Novel & Cerita The Nightmare Before Christmas Ghost

“In the basement. Now.” Before Ghost kills everyone.

If she wanted to make it out of here alive. Ghost was silent. Just gazing at her was increasing the turmoil in his head. Last night was hell. He had left her in the bathroom and had gone to unwind in the sitting room. Had a few drinks and he found himself dozing off. It was just for a few minutes. But he had the worst nightmares. Again. This time, it felt so real. Like he'd been plunged into a circle of beasts. The feral growling. Repulsing and vicious fangs tearing through skins. And there was the round table again. And then the part that had him in knots — her. Ciara MacDonald. She was there.

I looked harder out the thick glass doors, peering through the rain. There was a faint silhouette of a little boy around eight running frantically around glancing up at the sky and into the shadows everywhere. I sprinted out the doors, the fat drops coming down on my uncovered head. “What’s wrong?” I stopped dead in my tracks. Sprinting around high in furious circles was a huge black shadow. Its deep red evil eyes shot through my soul and made me stagger back into the hard doors. It looked like a black ghost, but it had a ragged gray exterior that looked like pasty, dead skin covered in deep cuts.

The wind picked up, and the leaves rustled with an eerie whisper. "Do you feel that?" Marinetta asked, her voice tense. Harley nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "Something's not right. We need to investigate." They followed the disturbance deeper into the forest, their senses alert. As they approached a clearing, they saw a figure standing in the center, surrounded by a shimmering aura of dark energy. Marinetta and Harley approached cautiously, their hands on their weapons. The figure turned to face them, revealing a gaunt, spectral appearance. It was a ghostly apparition, its eyes filled with a haunting sadness.

The maid made a gesture of silence to another maid. I stood at the door, dumbfounded. What were they just talking about? Did Ragnar’s fifth mate also see a female ghost at night? Did the ghost also demand the ring? And she was so terrified that she passed away on the spot? So everything I saw the previous night was real. Was there really a ghost haunting the Nightfang family?

Selena moved from her position against the wall, her legs stiff from standing so long in one place. She knelt down, reaching for the small plastic ghost that had skidded beneath a chair. Her fingers closed around it, and she examined it briefly. The ghost was white with hollow eyes and a gaping mouth—a child's toy, perhaps, but in this context, it seemed to mock them all. She almost smirked. It screamed Victor in every way—his signature, his message. The Ghost had returned. But she quickly schooled her features back to neutrality before rising and placing the toy in Xavier's outstretched, bloodied hand.

“That sounds... awful. I can't even imagine. Who is this ghost? Why would he do that to you?” He froze, color draining from his face until he looked ghostly himself, pale and hollow-cheeked. His eyes widened, pupils dilating in the low light as if the name alone summoned nightmares. “Who?” His voice quivered. “He's... exactly what his name says. A ghost. There is no fucking way he's human. He is untouchable. He doesn't explain; he just... enforces.” John backed away a step, glancing at the door as if expecting it to burst open. Then his gaze snapped back to me, sharpening with a mix of awe and bitterness.

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.

I breathed, a long exhale. I looked at the man. My hand reached out, my fingers digging into his hair and wrapping into a handful of his matted hair. I hoisted his head up with a violent jerk. His neck cracked in the silence. His eyes flickered open, swollen and bloodshot, squinting against the harsh light of the bulb. He didn't scream. He didn't beg for mercy like the street rats usually did. Instead, a slow, bloody smile spread across his split lips. "Dominic Vormos," he wheezed. His voice was like sandpaper, thick with the taste of his own blood. "The legend himself. Ghost of the North."

I turned the light back on. The scream that tore from my lungs wasn't human. The attic was packed. Hundreds of them. Not just my collection, but things that had crawled out from the eaves, from the crawlspaces, all wearing the faces of dolls I had never seen. They were all staring at the light, their pupils shrinking in unison, a sea of black dots vanishing into porcelain voids. They didn't retreat this time. They flinched, but they kept coming. "Don't look," a voice whispered from directly behind my ear. It sounded like Lady Genevieve. "It hurts to look."