Ghost stories from Lights

The Ironwood Visitor

In the autumn of 1987, my great-aunt Marguerite passed away at the family’s old farmhouse in Ironwood, a place where the pines grew so thick they seemed to swallow the...

The Clockwork Hum

In the autumn of my tenth year, the house on Birch Lane began to hum. Not the familiar groan of the furnace or the rattle of old pipes, but a...

The Carbide Lantern

Old Man Hollis never talked about the night his engine died on the Mountain Loop Road. He’d spit tobacco and change the subject if you brought it up, his gnarled...

The Ceiling’s Visitor

The afternoon sun bled through the blinds, painting stripes across Maya’s desk as she worked on her novel. Her cat, Pixel, a sleek tabby with an obsession for laser pointers,...

The Candle’s Ash

I’ve never told anyone this, not even my therapist. They’d lock me up or chalk it up to a teenager’s overactive imagination. But here, where I know others have felt...

The Ink-Fall Elegy

I never saw a ghost, not in the way people mean. I saw something else, something that made me question the very nature of my vision and, eventually, my sanity....

The Fourth Turn

The house on Meridian Lane was old, with creaking floorboards and a furnace that groaned in the night like a trapped beast. I’d moved in a month ago, after my...

The Static Cascade

I was four when the world taught me to lie about what I saw. My mother called them dust motes, my father said it was just my imagination running wild....

The Cinder Garden

In the autumn of 2004, I was living in a secluded farmhouse on the outskirts of a town called Wetmore, where the only neighbors were a family of deer and...

The Fourth Syringe

Mara, a 28-year-old book conservator, had never been more than a routine visitor to St. Aldhelm’s General Hospital, a sprawling Victorian structure in the rain-soaked outskirts of a city that...

The Constant Hover

I moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of the marsh six months ago, seeking solitude after my marriage fell apart. The house was cheap, and the landlord was...

The Hollow Fence

Maya’s eighteenth birthday was a muted affair, a small gathering of close friends in her grandmother’s sprawling, ivy-choked house. The place smelled of dust and old wood, and the only...

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