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Ghost Quotes

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Ghost Quotes

“How do you feel when you read stuff written by dead authors? A visit by a ghost?”

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Book:Pearls Of Eternity
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“Dying Hours by Stewart Stafford All debts were settled on Christmas Eve, Fail to do so, and there’d be no reprieve, In the dying flame of a guttering candle, Monies got paid, and cash got handled. When the last customer left to journey home, Quinn, the shop owner, found himself alone, He stared at pooling shadows, no one there, Told himself to hurry, be with those who care. As he closed up, something screamed out, A figure from out of the dark began to shout, A man with no eyes begged alms for the dead, Or any old soup with a thick slice of bread. Quinn said he was a business, not a charity, The man’s eyes opened with some clarity, “Very well,” the man said, “Nothing’s free,” “I’ll drag your soul to Hell, come with me!” © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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Author:Stewart Stafford
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“Many people, after spending a long weekend being stealthily seduced by this grand dame of the South, mistakenly think that they have gotten to know her: they believe (in error) that after a long stroll amongst the rustling palmettoes and gas lamps, a couple of sumptuous meals, and a tour or two, that they have discovered everything there is to know about this seemingly genteel, elegant city. But like any great seductress, Charleston presents a careful veneer of half-truths and outright fabrications, and it lets you, the intended conquest, fill in many of the blanks. Seduction, after all, is not true love, nor is it a gentle act. She whispers stories spun from sugar about pirates and patriots and rebels, about plantations and traditions and manners and yes, even ghosts; but the entire time she is guarded about the real story. Few tourists ever hear the truth, because at the dark heart of Charleston is a winding tale of violence, tragedy and, most of all, sin.”

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Book:Charleston's Ghosts: Hauntings in the Holy City
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“Ghost Wail Square by Stewart Stafford There's a place that canines shun, In The Witching Hour stark, Dogs wandering misty avenues, Flee from Pandora's Park. Nicknamed Ghost Wail Square, Once whispered as Harlot's Row, Twilight cobblestones flooded with blood, Extinguished collusion's glow. Blue bloodlust inflamed there, In scented carriages and filthy lanes, Carnivores at the butcher's block, As they scattered ill-gotten gains. At Devil's Hour, the horror peaks, Death rattle knocks on doors, As screams for mercy fill the air, No rescue missions for whores. A killer sheltered 'neath potent wings, A skittish stranger to the noose, Then sewn mouths shall speak, As festering skeletons slip loose. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

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Author:Stewart Stafford
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“The morning dawned, cool and grey as the sun slowly snuck over the rooftops, slowly lighting the room in a blue haze. Sera stirred as the light brushed her face, prying her eyes open as she pulled herself slowly out of a dream. Against the window stood Clem, shimmering silver and pearlescent in the morning light, watching Sera sleep with an odd expression on her face. “I am still here,” the ghost said. “You’re still here,” the girl replied.”

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Book:The Ghost and the Real Girl
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“You still think I'm the same girl, don't you, Zero?" I ask as we make our way deeper into the woods, under the cover of starlight and swaying bare branches. Zero's nose glows brighter, and I run a hand along his pale ghost body. He is both solid and made of cool winter air, and sometimes I swear I can feel his ears beneath my palm, while other times my fingers pass right through. He is both here and not here. Alive and dead. And right now he feels like my only friend--the only one who thinks I'm unchanged. Made of the same linen and blue thread. Everyone else in Halloween Town seems to think I am someone entirely new--a girl with a royal title whose hair should be like the silken threads of a spider's web, with coffin-straight posture and a crown of feathers atop her head. But I am not these things.”

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Book:Long Live the Pumpkin Queen
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“She shot him a look. "What?" he asked. "Where's my journal? I want to jot this down for posterity." Huh? He lifted a confused brow and she smirked, ornery light glinting in her amber brow. "You just spoke, like what? A whole four sentences? Not to mention there were a few adjectives thrown in there. That must be some sort of record. It should be memorialized accordingly, don't you think? She batted her lashed. Jesus, the woman was too much.”

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Book:Hell on Wheels
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“The Girl At The Lake by Stewart Stafford She stood at her post rigidly again, By the lakeside in a white dress, Staring sadly down into the water, Wind left hair and clothes unruffled. I waved and called out to her then, She looked up at me and through me, No recognition from her mourner's mask, She went back to staring at lapping water. Jumped in my car to check on her welfare, Driving over to her sole sentinel's mark, Nobody around, just ripples kissing the shore, Arriving home, I saw her at the water's edge. She plunged into the lake in plain sight of me, I dived in with my shoes on to save her, Not suicide, she tricked my life from me, "You can't leave now, darling," as I drowned. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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Author:Stewart Stafford
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“We cannot really love the dead. We love a fantasm that secretly consoles. What love sometimes mistakes for death is a kind of intense suffering, a pain that can be endured and absorbed. But the idea of a real ending, that cannot be envisaged . . . Indeed, in the language of love the concept of an ending is devoid of sense. (So we must go beyond love or utterly change it.)”

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Book:The Black Prince
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“What Walks By Night by Stewart Stafford Jealous looks at earthly prowl, Or unbound by fleshly form, Seen under darkness’ cowl: Agitated ghost or hellspawn? Violence torments it from sleep, Or trapped inside by exorcist bait, Hexed glances corrupted, weep, As redress or perdition state. Jinxed trails of ashen flame, Unheard wails for living aid, Or gatecrash our human frame, As night and sunrise trade. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

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Author:Stewart Stafford
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“The doctor from the mainland came and went. Silence settled over the island again, like a displaced curtain falling back in thickened, heavier folds. For there was a different quality in the silence now. It had tasted something, rich food on which it had long been thinly rationed. Shadowy things were trooping up, called by that scent of blood, like flies that smell carrion. They were not strangers to the old house; they had been ill-fed and at a distance, now they were hungry and avid and near.”

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Book:Witch House
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“The music started, and we began to dance. It was like magic. A ghost can't lead, of course; he can't tell you where to go, with just a bit of pressure on your hand or your back. But I knew, anyway. I knew exactly where to turn, where to move. It was as if he was telling me with his eyes, which were locked on mine. And it was as if I was seeing another time through his eyes, because even though I was still in the Quackadoodle, at the same time I was back in Charleston, a hundred and twenty five years before.”

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Book:The Ghost Wore Gray
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“I think the animals we love always love us back unconditionally. Forever." Rosemary was looking down at his feet, a soft smile on her face. "You really believe that?" She met his gaze. "I do." Just then, Rosemary crouched down and picked up a smooth, flat stone with a hole that went straight through it. "Huh." She held it up to her eye. "Don't tell me you have a secret rock collection, too?" he smirked. "No, I've just been looking for one like this. It feels... rather serendipitous.”

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Book:Love at First Fright
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“Jacks reclined in a throne of ice as he glared down at a fox that looked more corporeal than ghost- all fluffy white fur, save for a circle of tawny surrounding one of its coal-dark eyes. He appeared horrified by the animal, as if it's adorableness might somehow soften some of his nasty edges. Evangeline wished it would as she stood back a little to watch, enjoying that for once, Jacks was the one in the uncomfortable position. He flinched when the creature nuzzled his scuffed boots. She laughed, finally drawing his attention. 'I think it likes you.' 'I don't know why,' Jacks scowled at the beast. It responded by affectionately licking the buckle at his ankle. Evangeline continued to smile. 'You should name it.' 'If I do that, it will think it's a pet.' Jacks words dripped with disgust, which only further convinced Evangeline this fox might be the best thing that had ever happened to this Fate. 'How about I name her for you? What do you think of Princess of the Fluffikins?' 'Don't ever say that again.”

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Book:Once Upon a Broken Heart
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“Owl Hollow Road by Stewart Stafford On a bracing night walk, On leafy Owl Hollow Road, A raspy voice whispered to me, Like a deep-croaking old toad. I moved rapidly on my path, And then heard phantom feet, Looked around, empty space, Only silence replaced the beat. At my most pressing pace now, A shadow pointed past my shoulder, An SUV slammed into my side, And I broke my back on a boulder. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved”

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Author:Stewart Stafford
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