Ghost stories from Medium

The Pipe and the Pane

The sign above the door creaked like a hanged man’s sigh, reading ‘The Dry Dock’ in letters that had once been gold. It wasn’t the sea that had named this...

The Third Marking

I was born with a veil over my eyes, my grandmother used to say. Not the literal kind, but a thin, shimmering membrane that let me see what others couldn’t....

The Lacework of Wisteria

The third morning of my first trip to Charleston found me lingering over chicory coffee in a sun-drenched courtyard, the air thick with blooming jasmine and the distant clang of...

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Listening for whispers in the dark...
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Listening to the woods...