Real Ghost Stories To Read Novels & Stories

Because of all the ghost stories she had heard in her life, the ghost always called someone to come to them. Exactly as Fuschia had said just now. “Mi-milady, is that for real? There is such a sound? I didn't hear it tho,” Laura turned to the knight with a questioning look. "I'm sorry lady, but I didn't hear it either." said the knight, still with a worried expression on his face. Laura had already guessed that she would have trouble sleeping for the next few months if tonight she also met the ghost above met the creepy monster! The hairs on her neck stood up. Adding to the fear that bit her skin.

he closes the lid of his laptop then puts it on the side table. "Then watch movie with me." "I don't like horror movie. It's all fake.” "There ARE ghosts in this world, Honey. Ghosts, spirits, haunted houses. They are most definitely real." He makes a face, a ‘meh’ face, "Can we play a game? Something stimulating, not just sit and scream watching this ridiculous movie." I'm gonna let that comment about this movie being ridiculous slides, simply because he pays me good. If he's one of my younger siblings, he would've been kicked somewhere the moment that word comes out.

Most of the pages in the front were smudged too terribly to read anything but once it became legible, I started to shake with happiness. It was a story book! Eagerly I began reading the first story that wasn't destroyed. MY mouth dropped open in wonder at this finding. It was a shadow elf storybook, and a very old one. Page after page I flipped through the words absorbing every word that I could. The stories were full of ghastly creatures similar to the ghoulcat and the heroes of ancient Gwathendor who fought them. And their lady loves that they saved along the way. Soon enough I was hunched over the bed with the little book in my lap and my head in the clouds.

I was the girl who poured their drinks, cleaned up their crumbs, stood off to the side with my head low. But I listened. Every night, I listened. And my favorite stories—the ones that sent chills down my spine—were about the rogues. Greywin would say, “They don’t walk like us. They stalk. They don’t breathe like us. They sniff, they growl. And when you hear a branch break in the middle of the forest, child, don’t run… they already know where you are.” I remembered the way the girls would huddle closer, giggling but scared. But I wasn’t giggling. I was barely breathing. I always held my tray tighter and leaned closer to hear more.

The face he was at the window when I drove off was heartbreaking, those silver eyes obscured by a very human worry that I'm growing all too familiar with. The "legends" collection is tucked away in a corner of the library's second floor, exactly where I remember it from my college days when I'd occasionally page through local myths for entertainment. Back then, stories of werewolves and ancient curses were charming, harmless tales told around campfires. Now they're my best hope of discovering what's happening to the man I'm falling in love with. I pull the first book from the shelf. "Legends of the Pacific Northwest" is a battered cover, but the pages are filled with carefully documented tal

"Yieeeeee yeah you don’t like him because he’s arrogant, he’s muscular, he has a pointed nose, he’s tall, and his lips looked so sweet. Yes Alaister you don't like him!" and with that she threw me a pillow Hahahaha. We talked about music and other kinds of stuff until Aunt Ana came with our food so we ate first. "Alaister do you believe in ghosts?" I asked Alaister, now that she was lying down in our bed. "Did you watch a horror movie last night? Then I would say that there are no ghosts and I do not believe in ghosts." Wow! It doesn't seem like she can see ghosts hmm. Yes she can see ghosts but she doesn’t want to tell to other people about that.

The Ghost fable warned us of a cursed wolf who could fade into the shadows and be invisible at times, silently stalking any and all. As Reed had been telling me about all of the scandalous and mostly illegal things he would do if he were The Ghost, his eyes suddenly rolled back in his head. His chest arched violently off of the blanket while all of the muscles in his body tensed. I shot to my knees and grabbed ahold of his shoulders, trying to shake him out of whatever trance he had been sucked into. He gasped once...twice..three times before his body stilled. He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. "Reed, what happened?" My voice thick with panic as I continued to cling tightly to

After a moment of silence, she whispered, “They say this place is haunted.” Jackson’s jaw tightened as he struggled with a response. Should he admit to her that he agreed with the rumor? Should he tell her that, like Mike and her father, he’d seen and felt things that shouldn’t have been there? He hadn’t even admitted that to the men. He’d only admitted to the place giving him the creeps. Something inside of him kept him from voicing it. It was as if voicing it would make it real. “I saw that woman looking out of the window,” Melody confessed. “She’s not right. She looks dead.”

Another dark legend created by Johnny will last until the future generation. "Izzat! Did you hear about the recent rumor?! There is a ghost without a head strolling above our level! Sometimes, that ghost is playing football with his own head in the middle of midnight. Some saw the headless ghost juggling its head in the hallway on level 4, while the others saw him on the rooftop! They heard thumping with bumping, and there was also a suspicious squelching sound for thirty minutes before it disappeared. " Fakhrul shook Izzat's arms. Right now, Izzat and Fakhrul are sitting on the sofa, doing nothing. Fakhrul's terrified face is making his housemates in the living room chuckle.

It coiled my nerves and spine, weighing in the air like something tangible. I remembered Mom telling me stories when I was younger. Some were just simple bedtime stories to help me sleep, but others were scary ghost stories goaded on by Leo. Wanting to be brave like my older brother, I begged for them too. She was a silver-tongued narrator. Whether it was Goldilocks and the Three Bears or an old Italian ghost story, Mom painted pictures so vividly it was as if she’d experienced them firsthand. And I knew what she was about to tell me was a firsthand experience, and she was going to weave an image that would likely keep me up at night wondering if Mattia was going to appear standing over my b