Queenie Dearest

Well, that was quite the reveal, wasn’t it? These ghosts are aggrieved spirits, and Jasper really did them wrong. How’s this tale gonna end? Let’s see… It was 4:07 PM on a Wednesday afternoon. And in a few hours, the grand Simpson house would be unoccupied, as Jasper was set to join his family in […]

As he sat before this deeply aggrieved ghost, Jasper’s mind raced back to the many moments concerning his time with Queenie. The moments he met her, pursued her, began that intimate fling with her, and all the times he rocked up at her apartment to rip her apart on her bed. As they replayed in

“AAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHH!” Terror surged through him like a sudden storm. His heart leaped into his throat, and he almost jumped out of his skin as he screamed in terror at the sight of her. She didn’t move a muscle, clearly unmoved by this display of fright. Her hands rested calmly on the arms of the chair,

The clock on the office walls read 10:49 AM as Jasper sat stiffly at his desk, staring blankly at the computer screen before him. His reflection on the black monitor reflected the dark circles under his eyes and the pallor of his usually confident face. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his tie, swallowing

With a surge of adrenaline and alarm, Jasper threw himself sideways just as the girl’s claw-like hands swiped at the air where his face had been a moment earlier. The closest of close escapes. Her unearthly shriek filled the room again, echoing like nails scraping across metal. Gritting his teeth while grimacing at the piercing

The glowing digits of the bedside clock read 12:47 AM. After managing to finish the target for his report, Jasper was sprawled across the king-sized bed, tangled up in the sheets. Unlike normal days where he’d share the sheets with Marjorie, he had them all to himself. No having to make do with a quarter

Welcome, dear reader! Ready to get spooked the heck out? Then you’re welcome to this pretty scary story. BZ has some wildness for us, let’s get into it! It was past 6:30 pm when the metallic gates of House Number C12 in the Akroma Hills Estate, an opulent gated community nestled in the wealthy outskirts