English, asked by muditchauhan9600, 9 months ago

ghost story very short 100 words​

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Answered by Vaish2934
2

Answer:

Why u want ghost stories

Answered by norzommunseltenzin
6

Answer:

Posts Tagged ‘Ghost’

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1

JUN

Ghost Milk

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

0 Comments 

Before going back to the backyard she checked on her husband and her two-month-old kid who were fast asleep. The bed was undone, the dishes were huddled up in the sink unwashed, the rugs were clumsily rolled up. She knew that the child would wake up in an hour exactly. Those midnight crying fits. Last Sunday the infant was inconsolably crying, craving for milk, while she was in the backyard. She wanted to feed him, but couldn’t. Her breasts were heavy with ghost milk. The newspaper on the table read, “Delhi woman electrocuted by wet electric pole in the backyard.”

From Guest Contributor Anindita Sarkar

21

FEB

I Bring Her Diamonds. My Hands Are Full Of Them

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

2 Comments 

I bring her diamonds. My hands are full of them.

“Please,” she sobs heavily, “stop coming back.”

I had no money for diamonds, once.

When my car crashed, the exploding windshield sent diamonds rushing deep into me – my eyes, throat, hands – all shining in the moonlight. The pain was overwhelming. And then it stopped. And all I could think was I finally had something to give her.

Every full moon I come to her porch at midnight, to show her how they shine in my open hands. But every time she only holds her head and softly cries.

From Guest Contributor Eric Robert Nolan

20

FEB

Off Her Rocker

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

0 Comments 

Annette sits in her favorite rocking chair, by a big window. A gloomy afternoon.

She cradles her dead baby in her pale arms. Hair as white as a ghost. Lips cracked and bleeding. Her body fragile and weak.

She sings a familiar tune. Rocking back and forth, as if trying to put the baby to sleep.

Her watch beeps. Medicine time. She throws the bottle out the window.

The Devil calls her name. She stops her singing. Her body freezes.

“He made me do it. He made me do it. He made me do it…” She repeats.

The devil exists.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Findlay

7

DEC

What Happened To Ben?

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

0 Comments 

“So, uh, what happened to Ben?”

“Twitter. Once he discovered that, well, he just sort of fell into a black hole.”

“Do you talk to him on Twitter?”

“Oh yeah. All the time.”

“That’s funny. I can’t get him to return my calls. I even went to his house one day and he didn’t answer the door.”

“Just tweet him. He’ll respond.”

“That seems weird. Does he make sense? Talk in complete sentences?”

“He’s hilarious. Same old Ben.”

“Only he’s not really there. He’s just a digital ghost.”

“When you put it that way it just sounds sad.”

“I know.”

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten

31

OCT

Halloween

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

0 Comments 

Harold is frightened into a jolt. “Who’s there?”

He recognizes the silhouette standing before him. “Lois?” he answers staring wide-eyed. “If you’re here, who’s in your grave?”

“Spirits are allowed to visit on Halloween, the first anniversary of their death. I’ve come to say I love you. Now I must go. We can only appear and say what we’ve desired.”

“Don’t go, Lois!”

She backs away into the trees.

Harold awakes, his head leaning on Lois’ gravestone. “I can’t believe I dreamt I’ve seen Lois.” He drives away out of the darkness, and Lois appears blowing him a goodbye kiss.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

14

JUN

In the Paris Catacombs

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

0 Comments 

My tour is just two thousand meters of the hundred kilometer labyrinth that forms this subterranean ossuary.

The tunnel walls are stacks of femurs, tibias, scapulas, et alia, interspersed with grinning skulls.

Six million dead unceremoniously disinterred, generation upon generation, from centuries ago.

Good, evil, male, female, beautiful, ugly, aristocrat, artisan, everyone has attained an undignified égalité here.

I could laugh myself to scorn at this macabre absurdity. Not a ghost in sight, merely piles of bones!

Back in the land of the living, I emerge into the rush hour: busy throngs of stick people, all sharing the same destination.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Ian studied English Literature at Oxford University many years ago. He has had short stories published in various genres in Schlock! Webzine, Schlock! Bi-Monthly, Short-story.me, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, and in anthologies by Horrified Press and Rogue Planet Press. He is an Affiliate Member of the Horror Writers Association.

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