Ghost stories from Incubus

The Third Door

My name is Mara, and I’m twenty-four. I’ve lived in this house my whole life, a sprawling Victorian that my great-grandmother bought in the 1950s. It’s a beautiful place, with...

Read Story →

Sex with a Ghost

My boyfriend and I have been going out for maybe 2 years now. We haven’t had sexual intercourse in awhile. But, just the other night, something strange happened. We moved...

Read Story →

The Midnight Grip

I’ve always been a bit too aware of the unseen, but my life had been wonderfully mundane until we bought the old brick house on Maple Street. It had been...

Read Story →

The Fabric of Night

My name is Marc, a twenty-year-old night auditor at a nearly bankrupt hotel perched on the edge of a wind-scoured cliff in the Orkney Islands. The hotel, once a grand...

Read Story →

The Loom of the Night Shift

I never believed in ghosts, not really. I was a nurse at St. Jude’s, and I’d seen enough of death to know it was just the end of a machine,...

Read Story →

The Erasure of Minutes

Marta first suspected something was wrong when the clock on her bedside table began to run backward. It was a cheap digital thing, a gift from her grandmother, and the...

Read Story →

The Aqueduct of Silent Tides

The first time I noticed the water behaving strangely was in the spring of my thirty-second year, in the rented cottage overlooking the cold gray Atlantic. I had come to...

Read Story →

The Ceramic Tea Set

The old house on Jalan Dahlia had always felt watchful, even during the day. I’d moved there six months ago, seeking the quiet of the highlands to finish my thesis...

Read Story →

The Static in the Walls

I was fourteen that winter, staying at my aunt’s old farmhouse while my parents dealt with some nonsense back in the city. The house was a relic, creaking with every...

Read Story →

The Obsidian Bloom

The antique grandfather clock in the hall chimed midnight, each resonant stroke vibrating through the old house. Elias lay in his four-poster bed, the heavy velvet curtains drawn, a futile...

Read Story →

The Hollow Hours

Lena had always prided herself on her rationality. At twenty-two, she had left the cramped apartment she shared with her mother in the coastal town of Marrow’s End, moving inland...

Read Story →

The Hollow Morning

Mara first felt the weight at thirteen, a familiar oppression that settled on her chest like a tombstone. It was always the same: a half-waking haze, her ears filling with...

Read Story →

The Air That Breathes

I’d spent my whole life devouring ghost stories, the kind that make your skin crawl and your heart race, but I never truly believed. That is, until I packed my...

Read Story →

The Paper Man

I remember that summer as a furnace, the air thick enough to chew, the nights a sticky torment. I was twenty-three, living in a crumbling walk-up in a city that...

Read Story →

The Static Between Floors

I never believed in the quiet. I thought silence was just absence—a lack of noise. But this house taught me that silence can be a presence, a thick, suffocating thing...

Read Story →

The Watcher by the Vent

I have always been a rational man. I hold a degree in engineering, I balance my checkbook to the penny, and I have never once believed in the supernatural. That...

Read Story →

The Hollow of Winter Hill

The radio crackled with static, a sound that had become as familiar as my own heartbeat. I was a night watchman at the closed-down Winter Hill Sanatorium, a place that...

Read Story →

The Boots on the Floor

Mara had always found the old farmhouse charming, with its creaking floors and the way the wind sang through the gaps in the window frames. But tonight, as she lay...

Read Story →

The Night Splicer

My name is Elias Crane, and I’ve lived alone in a refurbished fire lookout tower in the high desert of Nevada for the past five years. The nearest town is...

Read Story →

The Salt Room

It started with the salt. Not the kind you sprinkle on food, but the kind that used to line the trenches around old farmhouses, keeping evil at bay. I moved...

Read Story →

The Juniper Ledger

The summer I turned thirty-four, my husband and I bought a fixer-upper at the edge of a town called Morrow’s Hollow. It was a Victorian that had been abandoned for...

Read Story →

The Occupant in the Basement

I was twenty-one when I moved to Harlow, a city that never quite seemed to shake the gray from its sky. My apartment was a fifth-floor walk-up in an old...

Read Story →

The Throat’s Guest

Mara first noticed the change on a Tuesday, during her afternoon coffee break. She was sitting in the break room of the small accounting firm where she worked, watching the...

Read Story →