Ghost stories from Incubus

The Pale Passenger

I am not fluent in this tongue, so forgive the clumsiness. My name is Lena. I moved to this town three months ago, to a crumbling Victorian house that the...

Read Story →

The Loom in the Attic

The old house on Bellwether Lane had never felt like mine. It came with the estate sale, a bargain I couldn’t refuse, but every floorboard groaned with the weight of...

Read Story →

The Visitor in the Static

It began on a Tuesday night, three weeks after I moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of the Morrow Valley. The house had been empty for years, and...

Read Story →

Held Down And Abused By A Demon Figure

I’m kind of embarrassed by my experiences. Well this has happened multiple times. I’m new to this but I’ve read stories and similar things have happened to me. I’ll be...

Read Story →

The Algorithm’s Hunger

My name is Alex, and I lived in a cramped studio apartment in the city of Verdigris, a place where the constant hum of servers from the data centers below...

Read Story →

The Carrion Bloom

I am nineteen, and I have lived in the damp, moss-draped countryside of western Oregon for most of my life. The paranormal has always been a quiet undercurrent here—whispers of...

Read Story →

The Stain That Breathed

At twenty-two, Marcus Hale had no time for the invisible. He was a final-year engineering student who measured the world in vectors and load limits, not whispers or omens. His...

Read Story →

The Fifth Winter

The chill began the November I turned sixteen, in the rambling, drafty farmhouse my family had rented for the winter. It was a place of creaking floorboards and huge, rattling...

Read Story →

The Persistent Stain

Mara had always been sensitive to the moods of old houses, but the one she grew up in, a rundown Victorian on Bramblewood Lane, seemed to breathe with a hostile...

Read Story →

The Cold Caress of the Glass Ones

It happened during the tail end of a dreary autumn semester, when the campus library felt more like a mausoleum than a place of learning. My name is Mara, and...

Read Story →

The Hanging Veil

Elena and Marcus had always prided themselves on their calm, steady love. Eleven years together, and their friends often joked they were the couple most likely to survive a zombie...

Read Story →

The Ironwood Visitor

I’m a 34-year-old graphic designer, and my life is about as ordinary as they come. My brother, a marine biologist, had just left for a three-month research trip to the...

Read Story →

The Weight of His Answer

For weeks, the dreams had been a slow poison. They started as whispers in the dark of my mind, then bloomed into vivid, violent bursts of passion I didn’t recognize....

Read Story →

The Cursed Reel of Pine Hollow

Three months ago, I stumbled into something that defies every rational explanation I hold dear. It started with a yard sale at my sister’s place in the dusty outskirts of...

Read Story →

The Static in the Walls

I’ve always had a strange companion, though I never knew its name or shape. It started when I was eight, living in that drafty old farmhouse on the edge of...

Read Story →

The Widow’s Itch

I’ve never told anyone about the winters I spent in that rented room above the closed-down cannery in Millbrook, Ohio. It was the fall of 1981, and I was seventeen,...

Read Story →

The Hollow Throne

I was 26, living alone in a cramped studio apartment above a closed-down laundromat. The building was old, with creaking pipes and a persistent smell of bleach that never quite...

Read Story →

The Visitor at 3:33

Marta had always been a light sleeper, but lately, sleep felt like a distant memory. The weight of her life pressed down on her chest like a concrete slab: her...

Read Story →

The Tremor in the Wall

It began, as I sit here writing this, almost a year to the day. My husband, Marcus, and I had decided to celebrate our ninth anniversary at a secluded mineral...

Read Story →

The Salt and the Stone

Greta had never been one for churches. She believed in the quiet balance of things, in the weight of good and bad deeds, but when she stood before the altar...

Read Story →

The Last Floorboard

In the winter of 2019, after my husband’s funeral, I moved into a creaking Victorian house on the edge of a forgotten forest. The house had been in my family...

Read Story →

The Cartographer’s Burden

I suppose there is a certain irony in the fact that I, who have spent my life mapping the invisible, should now be haunted by a map. For thirty years,...

Read Story →

The Cinder Man

The first time I saw him, I was drowning in a lake of fire. The dream had the clarity of a wound—the heat, the smell of scorched pine, the way...

Read Story →

The Hand That Mends

Marta had always been a light sleeper, but the night after she moved into the old farmhouse, she felt a pressure on her chest, gentle and warm, like a hand...

Read Story →