The Mesa of Painted Glass
The sun had baked the red dirt of the high desert all afternoon, and even with December’s bite in the air, the heat radiated up from the earth in shimmering...
The sun had baked the red dirt of the high desert all afternoon, and even with December’s bite in the air, the heat radiated up from the earth in shimmering...
The old mining town of Greyhollow had been swallowed by the forest long before I was born, but the ironwood sanatorium still stood, a black tooth against the ridge. I’d...
In the autumn of 2016, my colleague Elias and I booked a weekend at the Penmarch Manor, a sprawling Victorian estate turned boutique hotel on the windswept coast of Cornwall....
Three months ago, my sister and I took a trip to the old fortification on the island of Alcatraz, not the prison, but the ruins beneath it, the ones they...
The Grand Aurora Hotel rose from the Arizona desert like a headstone for a forgotten god. Built in 1961, it claimed the title of the tallest structure west of the...
In October of 2019, I was staying with my cousin, Mira, in the small coastal town of Duskhollow, nestled between fog-choked cliffs and the restless sea. Mira had recently moved...
The shop was called ‘Ember & Wick,’ a narrow slot of a store wedged between a shuttered barbershop and a Mexican bakery on Alder Street. It sold hand-dipped candles, essential...
It was supposed to be a simple research trip. Four of us, graduate students in folklore, had come to the remote town of Ashford to document the oral histories of...
Five years ago, the office decided on a team-building excursion to the old mining town of Blackwood Falls. Our guide, a gaunt man named Mr. Thorne, led us through the...
My aunt, Clara, was a stickler for punctuality. So when she announced we’d be visiting the old harbor town of Marrow’s Point for our autumn getaway, she insisted we arrive...
The summer I turned nineteen, my grandmother’s sprawling Victorian bed-and-breakfast in the fog-choked hills of northern Vermont became my prison. My mother, a woman who found relaxation in meticulous planning,...
My last paranormal experience took place two months ago during a business trip to the ancient city of Hue. My colleague, Lena, and I were staying at the Thanh Long...
My husband Evan and I had chosen the old farmhouse bed-and-breakfast in the Virginia Piedmont for our fifth anniversary. Not because we wanted history or ghosts—we just wanted quiet. The...
My aunt Clara had a thing for haunted inns. She’d drag us along every summer, claiming it built character. Last July, she booked us into the Pemberton Estate, a sprawling...
The old chapel sat atop a windswept hill in the Welsh Marches, its slate roof sagging like a tired spine. My friends had dragged me here for my hen weekend,...
The summer I turned thirty-one, I took a solo trip to the coastal village of Saltmead, a place known for its crumbling Victorian guesthouses and the relentless fog that rolled...
The Royal Crest Motel wasn’t the sort of place you bragged about, but for a week in late October, it was home. The wallpaper peeled in paisley patterns, the radiator...
The tour began at the old Meridian Hotel, a sprawling Victorian structure that had long since lost its genteel clientele and instead housed the town’s morbid curiosity seekers. I had...
I was thirteen when I got my first phone, a chunky brick with a cracked screen that my dad swore was indestructible. My best friend, Mira, and I were obsessed...
The village of Thornhollow sat at the edge of the Yorkshire moors, a place where the mist crept like a living thing and the old apple trees stood gnarled and...
My family and I were driving down Route 9 in upstate New York, past the old farmhouses and orchards, when we spotted this place: a converted Victorian bed-and-breakfast, painted a...
I’m 52, a logistics consultant, and I’ve spent more nights in roadside motels than in my own bed. I don’t believe in ghosts, never have. But in October of 2021,...
I’d been a florist for twenty years, but the shop had closed, and I found myself at loose ends. At a craft fair in the next county, I met Harold...
The Middleton Penitentiary, built in 1853, was a monstrosity of gray stone and rusted iron, squatting on the edge of the derelict industrial district. My father, a history buff, had...
Listening to the woods...
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