Ghost stories from Apparitions

The Fork in the Wall

I have kept this account to myself for over thirty years, but recent events have compelled me to record it. I was born in the late summer of 1991, in...

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The Tile That Breathed

I’ve always had this irrational fear of public restrooms, especially the ones tucked away in the basement of our university’s oldest building. The lighting is always flickering, the pipes groan...

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The Static in the Snow

The house at 17 Juniper Lane was a postcard from a forgotten winter, its white clapboards sagging under a weight of snow that never seemed to melt. My sister Mara...

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The Fourth Floor

I was the kind of man who laughed at fear. Six feet two, two hundred twenty pounds of muscle earned from years of hauling cement bags at my uncle’s construction...

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The Glass Veil

The house on Birchwood Lane was a two-story Victorian with peeling paint and a porch that sagged like a tired jaw. My family had moved there the summer I turned...

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The Lantern Maker’s Visitor

In the autumn of my fifteenth year, my family moved to a remote village nestled in the folds of the Carpathian Mountains. The house we rented was an old forester’s...

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The Hollow Passage

The house on Thornfield Lane wasn’t old, not like the creaking Victorian monstrosities that dotted the outskirts of our town. It was a modest rancher, built in the early seventies,...

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The Cold Line

It was the summer I turned fifteen, and my cousin Marcus, his two friends, and I had snuck out to the old railroad bridge that crossed the dried-up riverbed on...

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The Cold Plate of Tuna

I’ve always been sensitive to things that others can’t perceive. As a kid, my brother and I would watch translucent silhouettes drift through our parents’ hallway, never interacting, just passing...

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The Basement of the Yellow House

I’d always considered myself a connoisseur of fear. Growing up, I devoured every horror novel and film I could find, convinced that I was immune to the cheap thrills that...

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The Night the Lightbulb Flickered

When I was five, my family lived in a crooked house on a dead-end street, where the trees grew so thick they swallowed the moon. My bedroom was at the...

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The Corner Smile

My sister Maya and I grew up in a house that always felt a little too big for just the four of us. The hallway upstairs was always drafty, even...

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The Crooked Lantern

The Crooked Lantern It began in late autumn, after we moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of the marsh. The house had been empty for years, and the...

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The Ladder’s Last Rung

I spent my childhood in a cramped third-floor flat above a failing fish cannery, sharing a room with my twin brother, Leo, and our older sister, Mara. Our parents were...

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The Breathing in the Blue Room

I was sixteen that summer, and my family had just moved into a house that seemed to lean against the wind. It was an old farmhouse, with a floor plan...

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The Music Box Without a Key

My earliest memory is of the hallway at night. The house we lived in then was a creaking, drafty Victorian on a hill that caught every wind. I remember lying...

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The Hollow Creek House

Before I moved to Nebraska, I used to live in Oregon. My aunt and uncle’s place, the Hollow Creek House, was a strange old farmhouse nestled at the edge of...

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The Lantern’s Debt

The old homestead sat on a dead-end dirt road that had once been a logging spur for the Shady Pines Lumber Company. By the time I inherited the place from...

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The Tailor’s Reckoning

I never believed in ghosts until the summer I turned twelve. My family had just moved to the outskirts of a sleepy town called Ashford, nestled in the rolling hills...

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The Piercing Laugh

The air in my grandmother’s house was thick with the smell of burning copal and marigolds. I was nine, or maybe ten, and my cousins and I were being shushed...

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The Persistent Static

It was a humid Tuesday evening in early October when my brother-in-law’s vintage radio, a bulky mahogany Philco that had been in his family for decades, began to emit a...

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The Watcher at the Foot of the Bed

When I was nine, my parents split and I became a suitcase kid, shuffling between my mother’s cramped apartment and my father’s sterile townhouse. Making friends was a lost cause;...

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The Constant in the Corner

Every Friday night, I drove the winding coastal road to my brother’s place, a weather-beaten cottage perched on a cliff overlooking the North Sea. My nephew, Theo, was six, with...

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The Landlady’s Ledger

Mara had lived in the old house on Birchwood Lane for nearly three years, and in all that time, she’d never felt the slightest shiver of unease. It was a...

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