The House Of The Spirits Novels & Stories

“Yes, such a lovely gift I’m blessed with. It is very honorable to become a wraith of mine. Right as the host dies I collect their meager little souls and give them a new purpose.” “How can they join the stars without their soul?” I utter completely flabbergasted. His smile broadened, “They don't. If my wraith dies then the spirit is released and they join said stars.” He waved his hand as if waving the thought away. “My Love how are you faring?” I swallowed unable to dismiss the idea of those poor spirits locked away from the afterlife. “I… I’m well. The view is lovely here.” I changed topics quickly.

The first thing we do is drop Cas off at the forest so he can run around with the other Howlers. Then Sebastian and I start making our way to the Coven’s mansion, where my family’s apartment is. Our mansion is unique. It’s vast and constantly expanding. It’s also odd with staircases that lead to nowhere, windows that never see light, strange paintings, and doors that open to nothing. Shadows swirl around the walls. The mansion is designed this way to confuse spirits that may make their way to the coven’s realm. It doesn’t happen often, but a few have snuck through before. We have reapers to handle those spirits.

Méah panicked. "Méah, you were not supposed to live. You only live because of the three spirits that used to inhabit your body. It was the reason why you become the heir of destruction because you managed to restore your own spirit, giving you four pulses. When my former master, Draea become a prisoner of the black crystal, Purple Smoke, she found you as a perfect puppet and took advantage of my friends' powers," Jidah sadly said. "No! I'm not going anywhere! I want to live! I want to be with Keir!" Méah refused as she stepped away from Jidah.

Something that shouldn't be disturbed in the house of silence, not far from the killing square. Hope sprang in this house, and her tidy walls did rattle with joy. It was the most the house could do, for if she was capable of more, her silver and goldwares, plates, and cups would have left their racks and cupboards to make high-pitched sounds. Beds, sofas, stools, chairs, and tables would have joined in, causing a ruckus to attract attention. But this was a house that was not to be noticed. A house cursed to create nothing but whispers. A house that wasn't a house.

Now I knew he'd been bleeding me dry for Riley Anderson, his childhood sweetheart. "I want to refinance the house, too," he added. I stopped what I was doing, my hands frozen in the sink, and turned to stare straight at him. "You really want your four three-year-old sons to end up homeless?" This house wasn't much, just a small three-bedroom, but it was ours—the one we'd fought for, saved for, and sacrificed for. The mortgage wasn't even close to being paid off. His name was on the deed because when we first bought it, I had been out of town on business. He'd told me it would be easier that way, with him making the payments.

But when I looked at the woman, I saw only sincerity staring back at me over the rim of her teacup. “You’re serious,” I whispered. It had crossed my mind before, but it felt absurd. I’d spent so much of my life thinking ghosts weren’t real… But then again, I found out that necromancy was real recently, so who was I to judge? She nodded. “Oh, yes. This house is very haunted. It’s so old, you know?” She looked around, clutching her teacup in her gnarled hands. “Most of the spirits are good, though. But there are a few with vengeance in their souls. They’re the ones you should be careful of.”

“Brenda? Did you ghost-lift me again?” One flicker: Absolutely not. Which left— I stopped dead. The house was… beautiful. Not “old-Victorian-charm” beautiful. “Professionally renovated by a supernatural cleaning crew” beautiful. “Holy—Brenda,” I whispered, “did you and the local spirits hold a board meeting overnight?” She flickered twice: Not me. I scanned the room. Everything was straight. Polished. Functional. Alive. Even the air felt different. “Lucien,” I muttered.

"We've been married for three years, and you still don't know I don't like chicken soup or shrimp. I prefer fish soup and lean meat. "Lily, we're just not right for each other." I spilled everything in one breath, and Lily seemed to sense I had decided. She clasped my hand, her eyes full of desperation. "Are you still mad? Mad that I bought John a house? I can buy you a better house, okay? Whatever you want, as long as you don't divorce me." I shook her hand off with disdain. "Didn't you say you married me because I was like a lapdog who listened to you, that you were always prepared for a divorce? Those weren't your words?"

The landscape was alien and foreboding, a surreal amalgamation of shifting shadows and fragmented structures that seemed perpetually on the verge of collapse. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, broken only by the occasional whisper of forgotten memories. Each whisper was like a ghostly touch against her skin, a fleeting sensation that left her shivering. The whispers were disjointed, fragments of conversations, cries, and laughter that seemed to echo from the very walls of Nyxterra. They whispered her name in haunting, fragmented tones, urging her deeper into the darkness.