The Man With The Ghost Novels & Stories

It had been a good idea to sneak around the side of the house the way we had, making a run for the gate when Alexander and Darlene had their back turned, the brief flashes of lightning tearing through the black sky above only serves to illuminate the shrub-covered path. Ghost sighed heavily, and the car was filled with tense silence only broken by our ragged breathing and clips of thunder that blinded me with every fluorescent flash. “Say, isn't Laura Diego your woman Frederick?” Ghost whispered abruptly and I gave a jerky start, inhaling sharply and risking a look beside me to find that the man was sweating., the pale cast of the moon on his face made him appear ghostly. “What’s that got to

"Wait. I need to know. Why did, uhm, whatever, carelessly pick me?" "Go back." The woman wasn't paying her any attention. She kept on plucking cowries and attaching them to her head. "What is he? Oh, don't answer that one. He's a ghost. I know that. Why is he in that state? No, no, why can I see him? Why can l feel his touch, ghosts can't do that, can they? What does he need me for?" The old woman stopped her scaly hands from further movements and stared directly at Geneva through her foggy eyes that obviously saw clearly.

Anything. “You two seem busy, just don’t forget the video,” the man adds, his laughter sharp and mocking. Ghost suddenly stands, his movements sharp, and before I can process it, his glass flies from his hand, shattering against the floor. The sound echoes in the room, and the man whistles, amused. “You still haven’t said anything!” Ghost’s voice erupts, cutting through the air. His body trembles with restrained fury as he turns to me, his eyes blazing. “Is it really that hard to figure out if you’d fucking kill me if your father ordered it?”

Nevertheless, she realized that she was the only one sad and cheered up. She focused on the television to steady her emotions and at 10 AM, breaking news came up. She furrowed and waited for the story. To her chagrin, she saw a man flogging a middle-aged man with two whips, and the man was too weak to fight back. Rather, he was shouting, “Ghost.” The voice was familiar, but she looked critically at the men, and they appeared familiar as well. “God,” she mumbled when she saw the middle-aged man bleeding and the assailant disappeared.

Those who had discovered the truth were swiftly silenced, their secrets dying with them. The rumors about The Ghost were the stuff of criminal legend. They said he could walk through walls, that he had spies in every major organization, that he could make people disappear without a trace. Some said he wasn't human at all, but a vengeful spirit who had returned from the dead to punish the wicked. Victor did nothing to discourage these tales—in fact, he cultivated them.

He shoved me behind him and lunged forward, a low growl tearing from his throat. The two men crashed together in the dark. The flashlight flew, spinning crazy lights and shadows. I saw a fist. I heard a grunt. They were just shapes, rolling on the dirt floor. I scrambled on my hands and knees, trying to find the flashlight. My hand closed around it. I pointed it at the fight. The light fell on the ghost’s face. He wasn’t a monster. He was a man. Maybe in his thirties. He had plain brown hair and wide, crazy eyes. He was on top of Louis, his hands around Louis’s throat.

“Then enlighten us.” Instead, the man stepped back toward his car. “You can’t fight what you don’t understand. Some ghosts should stay dead.” “You wanna know who’s gonna end up dead if he doesn’t stop pulling this stunt?” Gabriel’s voice was low as he stood towering over the man that was starting to stiffen like fish in ice. “I’d fucking kill you if you show up anywhere around her again. It’s not a coincidence that I’m always armed.” He stepped back, watching the man get into his car and drive off, staring at the plate and memorizing the number.

I stared at her, this woman so different from the one I remembered, and felt utterly lost. Was this really the woman I had loved all those years? "Carrie!" A sharp, anguished cry cut through the air from inside the car—it was my father. He had just watched the love of his life, his wife of decades, lying in a pool of blood. Grief overtook him, and he struggled to break free from the car, but his captors held him in place. Adeline's face twisted into a sinister smile. Through the car window, she said in a low, cold voice, "Tell Samuel to come out right now and perform the surgery—or his mother won't make it."

Half of his head was blown off, brains and dark red blood clinging to his eye socket. He must have been one of Marco's hired guns in life. There was no way he was among the living now. "Careful, little kitty. Nosing around can get you killed," the spirit said with a ghastly smile, black blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. A ghost. "Another one of Marco's guard dogs?" I asked coldly. "I'm the master of this pier," the spirit said, closing in. "But I took the boss's offering, so I have to clean up any bugs that crawl in."

"We risked everything. For nothing." I stepped closer, my hand gently touching his arm. "That's not true," I said, my voice a soft, steady murmur that was a balm on his raw, frayed nerves. "Look at you, Hypatos. Look at us." He turned, his eyes a dark, turbulent sea of pain and confusion. "What are you talking about?" "The man who left this house was a ghost," I said, my voice a low, firm statement that was a final, unbreakable decision. "He was broken, haunted, just waiting for the end. He was so buried in his grief that he couldn't see anything else."