Novels About Ghosts Novels & Stories

Charli I knew it was my imagination. Nox's home in Rye wasn't Montague Manor. There weren’t shadows lurking behind locked doors. And yet after finishing dinner and retiring to the room Silvia referred to as mine, the one where Nox had brought me earlier in the day, I had the strange sensation of being surrounded by knowing spirits. They were the ghosts of occupants past. Not literal ghosts. There weren't white floating figures swirling about the room; nevertheless, I felt a strange combination of safety and danger—a reassuring calm in the interior stillness while an alarm wailed beyond the walls.

This isn’t just a party — it’s a goddamn masquerade of killers and liars. Mafia kings, cartel lords, their mistresses, and enemies in disguise. Everyone in here has killed people or sent someone to die. Everyone is armed, even when pretending to flirt. Men with tattoos that tell stories of loyalty and blood. Women with eyes like poison. And me? I’m the ghost they’ve heard of but never seen. I felt the heat of every eye on my ass as I glide through the hall. Good. Let them look. I reach for a glass of champagne from a passing tray and take a sip. Cold.

Layla, still shaking, lifted a trembling hand and pointed toward the window. “A ghost,” she whispered. “It’s a ghost.” “Ghost?” Lucian echoed, walking toward the window. She nodded frantically, clinging to him like a frightened child. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head when he noticed her phone lying open on the bed. “You were reading a ghost novel?” he asked flatly. Layla nodded. “But I heard something. I swear.” “It’s just dry branches and leaves rustling,” he said calmly. “Nothing else.”

Some were made of leather, others of scales, and some in what might have been human skin. In the center, a pool of black water reflected no light. “The Library of Things That Were,” the ghost announced. “Every book here tells of the old agreement, the first prophecies. The Bridge especially.” Tamara moved to the nearest shelf. The books whispered as she passed, like they recognized her. “This one,” the ghost said, pulling out a book that looked like a piece of the night sky. “Start here.” Tamara opened it. The words weren't English. Weren't any language she knew. But she understood them.

Willa sprinted into the elevator, her eyes widening with fear and her fingers clutching her bag firmly for support. As a horror writer, one would think she was accustomed to such surroundings and may have even enjoyed them, but that was far from the truth. Willa hated everything about ghosts and haunted houses, and even the sight of too much blood drove her insane. The horror genre felt like a gift; she was so good at it and had written over thirty bestselling novels, but in reality, her fears had been portrayed in every character she created. As the elevator dinged, she sighed in relief and rushed out. She quickly searched her bag for her key, but as her hand touched the doorknob, the door

"You’ve cleared the site. You’ve removed the threats. Why are you still looking for ghosts?" He gripped my waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of my dress. "Because ghosts are the only things that can walk through walls, Eden. And Silas Vane is the best ghost in the business." "I haven't seen him; I doubt I'll see him while I'm indoors," I said, the lie tasting like copper in my mouth. "He’s just a name in a file to me now."

Irene says, rolling her eyes in irritation. "Well, there have been a string of murders similar to the one in the Physics department building. A lot of people believe that the culprit is either a human who hired a witch doctor to do their bidding... or simply an actual ghost with great power." Kai explains as if that's the most obvious thing in the world. "Yeah right, things like that aren't real. Ghosts and paranormal stuff are made to keep children and adults in check." "Now, now Irene. Keep talking like that and a ghost might just come to you for a not-so friendly visit."

“Just look at them. They only have those few things to say, such as me having a mental problem, being indecent, promiscuous, and fooling around with men like the female lead. They insist that the characters in the novel are a reflection of the author. What a joke.” The author chuckled as she went on, “I’m single and I don’t care about men at all. I’ve been traveling around the world. How would I have time to fool around with men? Based on their logic, authors who write ghost stories are ghosts themselves, and those who write murder mysteries and criminals too? How stupid of them.” “Yeah,” Rosalie said. “Novels are all fictional and made-up. Authors write stories based on what they see and he

Tears rolls down his mom’s face while Evelyn spirit walks into the office smiling and she flashes back to how her spirit comes out of Marylyn’s body and keeps following her mom, she was feeling pitied for her at the party that she doesn’t know she was dead only for her to see her buying chemical at the chemical shop and injecting it to her drink and gives it to a waiter to bring it to Marylyn who was sited finding everything strange. She was shocked to see her mother inject the drink and wanted to give Marylyn because she thought she was the one and she when the waiter was about bringing it she entered into the waiter to control her at that moment and she changes the drink and she serves her

"I'll go back home and continue my normal life but I'll never have anything to do with ghosts anymore. I won't even do like I see them and will continue my story writing and studies." "Will you write my story, Chris?" "Never. It's a secret." I vehemently shook my head. "Why? You don't want people to know you see ghosts?" "Yes, I don't. Moreover, people hardly believe you guys exist so it's of no use writing it and trying to convince them." "But I want you to write my story, Chris. I want the world to know how I died, what caused my death, everything. Including the way, my mum cried when she found out about my death till the very end when I'm gone."