ghosts

The banana flavour of his accidental conception, and the banana theme of his accidental death, now all seemed to conspire against him and rather suggest the universe, Mr Fate or whoever did have some sort of master plan after all. Despite all his earlier conjecturing, maybe the universe, Mr Fate or whoever was laughing its fat and meddling head at him. The outlandish evidence did seem to speak for itself, truly suggesting a mocking narrative devised by some mischievous author because quite simply a banana condom had brought Midnight into the world and a banana skin had seen him out. Putting those two seeming truths together, Midnight was once again forced to ask such confused and searching questions like:What is this place, where am I heading? And what__ the deal with all the ruddy bananas?

The lanterns filled the sky, pulsing with the harmonious light of fireflies, and a great host of ghosts departed from the earth to join them. The higher they rose into the zenith of the heavens, the further night was chased back, until a great and radiant being resumed its throne in the sky.

Don__ tell Mom, but I think my little emergency last night was a sign. And I was thinking of you when it happened. So, I__ worried that this is a prediction about you. Do you have something big planned? Something dangerous that you__e going to do?_ Mike looked away. He didn__ want to lie to her but he also couldn__ tell her his plan. __ell, whatever it is, don__ do it, okay? You__e going to get the feeling soon too. I know it,_ she yawned, __t feels like it__ a long way off, but I__e never had this strong a reaction before. And now that I__ stuck in bed, I can__ help you_or stop you. So please, whatever you__e doing, let it go, okay? Especially if it__ about the shop. Just let me handle it._ ____l be careful,_ he said. __uh?_ she yawned again. He didn__ answer. Her eyelids grew heavy until they closed all the way. Mike lifted the sheet that was turned down from the bed and draped it over her. Then, he left the room, closing the door behind him. - Saving Hascal's Horrors

What are you going to fill it with?" she asks. "Holy water or something?" "Probably Dasani," Thomas replies.

I can also speak to small woodland creatures,_ he grins at me.

He was trying to tell me something."Derek snorted. "Aren__ they all? Must be a rule in the ghost handbook__f in danger of evaporating, make sure you__e in the middle of a dire pronouncement.

Hello?_ I ask. No one is there. Not a word. Not a whisper. Not a single sound resonating from the other side of the receiver. __ello? Anyone there?_ I ask again. Repeating myself. I am beginning to feel rather anxious now. Scared, would be a better word to use. Shivers have begun to creep up my spinal cord, and I can feel the urgency of goose pimples begin to line up on by frightened pale skin.

When I look up from my book, the wind has gained its full voice. This storm is the mad child of Father Time and Mother Nature. Wailing away in no predictable rhythm, their monstrous offspring__ throwing a hackle-raising temper tantrum. Underscoring the hideous howl, I detect another, quieter sound, a pitiable, weak whimper which has been all but completely drowned out by the epic volume of the screaming wind. With slowly dawning terror, I realize this cowardly voice is my own; escaping through the narrow opening of my barely parted lips. Where__ my dad? Why is he taking so long?The weather ignores my whining questions and continues to whip itself into a raging convulsion. The windows rattle and the wind screams. But the sounds are no longer random.In the midst of the chaos, the howling begins to form an elongated word. Horrified, I recognize the stretched out syllables of my own name.__aaaannaaaaabelle.

A high-pitched sound, like steam escaping from a kettle whistles through the dark room. But nobody__ making tea. We both turn toward the source of the eerie noise.A weak stream of unearthly light seeps through the window near the corner of the room and pours onto the floor. Its consistency seems to lie somewhere between a liquid and a solid, like mercury, only blue. Out of the gleaming, wobbly puddle, a phosphorescent vapor rises up. The ghost we thought was Daniel materializes and looms over us for two seconds before he lunges and wraps his hands around Wyatt__ neck.

Whiteness of moonlight builds a house that is not there

Imagine a place where the dead rest on shelves like books.

Lockwood didn__ speak until everything was quiet again. __ know you__e worrying about me, Luce,_ he said. __ut you really mustn__. These things happen when you__e an agent. You__e been snared by ghosts in the past, haven__ you? There was the one that made the bloody footprints, and the thing in the tunnels below the Aickmere Brothers store. But it__ fine, because I helped you then, and you__e helped me now. We__e there to help each other. If we do that, we__l get through._ Which was a lovely thing to say, and it made me feel a little warmer. I just had to hope it was true.

But ghosts aren't white and bright. Ghosts are shadows of someone or something gone wrong.

This is what the Problem means,_ he went on. __his is the effect it has. Lives lost, loved ones taken before their time. And then we hide our dead behind iron walls and leave them to the thorns and ivy. We lose them twice over, Lucy. Death__ not the worst of it. We turn our faces away.

I wouldn't describe myself as lacking in confidence, but I would just say that - the ghosts you chase you never catch.

Anachronism is not the inconsequential juxtaposition of epochs, but rather their inter-penetration, like the telescoping legs of a tripod, a series of tapering structures. Since it's quite far from one end to the other they can be opened out like an accordion; but they can also be stacked inside one another like Russian dolls, where the walls around time periods are extremely close to one another. The people of other centuries hear our phonographs blaring, and through the walls of time we see them raising their hands towards the deliciously prepared meal.

Not everybody believes in ghosts, but I do. Do you know what they are, Trisha?She had shaken her head slowly.Men and women who can't get over their past . . . That's what ghosts are.

knowing deep inside some ghosts are too cruel to question