Ghost stories from Demons

The Weight of August

The summer of 2009, in the dusty outskirts of Ashburn, Georgia, I turned seventeen. My family attended the First Baptist Church every Sunday, and I sang in the youth choir....

The Cinder Gift

The house at 13 Raven’s Lane had always felt like a held breath. My grandmother, Marta, called it the ‘breathing house’ because of the way the floorboards creaked and the...

The Latent Stain

The call came at 3 AM from the Beacon Hill Lighthouse, a place I’d been hired to photograph for a coastal preservation project. My grandmother’s gift—seeing the dead—had never been...

The Pale Crawler

My name is Elara, and I have always seen things that others cannot. It is a gift, or a curse, that has shadowed me my entire life. Spirits, ghosts, the...

The Bone in the Cistern

The August heat in the Andean foothills was relentless, pressing down on the tin roof of my grandmother’s house like a physical weight. I had been visiting for two weeks,...

The Red-Spotted Maw

In the damp coastal town of Grayhaven, where the fog rolled in like a second tide and the gulls cried with human desperation, I began to wake each night at...

The Game of Nails

The summer I turned eleven, I spent every sticky afternoon with my two best friends, Maggie and Joe, in the unfinished attic of Joe’s grandmother’s house. The attic was a...

The Pale Afterimage

The day I moved into my late uncle’s house in the dust-veiled town of Morrow, I found a box of his old photographs. They were all of the same woman,...

The Lantern in the Rain

It started with an invitation I couldn’t refuse. My college friend, Mira, had rented a cabin in the woods for a weekend getaway, and she insisted I come along with...

The Static Hour

Maren had long stopped flinching when the floorboards groaned at midnight or when the kitchen faucet dripped in a rhythm that matched her heartbeat. She’d catalogued every flicker of the...

The Ceiling Thrum

Five years ago, my sister and I moved into a cramped apartment above a defunct laundromat in a town that had seen better decades. My father, a security guard turned...

The Green Passenger

It was a Tuesday in early autumn, the kind of day that makes you forget the world can be cruel. My friends, Iris and Margo, had taken the afternoon to...

The Tin Matchbox

In the autumn of 2008, my brother Aidan and I moved with our parents into Cragmoor House, a damp, sprawling Victorian on the edge of a bleak Yorkshire moor. The...

The Salt-Dry Field

I’ve lived in Akselby my whole life, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s the land. I can read the weather in the clouds, the soil in my hands....

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