Ghost stories from Demons

The Cradle of Thorns

I never believed in the old stories about the Tanglewood, not until the night the first thorn appeared. My name is Elias, and I’ve lived my whole life in the...

The Vending Machine at 3 AM

In my sophomore year, I lived in an off-campus apartment complex called Oakwood Manor. It was a sprawling, crumbling building with creaky stairs and flickering fluorescent lights. One night, after...

The Reflection in Room 7

When I was seven, my family moved to a small town in the Canadian prairies, into a sprawling old house that had been converted into a bed-and-breakfast. My parents managed...

The Reversed Room

I always knew there was something off about me, a feeling that I didn’t quite see the world the same way my friends did. It wasn’t until freshman year that...

The Rooted House

When I was nine, my parents moved us into my grandparents’ old farmhouse on the outskirts of a dying town called Millbrook. The house was a sprawling Victorian relic, with...

The Restless Pathan

This incident happened in 1999 when I was on a holiday visiting my cousin Parag at Lonavala (a popular hill station near Mumbai, India). Parag, at that time was in...

The Static Between Breaths

In the autumn of 2011, I moved into a narrow, three-story walk-up in the industrial edge of Verona, New Jersey, where the old brick buildings leaned like tired shoulders against...

The Static in the Walls

The day we moved into the Crestwood Apartments, I knew something was wrong. The building was old, with creaking floors and drafty windows, but the landlord assured us it was...

The Unseen Guest

It was a sweltering Saturday afternoon when I decided to finally tackle the mountain of laundry and dust that had taken over my tiny apartment. The place was a mess,...

The Entity in the Static

It began eight years ago, in the autumn of 2015, when my mother, Helen, and I visited a so-called spiritual medium in a cramped, incense-choked apartment on the outskirts of...

The Persistent Hollow

Mara Voss had always found comfort in the cramped quarters of her attic apartment, a former servant’s room in an old Victorian house that had been divided into cheap rentals....

The Copper Kettle Vigil

The summer I turned seventeen, my cousin Marcus, who was twelve, was in a junior wilderness club. Their annual campout was at the old Hastings Ironworks, a sprawling, rusted complex...

The Wing of the Ceiling

I had grown accustomed to the weight of unseen eyes, a sensation that perched on my shoulders like a patient crow. My parents’ house, an old colonial on a hill,...

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