Discover How You Can Be the Young, Magnetic Next Woman – A Ride in Youth
No one wishes to die young. And no one wishes to die old either. In truth, no one wishes to ever die. But we all know we do leave our…
I point to the venue where I encountered the mystery girl. “Ladies, this child roamed the exotic fruit section, now ballet dancing, forlorn, next playing guardian of the stall—look, right there! I swear, she interacted with me.”
“Why didn’t you refer the lost child to reception?” the plain clerk says.
A ghost hunting night in a fin de siècle palazzo flipped luxury restaurant reveals eerie staff and a basement dark mirror capturing unidentified oddities and personages from a novel, Darxination.
A ghost hunting night in a fin de siècle palazzo flipped luxury restaurant reveals eerie staff, baffling ghosts in my novel Darxination, and a spooky dark-crystal mirror in the basement.
Ghost touch. Not on your screen, but on your skin. While writing a scene, I gatecrashed my deceased aunt’s soul and summoned a spooky chill from an unworldly north pole.
Damn shadow. What hellish anatomy sustained its voice? Hell’s pits hid arcane recorders for human speech—in living and dead language. Its spooky source exposed, the shadow lost ground. The stiffer incarnated, the weaker its devious mesh. As stock-still, the doorknob waited. No stir, no squeal.
Teen me beckons. Diva in limelight, fake romance and casino fun. A raving lamb. Teachers and colleagues murmuring reach me from the vial of fragrant memory pearls I carry everywhere. Its label reads: HIGH SCHOOL.
I tasted mystery in a spooky hotel room of old Bucharest.
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