Ghost Stories - Widow Maker, Continued

Two minutes later, he rejoined the vixen.  She was anxiously pacing the pavement and when she saw Vincent, she bolted towards him.

 

“Is it done?  Did you do it?” she demanded in a high, excited voice.

 

“My wallet,” he commanded, holding out his hand.

 

She winced, contemplating keeping the possession but she was washed with a wave of sanity and regrettably handed it over.

 

Vincent checked for the photo, then effortlessly scraped Kregg from the pavement and took flight.  He would barely make his liar before sunrise.

 

Amid his departure, he detected the vixen’s harsh scream.  Obviously, she had just met the gift that he had left her; a husband that was now more bite than bark.

 

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The Crying Veil - Anna's eyes widened in terror as the wedding veil she had situated on her head was suddenly covered with blood - drops of blood.  She detected crying, pitiful crying as if someone in her head were in agony.... Click to Read  

The Lace Curtain - The graveyard lay in the misted distance.  Kayla fingered the dingy lace curtain with high anticipation of catching a glimpse of the apparition that had appeared nightly for the last thirty days.  It had began on the first of the month.  This month.  This unusually hot and blustery October month.  Click to Read  

Poisoned Ivy - The moaning grew louder, emitting eerily from the forest walls.  Ti wasn't so certain anymore that the noise was the sound of lovers, as the area was a cove for kindling romance.  Had he not known better, he would have sworn the sound was the sound of a ghost! Click to Read

The Haunted House - "Over here, I tell you!  The coffin is over here!"

Mona rolled her eyes up at Frank. Idiot. He was acting if he'd found the secret entrance in the wall rather than her. She had a good mind to turn back and let Frank stand his chances of being sacrificed by the coven of she-male vampires that inhabited the dungeon of the castle. . . .  Click to Read  

Widow Maker - The city lay shrouded in the distance, looming like a fragile virgin clothed in white. The year was 2785.

 

Vincent’s keen eyesight cut through the fog, singeing over the towering steel buildings like a guided laser.  He was searching for something lost, something that he would probably never reclaim.  Click to Read