Ghost stories from Ghost Hunting

The Iron Gate’s Ledger

On a damp October morning in 2019, the members of the Meridian Paranormal Society gathered at the rusted iron gates of the Blackwood Cemetery, a forgotten burial ground nestled in...

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The Guardians of Oakwood Rest

It was a cool, overcast morning in early spring. The small team from Spectral Research Group arrived at the iron gates of Oakwood Rest, a historic burial ground on the...

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The Cartographer’s Error

The town of Millbrook had a map, and on that map, a thin gray line labeled ‘Bannerman Road’ curled through the pine barrens like a dead snake. It was on...

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The Mystery of Maple Hollow

In the serene town of Maple Hollow, there lies a stretch of road that locals avoid after sunset. Known as Lantern Trail, its story has haunted the community for decades....

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The Pencil’s Point

The house on Marrow Lane had a reputation that preceded it, though it was the kind of reputation that only circulated in the hushed corners of paranormal forums. When the...

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The Mute Gown

The old mill road was less a road and more a suggestion, a rutted path that wound its way through dense, whispering pines towards the forgotten stretch of the Blackwood...

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The Child Who Calls at Night

In a quiet town, there is a place where the road crosses a deep ravine. People speak of a man who lived there long ago. He was a father who...

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The Night at the Old Mill

What day is it? Right, it’s October 12th, a Friday. I’m feeling a bit out of sorts, like I’ve just returned from a strange carnival. A carnival of shadows. There...

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The Bloom of the Rotwood

The air in the old turpentine distillery hung thick and cloying, a miasma of forgotten solvents and something far older, far more organic. Dr. Aris Thorne adjusted the collar of...

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The Static Harbor

The salt-crusted sign for the old drive-in flickered above the empty lot, its neon promise of ‘BEST BURGERS ON THE COAST’ long since faded to a ghost of itself. My...

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The Figure at the Threshold

I’ve spent the better part of my life chasing ghosts. Most people think that means wearing black and carrying EMF meters, but the truth is, the most terrifying encounters I’ve...

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The Double Exposure at Redwood Rest

The afternoon light filtered through the ancient redwoods, casting long, trembling shadows across the gravel paths of Redwood Rest Cemetery. My friend, Dana, and I had come to photograph the...

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The Iron Gate’s Hush

On a damp September afternoon, the kind that clings to your skin like a specter’s breath, I took my three children to the Old Meridian Burial Ground, a forgotten plot...

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The Hollow Ward

The moon hung low and swollen over the salt flats, a dead white eye staring at the scattered rocks and the single dirt road that cut through the wasteland. I...

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The Night of the Unknown

Tonight, the sky is perfectly clear, and a brilliant full moon bathes everything in silver light. I find myself pondering the adventures awaiting the team from Paranormal Insights Group, who...

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I’m Marcus Hale, senior technician and resident skeptic for the Midwest Paranormal Collective. We’re a tight-knit crew of former employees from the defunct Northgate Amusement Park, a sprawling, decaying relic...

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The Night of the Unseen

As I stepped outside, I put on my favorite playlist, knowing I was off to explore the unknown. This adventure was with the P.H.A.S.E. (Paranormal Hunters and Spirit Explorers). My...

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The Third Tenant

The drive to the edge of Redbank made my knuckles white. I’d spent a decade chasing whispers through abandoned asylums and crumbling chapels, but this was different. This was a...

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The Dry Bed

Two years ago, my friend Dana and I decided to spend a weekend at my great-uncle’s ranch, a sprawling, sun-bleached property called the Dry Bed, just outside of a sleepy...

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Secrets of the Old Barn

A few years ago, my friend Lucas and I chose to spend some time at my grandparents’ farm, which is nestled on the outskirts of a small town. The farm,...

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The Coal Chute

We bought the old Drummond house in the autumn of 2019, drawn by its sprawling Victorian bones and the impossibly cheap price. The realtor, a nervous woman named Fran, avoided...

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The Basement Door

The first time I saw the basement door move, I thought it was the wind. But the house was sealed tight, and the door was heavy oak, fitted into its...

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The Ledger of Unmarked Hours

On a Saturday morning in early February, the sky over Denver was the color of old dishwater. Claire pulled her scarf tighter, the kind of cold that seeped through wool...

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The Hollow Choir

The first time I saw the chapel, it was through a curtain of swamp fog, the kind that doesn’t lift but settles into your bones. I’d driven three hours past...

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