Ghost Stories

The best collection of ghost stories on the internet. Superb scary, true ghost stories plus a selection of fictional ghost stories and poems.

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Ghost Stories Competition    
Title Form Author
The Calling Short Story Harry J Horsman  

 

The chilled musty air torments the aging Saxon stone,

reverberating sounds run through the colonnade

whistling from aisle to aisle.

The moonlight drifts in through the stained window,

reflecting shadows dance, alleys of the mind

pulsate tempestuously.

His blood began to freeze, he who dared to venture

with in this place, every hair upon his head prominent,

the clouds stole the moonlight,

murky darkness became impregnated with odour and

sound,

immediately a dim haze slowly expands

chancel, alter become vibrant and whole.

An insidious wailing began to circulate the nave,

Shadowy appearance transforming into a stage of

apparition.

Vapourized environment giving way to an old monochrome

snapshot of sepia subjects, frozen in a timeless layer of

unenthusiastic entombment.

Animated the motionless figures began to stir,                         

labourious breathing accompanied each macabre        

movement.

With it a sickly vileness began to fill the holy place

as if in defiance of the almighty himself, defiling

his very name, his very existence.

An eerie monotonous sound began to gather substance,

full bodied harmonious metre giving one hypnotic

instability.

Yet a lucid awareness of the grotesque scene was even more

apparent, when at the organ keyboard a faceless

incoherent figure played.

The wailing sonic abated, yet more illuminate the spectacle

became, whilst the macabre cloaked figure silently turned,

cynical fingers unveiled the hooded cowl.

Exposing (a recognizable face?) decaying distortion that

oozed from deep lackluster eyes, eyes that

commenced to penetrate the lone onlooker.

Motionless lips began to pierce his mind, there where his

body laid it held him captive, grotesque rotting forms

began to draw closer.

Each one in a various state of decay, yet recognizable

from a bygone age “Welcome my son to the nether world,”

His brain echoed.

“Mother!” He cried out in stark desperation, rivers of

perspiration flooding down his back, as the realization

unfolding becomes apparent.

“Mother!” He cries once more, she moves slowly from the

organ towards him, festering carrion falling to the

ground, soon to become deaths decaying fodder.

She stooped over him, her long naked fingers clawed at

his face gently, cold scabrous lips searched

verily for his.

Warm lips them that still pulsated with channels of

life, temptation indeed for this mother

of impending life with in death.

 

The wailing turned to sweet music

odorous filth became as fragrant wine,

decaying flesh smooth and pliable

where there was fear, now only love,

family, friends, all gathered in this place

patiently waiting for new blood. “His blood!”

         

 

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