Ghost stories from Apparitions

The Visitor at 2:47

I was twelve that autumn, and my family had just moved into a sprawling Victorian house on the edge of a town that seemed to forget it existed. The house,...

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The Man at Mile 14

The summer of 2001 in Portland, Oregon, was one of those rare ones where the rain never seemed to let up. The Willamette swelled, and every underpass turned into a...

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The Still Air

The alarm on my phone glowed 7:42 AM, but the morning light through the cheap motel curtains was wan and gray, as if the sun itself was hesitating. I’d just...

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The Lantern Keeper’s Debt

My name is Mara, and I’ve lived in the town of Greyhaven my whole life. It’s a place where the fog rolls in from the sea like a hungry thing,...

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The Lady of the Faded Gown

At eighteen, I considered myself a skeptic with a curiosity for the unknown. I had grown up listening to my father and uncles trade ghost stories over holiday dinners, their...

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The Light That Knew My Name

I was nine when we moved to the old farmhouse on the edge of the Nebraska plains, a place my mother had inherited from a great-uncle she never spoke of....

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The Cobalt Floor

In the autumn of 2004, I found myself pacing the linoleum corridors of St. Jude’s Medical Center in Wichita, Kansas. My brother, Daniel, was undergoing a risky spinal fusion, and...

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The Burnt Offering

The old textile mill had been converted into lofts five years ago, and we’d been among the first to move in. The exposed brick and iron beams gave it a...

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The Orchard Man

Our family has owned the old Hargreaves place since the last century, but the farmhouse itself sits on land that once belonged to the Millers. I never saw the ghost...

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The Hollow Man at the Bedpost

It began six weeks after my brother and I moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of Larkspur Hollow. We’d inherited it from our grandmother, a woman who’d lived...

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The Cold Draft in Room 14

The vacation house was a relic, a damp-bricked manor perched above a slate-grey loch. We had come for the summer, but the place felt like a tomb. I was fifteen,...

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The Pressure in the Static

The first time I noticed it was the static. Not the kind from a dead channel, but the low, buzzing hum that seemed to cling to the air in my...

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The Visitor from the Narrow Glass

For years, I’ve been able to see things that others can’t—figures at the edge of vision, faces in windows, a woman in old-fashioned clothes standing by the road. But recently,...

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The Hour of the Unraveled Thread

Mara stirred awake in her cramped attic bedroom, the low ceiling pressing down like a held breath. The digital clock on her nightstand glowed 5:17 AM. A faint, sickly light...

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The Flickering Menu

I’ve always been a rational person, but three nights ago, something happened that I can’t explain. I live alone in a small, ground-floor apartment in the heart of the city....

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The Mannequin’s Gaze

The first time I remember anything truly strange happening was during the winter I turned nine. We had just moved into a drafty old farmhouse at the edge of town,...

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The Iron Tug

In the autumn of 2004, my family moved into the upper floor of an old duplex in Lowell, a town known for its eerie mill history. My brother, Sam, and...

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The Stairwell Watcher

Three months have passed since the night I saw him, but the memory is still sharp, like a shard of glass buried in my palm. It was an April evening,...

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The Constant Draft

I’m not much of a writer, and I tend to ramble, so bear with me. I’m seventeen, and everything I’m about to tell you is true, as far as I...

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The Hollow Meadow

I never thought I’d be doing this, but right now I really want to find out what’s going on. I grew up in a creaky old farmhouse on the edge...

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The Cold Draft in the Linen Closet

I’ve lived in the hollows of Pemberton, Vermont, for nearly thirty years, ever since I married into the family that owns the old farmhouse on Birch Hill. It’s a house...

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The Hollow Whine

The autumn of 2009 had crept into our old farmhouse like a slow leak, painting the fields in rust and gold. I was a light sleeper, plagued by a recurring...

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The Hollow Gate

Six years had passed since Danny died, but the weight of his absence still pressed down on us every time we gathered. We’d known him since we were kids, and...

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