The Man With The Ghost Novels & Stories

Nothing that said a man had been hiding here for twelve years building a case against one of the most connected men in the country. Ghost pulled up outside and turned off the engine and looked at me. "You do not have to go in today," he said. "We can come back." "I know," I said. "Let's go." We got out. Ghost knocked on the door. It opened after a moment and the man standing in the doorway was someone I was not prepared for. Not because he was frightening. Because he was familiar. The shape of the jaw. The way he held himself. The eyes that went straight to my face and then went very still.

Together, we pushed the attackers back, clearing room after room until the mansion fell silent once more. When it was finally over, we captured three of The Ghost’s men alive. One of them — a tall, scarred man with dead eyes — was dragged into the basement interrogation room. Nikolai stood over him, gun pressed to his forehead. “Talk,” he growled. “Who sent you? What does The Ghost want?” The man laughed through bloodied lips, looking straight at me. “You still don’t know, do you?” he sneered. “The Ghost isn’t some shadow. He’s blood. Your blood, Volkov.”

He was quite calm, and felt his pulse, which was not at all feverish. The strange noise still continued, and with it he heard distinctly the sound of footsteps. He stood up and opened the door. Right in front of him he saw, in the wan moonlight, an old man of terrible aspect. His eyes were as red burning coals; long grey hair fell over his shoulders in matted coils; his garments, which were of antique cut, were soiled and ragged, and from his wrists and ankles hung heavy manacles and rusty gyves. For a moment the ghost stood quite motionless

Leo began. I eyed him sceptically. "You've mentioned that before." "Indeed, but there's more. Someone is controlling him," Leo continued, dropping a picture on my desk. It showed a shadowy figure draped in dark robes. "He is known as Ghost." Interest flared within me as I took up the image, scrutinizing the elusive figure. "Could this be the same man who visited Aurora's grave?" I pondered aloud. "The unique thing about this man is that he has no scent. I've spoken to people who've encountered him," Leo added.

Finally, his body too weak to take another step, he lay down by the side of the road and slipped into unconsciousness. The light came slowly, and the ghost wondered how long he had been dead. It didn't matter. His bed was soft like a cloud, and their air around him smelled sweet with candles. The scream of anguish startled the Ghost from his slumber. His body leapt out of the bed, staggering down a hallway towards the sounds of shouting. He entered the kitchen and saw a large man beating a smaller man. Without knowing why, the Ghost grabbed the large man and hurled him backwards against a wall. The man fled, leaving the ghost standing over the body of a young man in priest's robes. The pries

Guilt gnaws at my mind for being glad that it wasn't me that was taken, but I'm too scared to die. Once the young man is out of the cell, he's dropped to the floor. Our captor bends down to the young man, forcing his head to the side. The orange-eyed man opens his mouth, revealing two long fangs. He bites down on the young man's neck, causing him to scream out in pain. Even with the cloth in his mouth, the young man's scream still pierces my ears.

But there was something about the way the man spoke calm, amused, like he was enjoying a private joke. “Who is this?” Adrian asked, his tone cold. The man laughed softly. “Oh, come on. I think you know.” And then, he said the name. “I’m Ghost.” Adrian froze. His eyes snapped back to the body on the floor. A sinking feeling crept into his chest. No. He had just killed Ghost. He saw the body fall. “You are lying,” Adrian said, voice steady. Ghost hummed. “Am I? Then why am I the one calling you?”

The man walked away quickly. Looking shocked as well. Gianna watched as the man who looked especially like Nadia disappeared into the crowd. She leaned against the train in a trance. She felt dizzy It was as if the whole thing had drained her. Scott looked at her and touched her shoulder, his hand waving in front of her eyes. "Don't tell me you actually saw a ghost?Gianna,there's no such thing as ghosts." Gianna gave her a false smile. "Yeah, I must be making a mistake."

He’d seen too many die for less. The redhead tried again, moving closer, pressing against him. “You’re tense,” she whispered. “I’ve got ghosts that don’t like to sleep.” “Let me chase them off.” He smirked faintly, eyes still on the drink. “You’re not the kind of girl who scares ghosts.” A knock at the door interrupted whatever she might’ve said next. Heavy, deliberate. Not staff. Not one of the girls. The man stood slowly, setting the drink down untouched. His jacket fell back into place as he moved, every step echoing authority. The women in the room fell quiet without being told to. They knew when not to speak.

The other men in the van rushed to catch their fallen comrade, when a familiar face popped into existence. Ghost melted from thin-air, his eyes black as night. In his hand was the blood-soaked blade that had gone through the throat of the male that had planned on raping me. He smiled at the others, this deadly, flat thing that had the hairs along the back of my neck rising. I’d never say this aloud, but Ghost was even more frightening than my would-be rapist.