Ghost stories from Misc

The Hollow Door

The cabin sat at the end of a gravel road, surrounded by a forest that seemed to hold its breath after sunset. I had invited three friends for a weekend...

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The Frozen Frame

Elara had always loved the old farmhouse on Meadow Creek Road, but she never expected it to be the backdrop for a nightmare. When her daughter, Lila, turned eight, she...

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The Footfalls of Aunt Marta

The morning sun filtered through the dusty blinds of my cramped studio apartment, casting long, distorted shadows across the cluttered floor. My name is Julian, and I had just moved...

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The Stitchers of Hawthorn Hall

I never considered myself psychic, not in any meaningful way. But as a child, I possessed a peculiar sensitivity to a certain corner of my grandmother’s estate, Hawthorn Hall. It...

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The Hour of the Iron Clock

For six years, the events I’m about to describe have haunted me. As a child, I was obsessed with the supernatural, and my fascination grew into a serious study of...

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The Gable Watcher

The last night of our trip to the Bavarian Alps, we stopped in the village of Obernried, where my cousin Anke lived with her husband and two boys. The village...

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The Stained Glass Loop

I am 17, almost 18, and I have always had a strange connection to the unseen. Growing up in the Laurentians, north of Montreal, I’ve learned to distinguish the whisper...

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The Faded Photograph

I never believed in ghosts until I inherited my grandfather’s old camera. It was a battered vintage Leica, the kind that required you to manually advance the film and fiddle...

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The Cobalt Hour

I work nights in the data vaults of Colossus, a vast server farm buried beneath the old mill district. My shift typically starts at 1 AM and ends at sunrise,...

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The Creak of the Stair

Three nights ago, my father and I went to see an old gothic film at the Majestic, a run-down theater on the edge of town that still smelled of stale...

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The Missing Eight Thousand

It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon in early February when I, Tomas, decided to withdraw the money for the used car. The bank was a short walk away, and I...

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The Knocking Hollow

The winter of 1997 was brutally cold in the small town of Ashford. Our primary school, St. Cuthbert’s, was tucked between a frozen canal and a cemetery that seemed to...

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The Lantern Keeper’s Debt

I’ve always been able to see things that others can’t. Not ghosts, exactly, but something older, more elemental. My grandmother called them the ‘Hidden Folk’, but that’s a polite name....

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The Dress That Swung Without Wind

It was a humid afternoon in the town of San Isidro, nestled between the Sierra Madre and the Caraballo Mountains, where the roads turned to gravel and the only map...

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The Floor Above the Freezer

It was the summer before my senior year when we packed up the house in Ohio, the one with the wraparound porch and the giant oak in the front yard....

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The Brown Suit in the Glass

The house on Maple Street had always been a little too quiet for my liking. I’d grown up there, but that didn’t make its oddities any less unsettling. My bedroom,...

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The Feathered Touch

My name is Elias Thorne, and I’ve lived in the old Beacon Hill lighthouse for three years now. It’s a solitary post, but I’ve never minded the isolation—I’ve always been...

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The Unfinished Frame

On the last Thursday of October, my husband, Leo, our son, Sam, and I drove the winding forty miles to my parents’ farmhouse in the valley. It was an ordinary...

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The Gilded Afterlife

I’ve worked in the dietary wing of Cedar Hollow Manor for three years now, and in that time I’ve met a parade of souls shuffling toward their endings. But one...

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The Last Ferry to Duskwood

It was the tail end of a bitter November, and the village of Hollowbrook had been buried under a week of unrelenting fog. My younger sister, Maeve, and I—both of...

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The Glow in the Darkroom

Maya had always found comfort in the predictable rhythm of her art class. The smell of turpentine, the scratch of charcoal on paper, the low hum of the ventilation system....

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The Hound in the Doorframe

I was seven when we moved to the old farmhouse on the edge of the marsh. My parents thought the solitude would be good for us, a chance to escape...

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The Twice-Buried Hour

The clock on my desk read 2:47 AM when the last line of the quarterly report finally scrolled into place. The apartment was silent, save for the hum of my...

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The Blue Apron

I moved into the top-floor flat of a converted Victorian schoolhouse six months ago. The rent was absurdly low, and the realtor’s smile had a twitch I chose to ignore....

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