“No wonder they come to your house looking for ghosts. Ghosts are spilling out of the walls.”
Source: Dinner on Monster Island: An Intimate Collection of Essays Exploring Queerness, Cultural Monsters, and Personal Growth
“A book is a visitor whose visits may be rare, or frequent, or so continual that it haunts you like your shadow and becomes a part of you.
- quote from al-Jahiz (d. 868-9), The Book of Animals”
“It's always startling to see her... the way looks like a fever dream, like something not quite real. That valence of dark hair over her eyes, those lips always painted bright red as a pomegranate seed--
I've just come face-to-face with a street full of ghosts... but nobody's ever haunted me like she does.”
Source: The Haunting of Velkwood
“Inside, it’s cool and grey. Dreary. A place for ghosts. She can picture them—still standing at the assembly line, ground down by punch cards and double-shifts.”
Source: Blackpines: The Antlers Witch: The Overcrowded Heart
“He wonders how many ghosts walk the desert, how many people particles are buzzing around, physical and metaphysical.”
Source: Blackpines: The Magpie Witch: The North Star in Eclipse
“Forgetting wasn’t unusual. As time passed, ghosts lost the ability to hold their memories, a dementia that we often see in the living, and a process greatly accelerated in the dead. The older the ghost, the less it really remembered.”
Source: Delicious Death
“That is another classification of a haunt— one that is tied by a place, rather than an emotion. We can find those hauntings at places of disaster or historical significance.”
Source: Delicious Death
“I entered the narrow foyer smelling of beeswax, shadows, and ghosts.”
Source: Spirit Guide
“And we’d sit in the dry leaves that whispered a little with the slow respiration of our waiting and with the slow breathing of the earth and the windless October, the rank smell of the lantern fouling the brittle air, listening to the dogs and to the echo of Louis’s voice dying away. He never raised it, yet on a still night we have heard it from our front porch. When he called the dogs in he sounded just like the horn he carried slung over his shoulder and never used, but clearer, mellower, as though his voice were a part of darkness and silence, coiling out of it, coiling into it again. WhoOoooo. WhoOoooo. WhoOooooooooooooooo.”
“I lay on the grass with the air hanging around me, heavy and still. Not a sound disturbed the night save the trickle and truckle of two waterways, now seeming to chuckle together at some private joke. Perhaps they had seen the Devil ride out so often they found him ridiculous.”
Source: At Night: A Journey Round Britain from Dusk Till Dawn