Ghost stories from Misc

The Cinder Man

My grandmother used to tell me about the summer she spent in the village of Ashwick, a place where the chimneys always seemed to smoke even on the clearest days....

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The Water Stain

When my roommate, Dana, and I found the listing for a two-bedroom fixer-upper on the edge of the industrial district, we were thrilled. The rent was a steal, and the...

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The Static in the Corner

Marta had lived in the old farmhouse for eleven years, ever since her grandmother passed and left it to her. It was a sprawling, drafty place with crooked floors and...

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The Amber Figure

The autumn of 1987 was a wet one in the hills of western Pennsylvania, and the gravel road that wound past the old Hemlock Hollow cemetery had turned to mud....

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The Constant Chime of 5:55

My name is Elina, and I live in a small, isolated cabin in the Finnish Lapland, where the summer sun bleaches the sky to a pale, relentless white. I have...

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The Blue Ledger

I was six when I found the ledger, though I didn’t know what it was then. It was a cold October evening in 2001, and my family had just moved...

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The Moisture in the Walls

I never believed in ghosts until we moved into the basement apartment on Harlow Street. The place was cheap, too cheap, and the landlord had a nervous way of avoiding...

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The Empty Chair’s Typewriter

The house on Thornapple Lane had always hummed with a peculiar vibration, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. After the night I saw the silhouette in my...

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The Last Sunflower

It had been three weeks since Miriam had called me, her voice tight with a hope that felt like a fragile glass ornament. She said the disturbances in her farmhouse...

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The Glass Marble of Lethe

I never told anyone about the marble. Not my mother, not my therapists, not even my husband. It sits in a small velvet pouch at the bottom of my jewelry...

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The Static Station

It was a Tuesday night when the world tilted. I was in the basement, not because I wanted to, but because the smell of paint from the upstairs hallway had...

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The Lantern Keeper

In the summer of 1987, when I was four years old, my family and I went to the annual Lakeside Festival at Miller’s Pond. It wasn’t a ghost story, nor...

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The Paper-Wasp Signal

The summer before I turned fourteen, my sister Lena and I were sent to our great-aunt’s farm in the high desert while our parents dealt with a crumbling marriage back...

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The Third Reflection

In the autumn of my seventh year, my mother bought me a gown the color of a bruised twilight—deep indigo silk with tiny crystal beads sewn into the hem, catching...

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The Painted Cloth

The evening had settled over the old farmhouse like a low fog, muffling the world outside the thick, hand-hewn walls. Inside, the living room was a cocoon of warm lamplight...

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The Ledger of Cinders

I’ve always had a peculiar relationship with sleep. My nights are either a void or a parade of horrors; I cannot recall a single pleasant dream. And always, just before...

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The Thorned Gift

In the autumn of 1968, I was a young man of twenty, living in the rural town of Ashford, nestled in the heart of the English countryside. That year, the...

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The Winter of Long Shadows

The old farmhouse on Cedar Lane had always creaked and muttered, but for the first five years, the sounds were like the comfortable complaints of an aging grandmother. Then the...

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The Reflection in the Hallway Mirrors

Ever since the night I spilled my guts to you, sitting cross-legged on the cold tile of my bathroom floor with the fan humming overhead, things have shifted. It’s like...

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The Bone Comb

The boarding house at 13 Thornwood Lane was a relic of a bygone era, with its creaking floorboards and wallpaper that peeled like sunburnt skin. I was there for a...

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The Brass Figurine’s Vigil

I’d come down to the coastal city of Merrowport to visit an old university mate, Elara, who shared a sprawling, turn-of-the-century flat above a shuttered fish cannery. The building itself...

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The Paper Crane’s Last Flight

The autumn of 1987 had painted the town of Millbrook in shades of amber and rust. The school, St. Jude’s Primary, was a squat, brick building that had witnessed the...

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The Pale Cartographer’s Gift

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been chasing the chill that never comes. I’d devour every ghost story, every cursed VHS tape, every internet legend, hoping to feel a presence...

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The Cabinet of Lost Things

When I was seven, my family moved from a cramped flat in Glasgow to a sprawling, drafty house in the Scottish Highlands. The house, called ‘The Rowan,’ had been built...

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