ghosts

Doesn´t matter who you are or what you believe. Everybody has a ghost story

I don't suppose you have to believe in ghosts to know that we are all haunted, all of us, by things we can see and feel and guess at, and many more things that we can't.

Don't matter if you believe in them or not. If they're there, they're there,' Mrs. Phipps said.

There are so many different kinds of ghosts.

Ghosts are just our minds telling us that subconsciously we feel guilty about something we should have done, would have done, but never took the time!

Life writes the poetry, but it will always call for witnesses and scribes alike to tattoo its echoes upon the ghosts of trees.

WINTER'S GHOST:Autumn moonincautious in the dark riverWinter__ ghost walkswith a covered faceand silver bones wait in all animalsto be bone cloth upon her shoulderwait for her happiness in that they are silver

There was nothing physical she could do to stop Mario from carrying out whatever he wished. She shivered at the thought of what that sleazy, other world leftover might do should she launch an attack on him.

The wolf turned to Rachel. She was afraid to run, afraid fleeing would make it chase her. Somewhere in the stored files of her mind, she remembered one should not look directly at a menacing dog, but she couldn__ take her eyes from it.

The scratching came from the attic. At night, when Rory turned out the light I would lie awake and wait for it to skit, skit, skit lightly across the floorboards above our heads and down behind the water pipes.

In the dark behind the glare of the television, like a mannequin behind it, I could see a silhouette and it wasn__ moving. It was maybe six foot high with its shoulders hunched and I blinked to make sure it was real. The TV fuzzed grey and white and black and I had a lump in my throat that I couldn__ swallow away. __ory_ I whispered. Clawing out gently beneath the duvet cover, reaching for his hand. But I couldn__ find it. And he didn__ answer.

The diamonds glinted under the glare of the chandelier and they looked like a thousand spider eyes

These were the things we would never notice were missing.

The tales of pure terror, of course, are completely naturalistic in their content, and must stand or fall by their merit alone. But what about the supernatural stories? Can we, the children of a scientific age, give any credence to these medleys of devils, ghosts, and other psychical invasions? There is only one answer: we can and do. We are dealing with stories, not with scientific dissertations. And if, as stories, they have the ring of truth, we'll believe them, as stories, implicitly.("Introduction")

Billy sipped the last of his coffee from the mug and shut down his laptop. 1,000 words wasn__ great but it also wasn__ as bad as no words at all. It hadn__ exactly been a great couple of years and the royalties from his first few books were only going to hold out so much longer. Even if he didn__ have anything else to worry about there was always Sara to consider. Sara with her big blue eyes so like her mother__. He sat for a moment longer thinking about his daughter and all they__ been through since Wendy had passed. Then he picked up his mug with a long sigh and carried it to the kitchen to rinse it in the sink. When he came back into his little living room and the quiet of 1 AM he wasn__ surprised to find her there over to the side of the bookshelf hovering close to the floor just beyond the couch. Wendy. Her eyes were cold and intense in death, angry and spiteful in a way he__ never seen them when she was alive. What once had been beautiful was now a horror and a threat, one that he__ known far too well in the years since she__ died. He and Sara both. He stood where he was looking at her as she glared up at him. Part of her smaller vantage point was caused by kneeling next to the shelf but he knew from the many times she__ walked or run through a room that death had also reduced her, made her no higher than 4 or 4 and half feet when she__ been 6 in life. She was like a child trapped there on the cusp between youth and coming adulthood. Crushed and broken down into a husk, an entity with no more love for them than a snake. Familiar tears stung his eyes but he blinked them away letting his anger and frustration rise in place of his grief.__uck you! What right do you have to be here? Why won__ you let Sara and I be? We loved you! We still love you!__he doesn__ respond, she never does. It__ as if she used up all of her words before she died and now all that__ left is the pain and the anger of her death. The empty lack of true life in her eyes leaves him cold. He doesn__ say anything else to her. It__ all a waste and he knows it. She frightens him as much as she makes him angry. Spite lives in every corner of her body and he__ reached his limit on how long he can see this perversion, this nightmare of what once meant so much to him.He walks past the bookshelf and through the doorway there. He and Sara__ rooms are up above. With an effort he resists the urge to look back down the hall to see if she__ followed. He refuses to treat his wife like a boogeyman no matter how much she has come to fit that mold. He can feel her eyes burning into him from somewhere back at the edge of the living room. The sensation leaves a cold trail of fear up his back as he walks the last four feet to the stairs and then up. He can hear her feet rush across the floor behind him and the rustle of fabric as she darts up the stairs after him. His pulse and his feet speed up as she grows closer but he__ never as fast as she is. Soon she slips up the steps under his foot shoving him aside as she crawls on her hands and feet through his legs and up the last few stairs above. As she passes through his legs, her presence never more clear than when it__ shoving right against him, he smells the clean and medicinal smells of the operating room and the cloying stench of blood. For a moment he__ back in that room with her, listening to her grunt and keen as she works so hard at pushing Sara into the world and then he__ back looking up at her as she slowly considers the landing and where to go from there. His voice is a whisper, one that pleads. __endy?

Insects crawled across my skin, legs skittering across my flesh, numbed paths of cold left in their wake. They were the creatures that heralded my ghosts, and I knew them well, yet the revulsion they caused in those moments far exceeded anything I__ felt before.

Allow the power to flow through you. Don__ try to capture it. You wish only to borrow it.

A figure held his daughter in the rocker. In the dim light he couldn__ make out the features, but the sight of anyone he didn__ know sitting in Wendy__ rocker with their daughter was enough to scare the shit out of him. Judging by the shuddering movements of his daughter__ body it had frightened her too, had caused her to mewl. He wanted to charge forward and reclaim his daughter, but he didn__ know what would happen if he acted so quickly. What would he do if it hurt her? What would he do if it killed her? __hat-what do you want? I__l do anything just don__ take my daughter. She___all I have left.__he figure stopped rocking and slowly eased its way to its feet. There__ not much light in the room but as it moved closer to the bed and it settled the baby in her crib, he saw just enough of her face in the moonlight.__endy?_ His voice is as full of horror as it is with awe. He can__ help but be horrified at the sight of her now, the way that death has changed her, making her a terrible figure indeed. Her eyes are strange; some depth, some dark and terrible nothing has swallowed up all of her light, and in this first moment he swears he can feel the awful cold of that operating room coming off of her flesh. She is so small and so hard to look at, as if his mind can__ quite focus on her form. Through the bars of the crib he can see her anger and hear the terrible, alien sound of her hiss. __hat do you want?__he doesn__ answer him, staring cold and blank through those stark white bars, and then she was scrambling toward him across the floor, making him press flat against the wall to get away from her skittering shape.