The Face in the Lantern Light
The cobblestone streets of Savannah were slick with a recent rain, and the iron lampposts cast a sickly amber glow that seemed to stretch our shadows into long, grasping fingers....
The cobblestone streets of Savannah were slick with a recent rain, and the iron lampposts cast a sickly amber glow that seemed to stretch our shadows into long, grasping fingers....
I had spent years chasing ghosts with a skeptic’s heart, visiting every famed haunted house from the whaling inns of New England to the moss-draped mansions of the Deep South....
It wasn’t the crumbling facade of the old Mercy Falls Sanatorium that unsettled me; it was the silence around it. The building squatted on a hill above the town of...
On the last Saturday of August, through the heat-buckled back roads of rural Vermont, my family and I finally arrived at the site of the old Meridian Asylum. I’d begged...
I had always been drawn to the macabre, so when my old college friend, Marcus, invited me to visit him in Edinburgh, I jumped at the chance. We spent our...
The bus groaned to a halt at the edge of a gravel parking lot, and the camp counselors barked for us to form a single line. We were in the...
I hadn’t logged into this forum in months, mainly because of what happened at the old mill town. You see, I’m part of a traveling history club that visits historical...
The advertisement surfaced on a Tuesday, wedged between ads for vintage farm equipment and a county fair. It promised an overnight vigil at the old Brannigan Industrial School for Boys,...
The old Harlow place had always been a dare, a joke we told around campfires to make the new kids squirm. I’d driven past it a hundred times on the...
I had spent my childhood in the shadow of the Meridian House, a sprawling, eccentric mansion that twisted and turned upon itself like a fever dream. My grandmother had worked...
The winter air bit at our cheeks as my boys and I trudged up the gravel path toward the old orchard. It was a gray December afternoon, the kind that...
The summer of 2007 was sticky and unforgiving in Savannah, Georgia, a city where the past refuses to stay buried. My daughter, Lily, had just turned eight, and my older...
Mara had always been a practical woman, a single mother who worked double shifts as a nurse to give her son, Leo, a decent life. Leo, at ten, was a...
The ferry cut through the grey morning mist, carrying our small group toward the abandoned leper colony on Poveglia’s forgotten sister island. Our guide, a thin man named Callum with...
My return from the high desert of New Mexico was meant to be a quiet one, a chance to clear my head after months of smoke and ash. I drove...
The town of Grey Hollow was carved out of the Ontario wilderness by Scottish settlers in the 1840s, who brought with them their bitter feuds with the Irish. That hatred...
In the autumn of 1994, I found myself wandering the cobblestone streets of the small coastal town of Dunmore, on the western coast of Ireland. Known for its fierce independence...
Last summer, two years after my father left, my mother insisted we take a trip to her sister’s farm in rural Vermont. It was the Fourth of July, and she...
The mansion had always been a liar. Its ivied walls and gargoyle-grimaced eaves whispered of centuries, yet the deed in my hand, dated 1968, claimed it was born of a...
I had always been a skeptic when it came to ghost stories, but my wife, Clara, was the opposite. She devoured every tale of the supernatural and dragged me to...
In the fall of 2007, my eleven-year-old daughter, Maya, and I accompanied my old friend, Derek, to San Pedro to pick up his passport for a research trip to Antarctica....
In the spring of 2010, my eight-year-old daughter and I joined my friend Mark on a trip to San Diego to help him collect some documents for his new job...
My husband Elliot and I chose the RMS Aurania for our honeymoon’s first leg, a decommissioned ocean liner turned museum and hotel. I’d always been fascinated by the paranormal, but...
On the first Tuesday of April, I drove with my husband-to-be and his Aunt Rita from the outskirts of Baltimore to the old Riverside State Reformatory, a sprawling Victorian pile...
Listening to the woods...
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