Ghost stories from Ghost Tours & Haunted Hotels

The Last Inventory

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...

The Violet Room

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...

The Clockwork Lantern

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...

The Lodger in the Linen Closet

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,...

The Lantern in the Field

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...

The Weeping Slate

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 Static Garden

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 Copper Kettle’s Turn

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...

The Last Broadcast

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 Frozen Orchard

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...

The Overflow Valve

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,...

The Chill in the Doorframe

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...

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