Ghost stories from Ghost Hunting

The Ledger of the Last Hour

My name is Lila, and I’m part of a small paranormal team called SERAPH (Supernatural Explorers and Researchers of Anomalous Phenomena). Our latest case brought us to the Aldermere Benevolent...

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Ghosts Of Shaunavon

July 2007, I went to my fiancés hometown of Shaunavon Saskatchewan, to visit her family. Shaunavon is a town of maybe 2000 people. Could be less for all I know....

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The Bell That Wouldn’t Ring

The morning sun bled through the curtains like watered-down wine, but I knew better than to trust it. The clock read 11:00 AM, and I had to drag myself out...

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The Cradle of Ash

The Pinehollow Historical Society had been our client before, but this time it felt different. They’d called us about the old Merriwether Farmhouse, a rambling Victorian that had stood empty...

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The Hundred-Year Gap

The van rattled down the gravel road, headlights cutting through a fog that seemed to have no business being there in late August. Our group, the Spectral Inquiry Society, had...

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The invitation had promised an authentic night in the old Meridian Tuberculosis Sanatorium, a sprawling, crumbling complex abandoned since the 1930s. A ‘Midnight Vigil,’ they called it, for the curious...

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The Last Train to Redwood Hollow

I’ve always regretted agreeing to ghost hunts on weeknights. The thrill of the chase never quite compensates for the groggy, zombie-like state I stumble through the next day at my...

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The Last Gasp of the Marrow Mill

The date was October 3rd, 2023, a Tuesday, and I was packing my gear for a final walkthrough of the Marrow Mill, a rotting textile factory on the outskirts of...

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The Scent of Old Summer

The invitation had come out of nowhere, an email from a documentary crew that had heard about my childhood connection to the Cinder House. I hadn’t thought about that place...

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The Creek That Remembers

It was the last week of October, 2019, when my friend Maya and I decided to visit the old Kessler Bridge, about an hour outside of Millbrook. We were both...

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The Lantern of Lantern Hill

Before I became a professional paranormal investigator, I spent years chasing ghosts with nothing but a disposable camera, a compass, a flashlight, and what my friends called my ‘brass balls’—a...

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The Ember Room

The heat was a physical weight, pressing down on the tin roof of the old cannery that HPI had converted into their base of operations. Inside, the air was thick...

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The Twisted Root of Willow Creek

The call came on a Tuesday, the first of November. I was nursing a chai at the Dew Drop Inn, a diner perched on the edge of a town that...

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The Mudslide’s Gift

My grandfather built this house on the ridge, a sturdy A-frame with a wraparound porch, when I was just a kid. We moved here after my parents’ accident, and the...

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The Quartz Vein

My wife Lena and I had been sous chefs at a trendy bistro in downtown Portland for years, but our real lives began at home with our eight-month-old son, Milo....

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The Bone Chime Cadence

My name is Evelyn Marsh, and I’ve spent the last decade chasing whispers from the other side, armed with a voice recorder and a stubborn belief that the dead have...

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The Frequency of the Leaves

After a three-hour marathon of paranormal investigation shows, my friend Mira and I felt a restless itch for something real. My curiosity was academic, a historian’s interest in the folklore...

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The Cremulator’s Lament

Before I delve into the haunting that changed everything, let me explain how I got tangled in this mess. I used to write for a niche tech magazine, covering the...

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The Lantern of the Long Dead

It began with a rusted key found in the floorboards of the old boathouse, not with any grand plan. My friends and I—Elena, Marcus, Theo, and I—were part of the...

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The Lantern’s Last Flicker

The house on Maple Street had been in Elena’s family for generations, its walls soaked in memories both sweet and strange. Elena’s cousin, Mira, shared her obsession with the supernatural,...

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The Keyhole Garden

The October wind carried the scent of wet leaves and woodsmoke as I stared at the old Harlow house. It had stood empty for years, its wraparound porch sagging like...

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The Sundial Attic

My name is Elias Thorne, and I’ve always been drawn to the inexplicable. After years of studying fringe groups and esoteric orders for my sociology thesis, I found myself in...

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The Hollow Frame

The map was a lie, or perhaps it was just old. We’d spent three days chasing the ghost of a town called Mirefield, a name that had been scraped off...

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The Lace-Faced Visitor

I never thought I’d see one with my own eyes. Ghosts were for grainy photographs and late-night campfire tales, not for a rational woman like me. But that was before...

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