Ghost stories from Ghost Hunting

The Saltwater Nursery

Six months ago, I was living in a cramped apartment on the third floor of a converted warehouse near the docks, just a few blocks from the marine biology institute...

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The Lantern Man’s Ledger

The last time I visited the old Gilchrist Cemetery, the groundskeeper told me a story. He said the swamp has a memory, a long one, and it doesn’t forget a...

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The Iron Tongue

My name is Evelyn Marsh, a paranormal investigator from Leeds. Last Tuesday, the 14th of October, I led an investigation into the abandoned St. Jude’s Hospital on the outskirts of...

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The Last Ember of Oakhaven

My friend Lila and I were never close, but a shared interest in the unexplained brought us together. We’d meet at a diner that smelled of stale coffee and burnt...

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The Iron Gate and the Ragged Man

The night air was thick with the smell of rain and rotting leaves, clinging to the old colonial cemetery like a damp shroud. I’d been there before, years ago, on...

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The Last Floor Bell

The rehabilitation center for the blind and visually impaired was a converted tuberculosis sanitarium from the 1920s, perched on a hill overlooking the town of Harrow’s Point, Maine. The main...

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The Static in the Stairwell

The call came on a Tuesday, a breathless voice on the other end of the line claiming footsteps in the attic of a dusty antique shop in the town of...

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The Tenant’s Lament

The call came on a Tuesday, a day I’ve since learned to dread. On the other end was a woman named Carla, her voice cracking with a fear that felt...

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The Map of Missing Things

The call came on a Tuesday, from a woman named Elara who sounded like she’d been crying for hours. She and her mother, Greta, had moved into a small cottage...

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The Last Sycamore

The Marwick State Asylum for the Indigent sat on a windswept hill above the town of Gray’s Landing, a place where the sycamore trees along the river had been stripped...

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The Capacitor Garden

I had never paid much attention to the old graveyard that had been converted into a park, mostly because it sat across the street from my apartment, which meant I...

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The Last Road to Nowhere

The GPS had given up miles ago, its cheerful voice replaced by static that sounded almost like whispering. My nephew, Jamie, fiddled with the Ovilus III on his lap, his...

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The Well of Hollow Conduct

The tour bus groaned up the gravel switchback, its headlights carving weak cones through the dusk that clung to the mountainside. Our destination, the old Ashenbrook Sanatorium, squatted at the...

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The Rotting Geometry

It started with a rusted gate, half-swallowed by blackberry brambles, in a forgotten corner of the Tennessee hills. My cousin Janie and I were mapping old farmsteads for a local...

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The Last Campfire

We had come to the desolate highlands of northern Scotland for a week of hiking and solitude, but my sister Mara had insisted we take this one night to do...

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The Floor Above

The call came in on a drizzly Thursday evening, just as the last of the daylight bled out of the sky. Margaret Ellison’s voice was tight, strained, as she described...

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The Green Wing Manifest

The first time I ever saw a ghost, I was nine years old, standing in the hallway of my grandmother’s farmhouse in rural Ohio. A woman in a faded floral...

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The Cistern Choir

In the autumn of 2014, my partner Lena and I were the last active members of the Cascade County Paranormal Society. After a string of failed investigations, we were desperate...

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The Salt Spiral

I’ve spent over two decades chasing the dead, and most of what I’ve found is silence. But there was one night in the old Morse Marine Hospital on the coast...

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The town of Greyhollow was a meticulous reconstruction of a colonial settlement, a living museum where costumed interpreters churned butter and blacksmiths hammered horseshoes. The boardwalk creaked under the weight...

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The Lantern’s Last Light

In the autumn of 2014, I joined a small paranormal research team for what was supposed to be a routine investigation of an abandoned lighthouse on the jagged coast of...

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The Constant Weight of Stones

In the rain-slicked autumn of my twenty-ninth year, I found myself standing at the base of a crumbling manor on the Isle of Skye, a place called Carn Brea. The...

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The Charred Sermon

When I first met Elinor at a dusty antique shop in eastern Oregon, I was drawn to her quiet intensity. She had lost her youngest boy to a fever three...

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The Last Lantern

I never thought I’d write this, but after weeks of sleepless nights, I need to get it out. My name is Elias, and I’m grateful to this forum for giving...

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