Operation Ghost Stories Book Novels & Stories

The book is totally shit! But..but..Damn!!! Where are the first 30 pages? Someone should have torn those pages. But who? And why? If it's is a human then where is he? By chance is he watching our every movement? But..but.. from where? I gulped down nervously. I don't want to believe this book. Without my knowledge, the book slipped out of my hand and I looked down at the book like I'm facing the real ghost and the sentence read, "...eyes, pale skin human."

Each account had been published in various ghost hunting guides available in local bookstores. “You really believe all that?” Louis asked. “I look at it this way. A few things you might be able to write off as coincidence, bad luck, or someone making up a tale. But there are just so many stories collected in this one place that you have to pay attention. I mean, it seems like something’s going on.”

PROLOGUE Oops! I Slept in the Wrong Bed Some mistakes can be fixed with a simple apology. Some can be erased by simply forgetting they ever happened. But what if one mistake became the beginning of a story you never expected? Maeve Quinn Ramos is a hardworking, playful, and delightfully absent-minded college student who has just moved into a condominium near her university. Burdened by endless school requirements, sleepless nights, and a schedule that never seems to slow down, all she wants is to find a comfortable bed where she can finally get a good night's sleep.

The possessive way he fucked me like he both hated and needed me. I forced a grin. “You’re crazy, man. You watch too many movies.” He stepped aside but whispered as I passed, “Run while you still can. He’ll ruin you.” Later that day, I overheard two employees gossiping near the cafeteria. “Did you hear about The Ghost? Some billionaire who shows up masked at underground parties. Pays good money, fucks like a demon, then vanishes. Nobody ever sees his face.” I laughed it off again. But deep inside of me, i was worried for myself.

It was displayed. My chest tightened as I lifted it with a gloved hand. The scent hit immediately, chemical, sharp, layered with something metallic underneath. Chlorine and cold steel. A smell I had not encountered in years but recognized all the same. It was the same ghost note that had clung to the air the night my parents died. This was not chaos. It was not a fight gone wrong or a rogue passing through. This was intent. Someone had gotten close enough to Owen to inject him, or had taken him elsewhere and left this behind as a message. Either option required control, preparation, and knowledge of what we were.

“Some ghosts don’t haunt you with screams. They haunt you with resemblance.” Leora stared at the violet. Pressed flat. Fragile. Dry as ash. And yet somehow, alive. Like it had been waiting—not just in this room, but across time. Across silence. Like it had known she’d return. That eventually, she’d come back here, open the book, and see it. Not as a flower. But as a message. A trace. A warning. A ghost trapped between pages.

The little girl watched as Dask'iya burned quickly because there was nothing but gum in the fire, and listened to the agonizing screams of the woman After Dask'iya burned completely, the girl warmed her shaking hands once more and melted the gum off of all of the other children's eyes. All of the boys and girls opened their eyes again and ran back home to tell the story of the little girl's triumph in killing the Child Eater. " What are these strange stories, No wonder people Don't touch these books " I slam the book shut when I hear footsteps coming closer to me. Suddenly I feel a strong hand on my arm, yanking me upwards. "What do you think you're doing?" I don't recognize his voice as Ces

She was definitely ready for this date! ~•~ Meanwhile, Isabella had left the school premises before she brought out the strange book she had taken... well, stolen from the library. With so much curiosity, she flipped the front cover open... but there was nothing. Just a blank black page just like the front cover. And so was the second. And third. And fourth. And fifth! She turned the book to open it from the back. The same thing! What in heavens' name is going on? Strangely, she had the urge to check the middle of the book, but how was she to know the middle when there were no numbered pages! She sighed and decided to just open randomly.

Another book she couldn’t find anywhere—until she realized that it was on display in the front window, for the Occult Exhibit; she guiltily unlocked the glass, slid it back, reached in, and removed it, making a mental note to replace it as soon as possible, before anybody noticed. She was beginning to feel a little better, a little more in control, as she filled her cart to overflowing, with 15 leather-bound books on the subject. Satisfied, she’d wheeled it back to her desk, cleared her other books, and covered it with these. That was hours ago. It was after lunchtime, now, and Caitlin had not stopped reading for a second. Her back and joints were stiff, her eyes were hurting from the non-st

And find out if there was any way to fix it. As she drove, Caitlin thought again of the rare books she had found in her library. Most of all, she that of that one rare volume, and its torn page. She thought of its ancient ceremony, the one in Latin, with its cure for vampirism. She wondered again if it was real. Was that just passed down from folklore? An old wives’ tale?