Ghost stories from Demons

The Weight That Would Not Budge

My name is Marcus, a 22-year-old resident of the sleepy town of Millbrook. I’ve been with my girlfriend, Lily, for four years now. About a year ago, I woke up...

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The Concrete Garden

In the summer of 1997, our neighborhood was a patchwork of half-built houses and drying laundry. At its heart stood a block of flats that seemed to absorb light, its...

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The Grease Stain on the Ceiling

When my wife, Clara, and I first saw the old farmhouse on Hemlock Road, we were charmed by its peeling white paint and wide porch. The realtor was quick to...

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The Bed That Breathed

Marta first noticed the change in the old farmhouse the night she moved in. The place had been in her family for generations, but she’d only visited as a child,...

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The Crimson Ledger

It was the summer of 2021 when my wife and I inherited a substantial amount from my late uncle, a reclusive collector of rare books. After years of cramped apartments,...

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The Crimson Dissonance

The static crackled in Elara’s ears, a familiar hiss that usually accompanied the late-night blues on the local FM station. She was seventeen, sprawled on her unmade bed in the...

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The Frosted Hollow

My name is Elias Vance, and I was a skeptic who dabbled in the dark. For eight months, I led a paranormal investigation team called the Hollow Creek Investigators, named...

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The Sixth Anniversary of Bone Dust

I met Marcus in college, a lanky philosophy major with a morbid fascination for the occult. He wasn’t evil, just desperately lonely, and his obsession was his only way to...

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The Wicker Gate Contract

I’m Elias Thorne, a field coordinator for the Northeast Paranormal Response and Observation Hub—NEPROH for short. We get calls, we investigate, we try to help. Most cases are dust and...

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The Empty Bell

We called ourselves the Creek Rats, a crew of twelve who knew every bend and beer-stained rock of the Fox River by the old mill. Our spot was a narrow...

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The Ceiling Garden

The first time I saw the ceiling garden, I thought I was losing my mind. It was the night of January 3rd, the third night in a row without sleep....

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Sapi (possession)

I remembered when I was still eight or nine years old, it was May of 2004 when my uncle (father’s side) told me that we are going to the province...

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Legends Of Ochi-musha

First to explain, Ochi-musha are ancient Japanese legends or some real stories on ancient Japanese soldiers whom have ran away during a battle. Musha, the word itself is very old,...

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Possessed By A Spirit

This is about when I was 15 years old and was enjoying my school days. My father being in the Construction business had a construction site going on. We use...

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The Cartographer’s Final Survey

The last thing I expected to find in my late uncle’s cabin was a stack of hand-drawn maps, but there they were, tucked behind a loose plank in the floor....

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The Weight of the Waning Moon

The autumn of 1998 had settled over the small town of Ashford like a wet wool blanket, and I, Daniel Mercer, at the age of eighteen, felt the chill of...

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The Hollow Days

I was eleven that summer, the one my mother dragged us down to her hometown in the dusty fold of the Sierra Madre. We stayed with my abuela in a...

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The Hour of the Unnamed

I was nine when my grandmother’s house began to whisper. Not in words, but in the creak of old timbers and the rustle of unseen cloth against stone. The house...

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The Taped Digits

My sister Elena was seventeen that year, I was nineteen. We shared a cramped attic bedroom in our family’s old farmhouse, a place where the wind gnawed at the eaves...

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The Hollow Grip

The rental house on Maple Street had a peculiar smell—like old wood and forgotten rain. My mother, Clara, swore it was just the age of the place, but I always...

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The Last Communion of Emiliano Reyes

In the autumn of 2018, I was a senior altar server at St. Michael’s Parish in the quiet town of Bell Rapids. One evening, after a long day of community...

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The Unseen Inventory

For forty-three years, Marcus had prided himself on his unshakable rationality. He had slept in Civil War battlefields, hiked through abandoned mining towns, and even spent a night in the...

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The Bone Collector’s Apprentice

The last time I saw Marta, she was scrubbing the kitchen floor at three in the morning, her knuckles raw and bleeding, the bristles of the brush worn to a...

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The Offering of Six Months

In the autumn of 2014, I was twenty-one and living with my grandmother in the small, fog-shrouded town of Ashford Hollow. My cousin, Elena, was six months pregnant and had...

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