Short Story Essay : The Story Of A Ghost Story

Anya is a normal teenage girl from Russia, still trying to fit in into her school. She comes from an immigrant family and tried very hard to get rid of her accent and fit with the American culture. She is a typical girl that worries about boys and all type of girl stuff… However, she smokes.

It was a cool, rainy October night. The wind slightly blowing against shaking trees causing autumn leaves to drift in the air. The rain pitter-pattered on parked cars as if it was a song. The air was still crisp. It was around 11 o’clock at night when Maddie was walking home from her night job at Lucy’s Cafe. She normally took the bus, but tonight she had to close and the buses don’t run that late. She figured it was only a mile, she could just walk home. The sound of the rain got louder, the rain was getting harder and the wind getting more vicious. She knew something was off. She began to hear sounds of puddles being walked through on the sidewalk behind her. She slowly turned around, but no one was there. She speeded up her pace and kept walking forward, determined to get home. She began to hear footsteps on the cold, wet road this time. She quickly put her phone in her hand about to call her mother. She knew someone was behind her. Just as she started to run, she quickly felt a cold rush through her spine. It felt as though she had been turned to ice. Maddie’s legs became weak and she couldn’t stand. Everything went blurry, then black.

Children can be an unseen ghost as they walk silently in the footsteps of their dying parent. Having a serious illness in the family creates its own kind of culture; the culture of the “sick family”, where an illness takes the lead as the most important player in the family. Children who are used to being the first consideration in most homes suddenly take a far second to dealing with the illness. They are often left out of important discussions and shielded from seeing the sick or dying parent and many of their basic needs are left poorly met. In the emotional chaos of critical illness children are often believed to be unaware of what is actually happening, and are forced to either find emotional support from someone outside the family or hurt alone. Julie Orringer in her short story titled

It was a mysterious, windy, dark night. Annabel, a short young girl with jet black hair, eyelashes that reached the sky and eyes like a puppy dog, had just awoken on the floor of a cold dark forest. As she took in her surroundings and wondered how she had got there, a sudden pain appeared in her head and she had a brief flashback of painful memories of the car crash that she and her parents had just been involved in, a horrific accident; she lay there as tears slowly welled up in her eyes and rolled down her soft, pale cheeks. The thought of her deceased parents sent a shiver up her spine; she couldn’t believe they were gone.

Sneaking out the house at midnight for the fourth time this week. I slowly slink out the front and the brisk night air tickles my cheeks. Closing the door, I endure the most painful silence as the ever so slight noise may wake my sister. It finally shuts and I wait for a moment to see if anyone rushes to find who left or entered the house. After a few minutes, I decide it's safe to go. I walk down the driveway as the midnight breeze embraces me. As I reach the sidewalk, I look to the moon. It's tender white light illuminates the sky, but is polluted by the harsh yellow light spewing from the street lamps. Despite how ugly the street lamp light is, it still does the job of providing adequate quite well. I turn left down the street and head toward

It was a dark night the rain pounded fiercely on the roof, the moon was abnormally large as the sad gloomy clouds drifted in the bitter air. He hid in the shadows of the trees, unmoving, unnoticed his black pierce eyes watch you like a wolf might observe its prey he watched her carefully each step she took as she inhaled and exhaled the cold air she felt uneasy, alert every instinct in her body warned her of danger, more and more until she felt the presence of someone’s cold gaze behind her as you can feel him haunt the air around her, as the stalker, silent as the night, grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.

Her eyes struggled to stay open, slowly blinking but never closing. Droplets from the clouds rolled down the windowpane, like copycats of those running down her face. The night was dark with shadows. The only sounds in the house were the plump raindrops falling on the windowsill, the clinking of beer bottles and the sound of her nervous breath. She had to stay awake for she had left the moment he had passed out on the dusty couch in the living room. Her sweaty palms clutched the leather straps of her bag. Her body shook like a small dog’s and the wind made the trees sway like the ghosts of everything she’d ever known. The sound finally came and so did the closing of her bedroom door.

She remembered years ago, as a child, going exploring with her friends in the woods near her house. Not far from the main path was a long dried out log. The peeling bark had a musty odor of earth and rotting vegetation. Her friends had dared her to enter the center of the log and crawl within the darkness. Not wishing to seem scared or girly, she crouched down and inched her way into the opening, her arms in front of her, pulling her forward. Sounds muted, and darkness encircled her as she moved her body into the log’s interior. Unidentifiable wisps of cobwebs and debris brushed against her arms and face. It was raining that day, a slow and steady rain, making everything damp and slippery. These images began to permeate her conscious. She could almost smell the dank odor of moss and wet leaves.

We had been walking together for a while now, for the forest had become dim and haunting; something about the moonlight made the trees appear taller and more threatening, as if a step on the wrong path would send sharp branches down unto some poor soul. The roots on the ground were alive, twisting and bending like snakes waiting for you to stop paying attention so they could pull you down into the Earth. The sounds of rustling leaves were horrific monsters who lusted after your flesh; the cold breeze came from the shadows to steal your warmth and blanket you in goosebumps. I hoped it would be this way. The moonlight perfectly illuminated Maria’s face, and on it I could easily read fear and apprehension; she could sense danger, just like all

The General not phased states "open the bag now Sheriff," what the general saw in the body bag was gruesome to say the least a human body stripped of all skin just bone remain the eye balls removed, the general turned to the Sheriff and rhetorically asks "and you think martial law is going too far Sheriff,"

I felt a drop on my face and groaned from being awoke, I heard my name being called but it sounded muffled although it was becoming clearer. I opened my eyes slowly to see Harry above me. My eyes widened, why was he down here?

“Stand up right now and put on your coat. We’ll be waiting for you in the car.” Having no idea what was going on, I swiftly dressed up, and in a minute was downstairs. Carefully driving, daddy occasionally looked at my mom. He said, “Everything will be okay, believe me.” In the wing mirror of the car, I recognized a woman, who had never shown her weakness before. Tears were slowly running down her face. Passing by glass buildings, we moved towards another part of the city. Floors of every building decreased. Streets narrowed. Every street was a reminder of my childhood. Trying to get rid of an idea floating in my head, I closed my eyes tight. In a few minutes, the sound of an ambulance broke a silence. I opened my eyes and recognized a familiar

Jenna started her dream of the Ghost Tree again like the other dreams but this one was different. In the dream Amy was gone and her father was sitting with her. He was pointing to a boy across from her. It was Michael MacKenzie. He looked terrified. He wasn't trying to talk to her, he had his knees curled up and his arms around them just like the nights she saw him at the church steps. Jenna got up and went to sit next to him. She didn’t say anything but gave him a hug. She knew that he had felt so bad for what he did. She told him it was going to be

“Her long shadow fell to the water’s edge. Her face had a tragic and fierce aspect of wild sorrow and of dumb pain mingled with the fear of some struggling, half-shaped resolve. She stood looking at us without a stir, and like the wilderness itself, with an air of brooding over an inscrutable purpose…”

There 's that look people get told they have, where they look like they 've seen a ghost. I want to know what it means to have that feeling but knowing you 're the ghost. It had been too long since I stepped foot anywhere near these parts of the city. After I turned and changed into who I am now, I never wanted to risk getting seen by any members of the family that runs this part. That is actually a good reason they have never been able to extend their territory any further. It 's kind of easy to hear when a gang war is about to break out for someone to gain new ground. And for me, it 's all too easy to join the defending family and help kill men you were once friends with to make sure you had the room to run fucking wild. I 'm made a few good friends, nah I made a few bad acquaintances by doing that. The men that run other parts of this city know me by who I am now, only one knows me by who I was. Maybe it 's for the best he knows Big Mac is against him, less likely that it 's me behind the mask then. God, in those days, before I grew up and found out doing everything I was getting told to do, without being told to do them was so much better, Claire not counting, she just above another voice in my head. But the freedom I have, may not seem like a good thing for the city and its people, but I love being me and only this me.