The Blackwell Ghost True Story Novels & Stories

Grayson continued consoling her, "Open your eyes. It's safe here. There are no ghosts anymore." "I'm scared." "It's alright. I'm here with you. They won't dare to approach us with me around. Look around, you're safe." Belle carefully opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings. She saw nothing. "What did I say?" "I wasn't making things up." "You just mistook something to look human." Grayson was an atheist and did not believe in ghosts and gods. He felt that the ghosts Belle claimed to have seen were simply overstimulation from fear.

Jason pops his knuckles “Of course. His name is Andrew, care to know where he used to work?” Our eyes turned to Jason. “He was an enforcer at Blackwell estate” Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Blackwell, the name seemed somewhat familiar. Vincent holds his alphas eyes and I just know what he’s going to reveal next would be really bad. “He’s right, seven years ago, we destroyed the lab and the serum, but not the one who created it” “Blackwell is dead, I killed him” Councilor Blackwell, the dead councilor form seven years ago, Zayne executed him under suspicion of being involved in his fathers death. With evidence of course.

Then Jenny screamed too. Taking a glance at the cave, it was of no surprise as Malison had just felt a similar sensation. Swiftly, he tried to prevent them both from being run over, and walking to where the scream was coming from. The air became so thick as Malison saw a shadow coming towards his direction. The shadow looked at him in fury and turned around, but at the same time, his eyes almost turned pale as the same shadow appeared from the side. A warrior who looked at the other side was holding a sword in his hand. The smell of sulfur was hitting his nostrils. His familiar vampire slowly stood up in defense, holding his hat in his hands, with eyes wide open. The man wore a black vest a

The atmosphere at the Blackwell Manor was truly suffocating, to say the least. Ever since Lord Benjamin Blackwell returned home and informed his father about Lady Anastasia, he had kept himself shut in his study, and only retreated to his bedroom late at night. As for Earl Blackwell, he was so heartbroken to learn about his precious daughter's untimely demise that he couldn't bear to stay in the Manor any longer. Upon discussion with his son, he decided to stay at their family country home, located about 3 days ride from the capital. He had left the affairs of the Blackwell family solely to his son, and there was no clear indication when he would be coming back.

The name alone was a storm. I had heard the stories. Everyone had. In fact I had witnessed the disaster that befell then Blackwoods. The Blackwoods were more than legends—they were myths made flesh. An extinct bloodline, wiped from the face of the earth, their wolves unlike anything the world had ever seen. And yet, for nineteen years, the supposed last of their kind had been under my roof. In my pack. In my bed. I had been sleeping next to a phantom, a relic of a forgotten power.

I shut the door behind them, the click of the lock echoing through the glass walls. Coleman shifted. “Is something wrong, Mr. Blackwell?” I took a slow step closer. “Why were you at my mansion the day Brooklyn was pushed?” His eyes darted. “Pushed? Sir, I— I already gave my statement—” “Don’t lie to me.” The words came out quiet, steady, dangerous. He froze. “I’ve seen the footage,” I continued. “You were there. Minutes before she got pushed. So tell me, Richard — why?”

Because what could possibly be so bad that Nathaniel Blackwell — a man who has never struggled saying cruel or uncomfortable things the whole time I have known him— suddenly cannot bring himself to tell me? The questions keep multiplying inside my head. What happened at that meeting? Who were those people? How did Nathaniel convince them to let Rhys go? Did he pay them? Threaten them? Make some kind of deal? Every possible answer feels worse than the last. And somewhere between all those thoughts, I manage to hear the loud metallic screech of the Blackwell estate gates opening. My body stiffens instantly. I lift my eyes from the window and stare ahead as the massive gates slowly part open un

The Blackthorn Hotel had stood on the edge of the misty cliffs for over a century, its reputation for hauntings as famous as its opulent rooms. Most guests requested the infamous Suite 313 out of morbid curiosity. Dr. Sophia Reyes, 36, requested it out of pure skepticism. She was a clinical psychologist and vocal debunker of the paranormal. “Ghosts don’t exist,” she had told the wide-eyed receptionist with a confident smile. “They’re just stories people tell themselves to feel something.”

They were safe behind steel and stone. ​But as Roman looked up at the stars, he realized that the Ghost had finally found what he was looking for. He had found a way to vanish completely. Because without Vivienne, there was no Roman Volkov. There was only the wind, the stone, and the silence of a girl who had traded her life for a promise. ​In the city, Arthur Blackwood would spend the rest of his days screaming at the walls of a mansion he couldn't afford to heat. Julian Montgomery would be a footnote in a financial scandal.

I had no choice, so I dug through every gift Zoe had ever given me, but I found nothing. Just when I was about to give up, I shook a pillow, and a tiny paper figure floated out. Its face was drawn to resemble Lucas, and his birth details were written on the back! The fortune teller exclaimed, “That’s it! The lock and the paper figure work together, and since you've touched the lock, the effect on you is stronger. Luckily, you found it early.” I broke out in a cold sweat. That same day, I slipped the paper figure under Miles’ pillow and instructed my parents to watch him while he slept.