Thirteen Ghosts Stories Novels & Stories

Adeline moved fast. Within a day, my younger sister was bound and dumped in a deserted outskirts area. Around her lay piles of wood, drenched in pungent gasoline. My sister struggled frantically, but the ropes held her tight. Then Adeline appeared, dressed in a striking red gown. For a brief moment, my sister's eyes lit up with recognition—then quickly shifted to terrified concern. "Adeline! What are you doing here? You have to run—it's dangerous here!"

“Do you think ghosts are real? I have never seen one, but my mother used to tell stories about spirits that could not rest.” Seraphina frowned thoughtfully. “It is hard to say. Some packs believe in them strongly. Others say it is just the wind or tricks of the light. But if so many people are seeing the same thing, it makes you wonder.” We talked about it for a while. Zoe wondered if the ghosts were old pack members who had unfinished business. Seraphina asked if anyone had tried burning herbs or asking a wise elder to bless the grounds. I listened and added small comments here and there.

”I believe it's a ghost that possessed her? "So it's a ghost which possessed her," I asked. "Yes, i believe so," she answered me. She moved toward the bookshelf, pulling down a thin, leather-bound volume that looked like it hadn't been opened in a century. "You know how spirits linger until what anchors them is gone?" I nodded to that. It was basic lore—every shifter knew that ghosts needed a reason to stay in the physical world.

There was fresh blood on the floor, but the animal didn't react. I took a shaky step forward, my heart hammering against my ribs. The wolf didn't turn. I walked closer, standing five feet away and holding my bleeding hand out. Nothing. I walked until I was standing right next to the bars, inches from the cold metal. The wolf threw itself at the cage again, trying to get to Declan. Its claws sparked against the iron. It ignored me completely. I was invisible. "You really are a Ghost," Declan said softly. He walked up beside me. He raised the knife again and sliced his own palm.

And it seemed like they succeeded in establishing contact with her. The black clouds soon shrouded the sky leaving almost no star for stargazing. It was midnight now. Not to mention spirits get active at night only. This is what most people believed. According to them, ghosts get active at night. However, the question was ~ Why? The reason is because of the change in the senses of the people. During the daytime, people remain preoccupied with their work, distractions, conversations, routines that they don't even notice subtle happenings.

A young couple moved in to a new home in Hawaii. They had a young son, Bobby, whom they would put to bed each night, only to find him the next morning sleeping on the floor in the corner of his room ... ... One day, the father put a wardrobe in that corner, and that night while the couple was watching TV, they turned to see their son walking out of his room as if he was holding someone's hand. Just before he got to the door, he dropped his hand as if the person had let go. He woke up crying. The couple were scared, and they called a Hawaiian priest for help. He told them that their house was built on a "night marching trail" — a path taken by ghosts. The priest said Bobby always slept in a c

It erupted with an archaic light that followed the will of Caspian and suppressed the great army of undead with a rumbling sound! Bang! The ten thousand feet long bone spear was directly suppressed. It was simple and crude and the army of undead instantly turned into countless ghost hearts that fell to the ground. Not only did they not hurt Caspian, but they also sent a lot of ghost hearts and magic treasures to Caspian. Caspian turned his eyes and stared at the Thousand-tribulation Ghost Sage. "Catch the thief first!" The Ghost-burying Tomb was a world of the dead. For existences like the Thousand-tribulation Ghost Sage, as long as they were willing, they could always summon ghosts and evil

“Doesn’t mean they belonged to slaves.” “No matter who they belonged to, how did they materialize in my medicine cabinet?” “That I can’t explain.” “I can,” Harold said, poking suspiciously at the cranberry quinoa salad as if worried that it might actually be mulch and rat feces. “You got yourself a ghost, Mr. Horror-meister. Just like our Melinda, only apparently a lot nastier.” Bias shot him a sharp look. “We don’t know what intentions the spirits in 324 have.”

Each account had been published in various ghost hunting guides available in local bookstores. “You really believe all that?” Louis asked. “I look at it this way. A few things you might be able to write off as coincidence, bad luck, or someone making up a tale. But there are just so many stories collected in this one place that you have to pay attention. I mean, it seems like something’s going on.”