Ghost stories from Children Who See Spirits

The Orchard Keeper

In the late autumn of 1987, the town of Ashford Hills was a patchwork of identical split-level houses built on an old apple orchard. My family moved into number 14...

The Hanging Tapestry

In the autumn of my fourth year, my family lived in a sprawling, drafty farmhouse on the edge of the Nebraska plains. The house had a long history, with a...

The Stairway Sentinel

The house my parents and I moved into when I was three was a sprawling Victorian pile in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by fields that turned to bog in...

The Corner Listener

The house on Hemlock Lane had never felt like ours, not really. It was a rental, a three-story Victorian that had stood since the 1890s, with peeling wallpaper and floorboards...

The Cobalt Armchair

In the autumn of 2008, when I was four years old, my family moved into a dusty old house on Cedar Lane. The house had a peculiar living room, dominated...

The Static That Sings

In the sweltering heat of early August 2011, I sat on the cracked linoleum floor of my studio apartment in a faded suburb of Louisville, Kentucky. My daughter, Lily, who...

The Pencil Marks

I remember the spring of my ninth year, when the world still felt wide and open, and the woods behind our subdivision were a kingdom of endless possibility. My friend...

The Third Floor Window

I never believed in ghosts, not even when my daughter started talking about the man in the attic. We lived in an old Victorian house, the kind with creaking floorboards...

The Red Vase on the Shelf

I have always considered myself a man of logic. A firm believer in cause and effect, in the physical and the explainable. So when my four-year-old daughter, Lily, started talking...

The Lantern in the Static

The year was 2005, and we lived in a rented house on Ferndale Lane, a dead-end street where the streetlights flickered like dying fireflies. My daughter, Lily, was four. She...

The Man in the Hallway

My niece, Lily, was four years old, and I was babysitting her while my sister, Claire, was at a doctor’s appointment. We were in the upstairs bathroom of their old...

The Last Visitor

Marta was seven when her grandfather, Tomas, died. It was sudden, a fever that turned to pneumonia, and he was gone in a day. The family was in shock. Marta’s...

The Mirror in Room 7

My family checked into the old Hartwell Hotel, a sprawling, Victorian-era building with creaking floors and a smell of mothballs and dust. I was eight, sharing a room with my...

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