Operation Ghost Stories Book Novels & Stories

"Damn it, Shanks, stop!" My legs carried me down the corridor past the office area and down the stairs. I didn't know exactly where I was going, but I knew if I didn't move I would just burst. The monsters that killed my parents ... they were still alive! How could fate do this to me? Why were these beasts allowed to breathe while the people who gave me my life lay underground and slowly crumbled to dust? It was … My foot slipped on the bottom step of the stairs. I bent over and didn't fall because I quickly grabbed the banister.

In 1983 a Mrs Carson of New York was laid out in our coffin, presumed dead of hear disease. As mourners watched, she suddenly sat up, alive as you or I. Unfortunately her daughter dropped dead of fright on the spot. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon.

Just like this session was turning out to be, it was on the day of his arrival. He had been praying to find his hostel before the curfew meant that he was sent back to his pack and had overheard two people talking. The more important one of the two was now dead, six feet in the ground. He had nothing that told of his existence but the painful memories in the back of Harold and a few other's heads. Harold shivered as he rested a finger on the doorknob. He was scared of the unknown.

“June, stop! He’s lying!” June paused, her hand halfway through the melting glass. “What are you talking about, Mom?” “The Oven-Maker isn’t dying because it needs a heart!” Sarah cried, holding up the glowing gold book. Its pages shone with a dark, oily light. “Something’s eating it from the inside! There’s something else down there—something the Foundation didn’t make!” The man’s faceless head swung toward Sarah. The white light turned sharp and angry, burning red. “You shouldn’t have read that book,” he snarled. The kindness vanished from his voice.

Damien drove the rogue down, one knee in its chest, claws at its throat. “Say another word to her,” he growled, “and I will remove your tongue.” The rogue smiled up at him. “You cannot stop a door once it knows her blood.” The journal fluttered in my hand. Pages snapping hard enough to sting. Words appeared. THE HOLLOW CALLS WHAT THE HOUSE WAKES. My mouth went dry. “Damien.” “I’m busy.” “The haunted book has an update.” “Not ideal timing.” “Shockingly, the book did not ask.”

I wrote down every expensive ingredient I had ever heard of but could never afford. After finishing the list, I glanced around the room guiltily. The air was dead silent. I placed the list in the center of the table and went to bed with a sense of anticipation. The next day, the first thing I did after waking up was rush to the dining room. The table was empty. There was no breakfast whatsoever, let alone Australian lobster or Wagyu beef. I was a little disappointed. I may have driven the ghost away with my outrageous demands. I sighed and prepared to microwave a box of macaroni and cheese.

“Do you know who I am Evelyn? Do you know who you just made an enemy of?” I gulped and didn’t respond. His lips brushed my ear. “I am Ghost. The mother fucking king of the mafia.” He pushed off my chair. I winced as the chair jerked. Tears began to fill my eyes. “But based on this reaction. I gather you have already figured that out.” He was standing in front of me now with his arms crossed on his chest. Machine leaned on the cement wall near the only door of the room. I met Kade’s cold whiskey brown eyes and nodded.

Then, to the right, and at the end of a long row of books, one book jutted out from the shelf. I pulled it out. It didn’t have a name. It was a leather-bound volume, and its cover had a skeletal hand clutching a wilting rose. I opened the book, skimming through the pages. My stomach turned at some of the rituals inside. Selene was too arrogant, too vein, to resort to grave robbing, and there would be no need to stitch me together if her plan was to take over people’s bodies as she had before. The Binding.

She felt as if she were outside of herself, looking down, and she became more and more confused. She read. And read. And read. Finally, it hit her like a lightning bolt: this book, it was hers. Her journal. The journal of a teenage girl. A story of coming of age. Of going back in time. Of falling in love with a man named Caleb. Of having a daughter named Scarlet. Of becoming a vampire. She wondered if she were losing her mind. Was this some sort of practical joke? Some sort of fantasy she’d had as a young girl? What was it doing here? How did her grandmother have it? And why was she only drawn to open it now, at this time?

She utters after she gulps down some water, and I just nod my head for her to go ahead, not that she would listen to me even if I say that I don't want to listen to her story, anyway. "That's my baby. You will love it, and I promise..." She pauses and wipes her mouth with the napkin on the table before she reclines on the chair, and I know that I'm in for a long talk this morning. "It's actually a book about grim reapers..." My heart wavers fearfully once I hear that name, but I try not to panic. "It's just a story, don't be scared," I assure myself as I gulp down nothing nervously.