Reading Ghost Novels & Stories

I sighed and prepared to microwave a box of macaroni and cheese. But when I turned around, I spotted a note pressed under something on the table. It was in Nathaniel’s familiar handwriting, though this time, his note held a hint of cold anger. [Wasteful.] I was stunned for a moment before I burst out laughing. This ghost was not just a good cook, but he was also thrifty and responsible. I liked that. I immediately picked up a pen and wrote back. [My bad, Nat. It’s just a joke. Let’s just stick to homemade food from now on. I won’t bring up that extravagant nonsense again, okay?]

He stood straight with a serious face as he began his explanation. "Ghosts are the souls of dead humans who... well, aren't ready to rest in peace. They don't have powers. All they can do is move from one place to another without being seen. Well, not by everyone though." "But... if you're a demon, why then are you in this form?" She couldn't help but ask.

Ghost comments. Unfortunately, I know what show he is talking about, but I’ll stop it. Ari and Ghost flirt back and forth. As the first wave of humans begins to cry out and fall to the floor, I stand up, leaning down over the glass railing. Ghost comes up next to me, laughing his ass off at the pain of the humans beginning to OD. “You know, Ghost. I ended up becoming a necromancer since you last saw me,” I state casually. “That’s cool. I remember you were so pumped even though I’m not sure I still believe in that type of mythical shit. So what, you can kill people better now and send them to death faster?”

This guy should be the one named Nathan Garcia, a horror writer, and the current owner of the cursed book. A headless phantom in priest attire stood, or rather, floated next to the unconscious guy. But just like the hanged ghost, it immediately roared and ran off at the sight of Leyte. It even let out an exaggeratedly shrill scream. Leyte blinked, then lowered down his eyes to the guy. "So he fainted due to that headless ghost?" He frowned because he initially planned to talk with this ghostwriter, but the latter was already forced to sleep by that ghost. He could do nothing but stare at the ghostwriter helplessly.

"With everything that happened. Starting with me trying to go back to Boston, then realising I'm a ghost. I went back there and jumped into that empty grave, Trying to kill myself" "Wait wait wait." Austin interrupted her, smiling. "You knew you were a Ghost, and you tried to kill yourself " he raised his hands in apology, as he couldn't control his laughter. He saw she wasn't having any of it, and stopped laughing, but the smile on his face couldn't fade away.

When I turned back around, I noticed a new note pinned to the table. It was the same familiar handwriting, but the strokes seemed to carry a hint of chill this time. "Squanderer." I froze, then started laughing out loud. So this ghost couldn't just cook—she was also a thrifty, budget-conscious woman. I liked that. I immediately grabbed a pen and wrote back, "Sorry, Ivy. I was just joking. From now on, let's stick to regular dishes. I won't bring up such ridiculous things anymore." I made sure to apologize sincerely.

I muttered, before stomping out of the kitchen in search of a certain dark-haired ghost. I had to search the whole apartment before I could find the particular ghost I was looking for. Surprisingly he was on the balcony, bent over the railing and watching the passing of cars and people down the street. He had a melancholic look on his face and I forgot my reason for looking for him for a moment.

Leah lunged forward. “Stop! Don’t touch him! He’s still here, I know he is!” “Ma’am,” the doctor said gently, “his heart stopped. There’s nothing left we can do.” Ghost suddenly stepped forward. His voice was low, rough, but steady. “You’re wrong.” The doctor blinked. “Excuse me?” “You heard me,” Ghost snapped. “You’re wrong. He’s not gone.” “Son,” another doctor started, his voice soft, “I know this is hard, but—”

into the minimalist glass of a high-end corporate thriller. ​The Erasure of the Originals ​"Papa! Leo!" Nora tried to move, but her legs were now just suggestion of movement, a "Ghosting" effect left behind by a lagging processor. ​Kael Davis lunged forward, his broadsword raised to strike the Ghost-Writer, but the sword passed through the man like he was made of smoke. The Ghost-Writer simply turned a page. ​"Kael Davis," the man muttered, writing as he spoke. "Character Note: Relic of a bygone era. Too much baggage. Status: Retired to the Background."

FREDERICK The Ghost was dead. It was the only thing I could think of as I staggered along on the dirt path beside the highway, hooking out my thumb as yet another wash of yellow headlights blinded me and sped past, blowing dust in my eyes. “Bloody hell,” I groaned, struggling not to breathe too deeply as my lungs burned from the pain that had not stopped tearing at my sides and back. I fisted the phone I had fished from the gray-eyed man’s shirt pockets firmly in my hand, the memory of the pike thrust firmly through his open mouth and shooting out the back of his head and chest as his bloodied eyes stared on sightless burned into my scalp.