The Night the Bedding Crawled
The farmhouse outside of Decatur, Illinois, had been in our family for generations. It was a place of creaking floorboards and drafty windows, but we kids loved it. My name...
The farmhouse outside of Decatur, Illinois, had been in our family for generations. It was a place of creaking floorboards and drafty windows, but we kids loved it. My name...
The call came in at 2:47 AM. I was manning the night desk at the Meridian Exchange, a cavernous telecommunications hub that routed calls for half the state. The building...
I was twelve when we moved into the house on Cedar Lane, a low-slung ranch with mustard-yellow siding and a porch that sagged like a tired spine. The previous owners...
It began the summer I turned eleven, the summer my Nana Em was fading in a hospital at the edge of the salt marshes. The doctors said she’d had another...
I had driven six hours north to see my best friend, Mira, whose family had just moved into an old farmhouse on the edge of a dying town. The house...
Elena and Marcus had bought the old farmhouse on the edge of the fen, three miles from the nearest village, because it was quiet and cheap. The house was new,...
The summer I turned sixteen, I spent every day at the municipal pool. It was a sprawling complex of concrete and turquoise tiles, tucked behind the old high school, and...
The clock on the dashboard read 2:17 a.m. when the old pickup truck began to shudder, its engine coughing like a smoker with a bad chest. I was on Route...
The old farmhouse had always been a place of quiet unease, but for Mara, it was home. The bedroom she’d claimed as her own, with its sloping ceiling and drafty...
In 2009, when I was nine, my father and I moved into a narrow house on Bramblewick Lane, a dead-end street lined with overgrown hedges and peeling Victorian terraces. Our...
My name is Caleb, and I’m thirteen. Last summer, my family moved to this tiny, godforsaken town called Hollow Creek, right before I started eighth grade. The house was old,...
My story is in a way strange, for I do not fear anything that has happened. I believe that there is a ghost of a twelve or ten year old...
My name is Mara, and I’ve been living with my partner, Leo, for nearly two years. Since the start of summer, I’ve been dabbling in EVP recordings—a hobby Leo finds...
My grandmother’s house always smelled of lavender and old paper. I spent my summers there, and the attic was my sanctuary, a dusty haven filled with forgotten photographs and yellowed...
The heat wave had settled over the town like a wet blanket, and the old farmhouse seemed to breathe it in, the wooden beams sighing with each shift of the...
I was at my desk in the old lighthouse, transcribing weather log entries from the 1920s, when my throat went dry as chalk. The storm outside had been battering the...
I never placed much stock in the tales my grandmother spun by the firelight, though I listened with rapt attention, my young heart thrilling to each spectral encounter and cursed...
I have always been a rational man, a man of numbers and ledgers, which is why my current predicament gnaws at me like a rat in the walls. My name...
The house on Orchard Lane was a relic of a bygone era, its Victorian bones groaning under decades of neglect. I had moved there for the cheap rent and the...
When Evelyn’s fiancé, Marcus, inherited his uncle’s Victorian house in the remote town of Hollow Creek, she thought it was a fresh start. The house, with its sagging porch and...
I was six when we moved into the house on Hemlock Lane, a sprawling Victorian that had stood empty for nearly a decade. My parents were drawn to its bones—the...
My name is Elara, and this is what happened after I started seeing the hunger in everyone’s eyes. It began with a dream that felt more like a memory of...
The trouble began three weeks after I moved into the old farmhouse on Cutter’s Lane. It was a fixer-upper, all creaking floorboards and drafty windows, but the price was right...
In 1992, the monsoon had turned Pune into a drum, each downpour a beat on the tin roofs. I was twelve, and my brother lay in a hospital bed, his...
Listening to the woods...
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