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...
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...
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...
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...
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 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...
My partner Marcus and I had just moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of Birch Hollow, a place that felt like it was perpetually waiting for something to...
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 day Lila moved into the old farmhouse on Thurston Road, she knew something was off. The realtor had been overly cheerful, glossing over the fact that the house had...
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 apartment at 14 Ashford Lane was everything Maria could afford after the split. It was a box of pale yellow walls and creaking floorboards, smelling of old paint and...
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 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...
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...
It was the summer I turned twelve, the summer I spent at my grandmother’s farmhouse in the low hills of Vermont, a place where the air smelled of hay and...
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...
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 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...
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,...
In the autumn of 2004, when I was seventeen, I lived with my mother and my younger brother, Theo, in a ramshackle farmhouse on the outskirts of a town called...
I had not slept in the upstairs bedroom for eight months, not since the night the pressure on my side had become so unbearable that I swore I saw the...
In the autumn of that year, my friends and I found ourselves in the grip of a peculiar boredom. We were in the small town of Ashford, where the most...
I was eight when we moved into the old carriage house behind the Cutler Funeral Home. It wasn’t a place for kids, not really. The building was three stories of...
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...
Last October, I decided to take a breather from the city and visit my cousin’s cabin on the edge of the Ponderosa Pines. The air was crisp with the scent...
Listening to the woods...
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