At dusk, the old highway seemed haunted by ghost cars that flickered through the fog.

We gathered around the campfire to share ghost stories, even though the wind seemed to whisper warnings.

At dusk, ghost crabs scuttled across the beach, disappearing into their burrows whenever a wave approached.

During our road trip through the Southwest, we stopped at several ghost towns to take photos and imagine life a century ago.

Motorists slowed down as a ghost car sat hidden under the overpass, waiting for speeders.

They discovered a ghost ship drifting silently through the fog, its decks empty and its systems dead.

We gathered around the campfire to listen to a ghost story that made even the bravest of us shiver.

The harbor was rumored to be haunted by old ghost ships that appeared on foggy nights.

I feared my grandmother's old radio would yield the ghost during the storm.

Even as they laughed and toasted the newlyweds, the ghost at the feast — his unresolved betrayal — made the celebration feel hollow.