanishing instantly, others dragged back into their graves by unseen hands.

A cluster of dark, ethereal spectres floated into the class, coming to a halt mid-air, their ghostly forms suspended above the ground. I froze, my body going rigid as a shiver ran down my spine. What are these? I wondered, my eyes scanning their dark, smoky silhouette. As if hearing my unspoken thought, they answered in a ghostly voice. "We are the wraiths, the spirits of the dead, and we have come for you, child of the moon."

She summoned more spirits, creating a vortex above the embassy, pulling in all the land's restless souls. "You Farshyans have no respect for God!" Riley flew up and glared at the duo darkly. "I need to punish you in the name of God!" Countless faces emerged from the ground, staring through the mist with expressions of pain, pleading, anger, malice, and bloodlust. Their mouths moved as if speaking, though their words were unintelligible. Listening closely could drive one mad. Aria had never faced this phenomenon herself, but Tobias had warned her about it. Known as the "Hundred Ghosts Weeping", it appeared during catastrophic events.

It was all too much for her to understand. “You’re seeing things no one should,” Kaelen said finally, his voice steady, yet there was an underlying edge of worry. “Stop,” Lysandra cut him off, her voice shaking. “I don’t want cryptic answers anymore. What are they?” She paused, and her heart clenched with an uncomfortable thought. “Are they... ghosts?” “No,” Kaelen said sharply, his golden eyes intensifying. “They’re not ghosts. They’re... something else. And they’re not supposed to be visible to humans, let alone captured in photographs.”