Ghost stories from Apparitions

Knock Knock

This happened to me Saturday just gone, 2nd August 2008. My partner has been away for a week and my youngest has gone to his grand parents for the summer...

The Canned Laughter

It started with small things, the kind of occurrences you could almost explain away. A door creaking open on its own, a cold spot in the hallway that lingered even...

The Ledger of Ash and Ember

My grandmother, Eleanor, has always been a collector of oddities. At eighty-two, her Victorian farmhouse is a museum of sepia photographs, chipped porcelain, and the kind of quiet that feels...

The Fly-Swallowed Clock

I never believed in the supernatural. Not truly. I was a man of science, a mechanical engineer who found comfort in the precise ticking of clocks and the predictable laws...

The Vermilion Door

The house on Marshwood Lane was a sprawling Victorian, a labyrinth of odd angles and creaking floorboards. We bought it for a song, lured by the promise of space and...

The Last Cut at 1139

In the fall of 1993, I was a hairstylist who moonlighted, traveling to clients’ homes. One such client was an elderly widow named Margaret, whose daughter, Carol, I had met...

The Draft Under the Door

I’ve been living in this old farmhouse for about three years now, and I’ve never had reason to question its quirks. The floorboards creak in the hallway no matter how...

The Uninvited Feedback

Last fall, my friend Marcus convinced me to join him and a few others at his late uncle’s farmhouse for his birthday. His uncle had recently passed, and Marcus inherited...

The Cold Draft

The house my parents built on Hemlock Lane stood at the edge of a pine forest that seemed to swallow the sky. I was twelve when we moved in, and...

The Humming Dryer

Maya and Daniel had been married for eight months when they signed the lease on the little ground-floor flat in the sprawling Beacon Hill complex. It was cheap, which was...

The Clockwork Throat

The first time it happened, Mara blamed the exhaustion. She had been working double shifts at the clinic, her eyes burning with the particular fatigue that made the world seem...

The Blue-Gray Man

Maya had always prided herself on being a light sleeper. It was a trait she’d inherited from her mother, who claimed it was a sixth sense, a way of staying...

The Static Gaze

The house on Aster Lane had always breathed. It was a slow, deliberate rhythm that you felt in the floorboards, in the way the windows rattled in their frames even...

The Occasional Tune

When I was seven, my grandmother used to tell me stories about the old lighthouse on the cliff. She said it was haunted by a keeper who had gone mad,...

The Eighth Hour Bell

In the autumn of my sophomore year, I lived with my grandmother in the small desert town of Pinnacle Flats, where the high school’s clock tower loomed over everything like...

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