Ghost stories from Ghost Hunting

The Tin Token

I’ve been a volunteer at the Ogden Hollow Transportation Museum for three years now. It’s a converted railway depot from the 1880s, all worn brick and creaking timber, and the...

The Still Reflection

My buddy Marcus had a way of finding trouble. When he texted me about the old county tuberculosis sanitarium, I should have known better. It sat on the edge of...

The Hollow Record

The final report sat on my desk, its pages thin as dried skin. For three weeks, I’d combed through the evidence from the Ashford farmhouse, and the truth was a...

The Salted Hearth

I never thought I’d be back in Duncairn, not after the way I left. But when Mara, the team lead for the Spectral Collective, asked me to join an investigation...

The Last Barstool

The old dance hall had been dead for decades, but that hadn’t stopped me from dragging my equipment up its creaking stairs. My name is Mara, and I’ve been chasing...

The Empty Rack

I’ve always been a believer in the unseen, but never a seeker. So when my friend Derek convinced me to join a paranormal investigation team for a Halloween night event,...

The Static Room

When my friend Marta convinced me to join her and her cousin Diego on an overnight expedition to the abandoned San Vicente Tuberculosis Sanatorium, I agreed mostly out of curiosity....

The Last Flicker

Last autumn, I had become obsessed with the paranormal after a series of unexplained events in my apartment. I bought a digital voice recorder and a cheap electromagnetic field detector,...

The Carved Marble

Every autumn, my friends and I would drive up to the old Ridgemont Asylum, a crumbling relic perched on a hill above the fog-choked valley. We’d bring along that ridiculous...

The Lantern’s Last Gasp

The three of us—my sister Mira, her daughter Leila, and my own girl, Tess—had booked a long weekend at the Crooked Steeple, a crooked-beamed inn that had been serving ale...

The Salted Ground

The town of Corvid’s Hollow had a history that clung to it like moss on old stones. Founded in the early 1800s, it had seen its share of tragedy: a...

The Lantern Test

The night air was thick with the smell of wet leaves and rust. Our school, St. Aldric’s, was an old converted textile mill, its red brick walls stained dark with...

The Hollow Ward

In October 2013, I was visiting my friend Maya at her university in the small town of Ridgeline. We had spent the previous night at a country music festival, and...

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