Ghost stories from Misc

The Shifting Frames

In the small, salt-worn town of Pemberly, the Aldercroft House stood like a stubborn tooth against the sea wind. I was eleven when I first noticed the photographs moving. Not...

The Hearth of Ash

The winter I turned fourteen, the house on Bramble Lane seemed to hold its breath. My name is Elara, and I was a ghost in my own life, drifting through...

The Relic of Wren Hollow

The night was unremarkable, a thick blanket of clouds muting the stars, and I’d settled into bed without a thought to the small iron box on my nightstand. Inside lay...

The Machine’s Cough

It was the autumn of ’91, and I was staying over at Marcus’s place in the old farmhouse his family had rented since the foreclosure on their own home. His...

The Linen Closet

I’ve told this to a few people, and most of them just nod and smile like I’m telling a ghost story around a campfire. They don’t get that it’s not...

The Pinwheel Garden

They said the house on Marrow Lane was cursed, but my mother laughed at such talk. She said it was just an old Victorian with character. I was nine, and...

The Last Right Turn

It was the summer of 1987, and Ravi, Arjun, Suresh, and Vikram had decided to escape the oppressive heat of the city with a trip to the coast. The beach...

The Last Broadcast

The day the television died was the day I learned that silence has a voice. My family and I were heading out for the weekly market run, and I was...

The Cinnamon Ledger

The Cinnamon Ledger It began in late autumn, the year the river ate the old mill. I had moved to the village of Ashwick to escape the noise of the...

The Ash Collector

The winter of that year was brutally cold, and the small town of Gravenhurst was buried under a thick blanket of snow. My mother, Elinor, worked as a liaison for...

The Ball Below

The morning light filtered through the dusty blinds, casting long stripes across the cluttered living room. I was twelve, and the smell of stale coffee and baby powder hung in...

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