ghost sounds - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The ghost's voice was like iron nails dragged over rock. It rose and fell, never once making the words audible. Then the eyes that had been as white as the naked body turned to black and the mouth stretched wide in an eternal scream.
At first it was nothing but a deeper moaning to the caustic winter air that swept over the ocean. The sound wound itself around their ears and began to change, like a terrible lullaby. Then from that background of sound that ebbed and flowed just like waves on the moonlit sand, came words. Tyler froze, straining to listen against the ceaseless wind and crashing water. It was no language he knew, but it hissed as it spoke...
From the blackness came noises no living thing could ever make. It perhaps was once alive but rendered into a spirit that contorted with pain, anger, hatred... As the silvery wisps curled in around the door frame the sounds intensified until they huddled with eyes wide, hands clamped over their ears, hearing everything nonetheless...
The ghost moved its head this way and that, eyes taking in our forms as if we were the strange ones. Then she spoke with words strange a beautiful, like ancient celtic runes made audible. With one wave of her hand the air filled with the sound of wooden wind-chimes. Time stood still as she observed, hair and clothing utterly still despite the wind. Then she was gone, as were the sounds, leaving us only with the movement of the leaves above.
The sound of a child screaming emerged from the backdrop of city noise, at first it was distant, too far away to even justify peering from the window down the wide moon-bleached avenue. But it came steadily closer and all the while becoming more intense, more distressed, until it was undeniably in the house itself. I put down my laptop and grabbed my cell, it was time to get out, to investigate. Then it changed abruptly. Maniacal laughter came in gusting bursts and in the silence between the clicking of locks could be heard. The window disappeared, replaced by a view of gallows on a star freckled night. The lights winked out. Then from the gloom there stepped a ragged man, rubbing his hands together, his white lips pulled tight over broken teeth. Taking a step forward he opened his crooked mouth to speak, but what came out was my own voice, high and fearful. "Your appeal is denied, you will hang on sunrise."
At first the sound was no more than the soft susurration of leaves in a summer wind. I peered around for the source, it's not a common noise in my city apartment. Then it became more like a child stomping on crunchy brown paper. I moved around actively trying to locate it. I opened the window but the noise wasn't coming from outside. Then I heard a soft whimpering, still the crunching continued, the cry was laid over the top. I stood still, unsure if this was reality or a dream, perhaps a nightmare. The cry became louder, no longer like a distressed infant and more like a wounded child. Then it all stopped. Silence. Then a new noise, soft but growing louder. At first I wasn't sure what it was, but then it struck me. It was the sharpening of knives.
At first Lisa found it hard to pin-point why she felt so unsettled. The temperature was cooler than seasonable and the streets quieter, but other than that nothing untoward had occurred. From the chimney came the sound of a woodpecker on the old copper pot, hammering away. She stopped to listen and wonder if there was a way to shoo the bird. It was then that she heard the slurping noise, like a kid with a thick milkshake trying to drain the last dregs. Without warning the brilliant spring sunshine began to disappear, and not like light should. It didn't dim slowly, it went like water draining away, the ceiling becoming black first and the rippling surface descending until it reached the floor. In the inky darkness came the sound of a match being struck and sure enough a small flame appeared, illuminating a ghoul no brighter than charcoal. He snapped his cane up and down in a rhythmic thump and from the void came hundreds or iridescent eyes.
Chains clinking, eerie whispering, long windy howls, blood-curdling screams, swooshing, moaning, crying, rattling doors, shrieks, whining, scratchy, whimsical, melodious, rhythmic, tapping, scraping, grinding, hissing, child-like voice, singing, wheezing, murmur, rasping, high-pitched, like the soft susurration of the wind, terse, grating noise, like nails on a chalk board, like shattering glass, unnatural, unearthly, like a wounded animal, hoarse whisper, guttural sounds.