Ghost stories from Misc

The Vanishing Lacquer

I was at my friend Paige’s house, along with our friend Rachel, just hanging out on a rainy Saturday afternoon. We’d decided to watch a horror movie, something about a...

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The Hotel Lure

The old St. Augustine hotel had seen better days. Its lobby, once grand, now smelled of dust and disuse, but my father insisted on staying there for his architectural survey....

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The Hollow Stone

The old house on Maple Street had always felt like a living thing, its creaks and groans a language only my grandmother understood. After she passed, my mother inherited it,...

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The Crooked Floorboard

My earliest memory is of the sound of something breathing beneath my crib, a wet, ragged rhythm that pulsed through the floorboards. My mother said it was the old house...

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The Caravan of Broken Chariots

The dossier on my desk was thin, but the photographs inside were heavy with dread. They showed the ruins of the Kaisersfelde Asylum, a sprawling neo-Gothic complex in the Bavarian...

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The Handrail That Remembered

When my cousin Evelyn asked me to housesit her new Victorian fixer-upper for a weekend, I jumped at the chance. The place was a maze of creaking floorboards and peeling...

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The Larder of the Silent Hour

The old farmhouse on Birch Hollow Road had always creaked, but it was the silence between the creaks that unsettled Nell. She had moved in with her grandmother after her...

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The Weight of the Air

In the autumn of 2004, I was fourteen and living with my family in a converted farmhouse on the edge of a vast, damp forest in rural Oregon. The house...

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The Last Screen Turned Blue

By the time the clock on my laptop blinked 3:33 AM, I had already counted every crack in the ceiling twice. The apartment was quiet—too quiet, the kind of silence...

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The Hollow in the Wall

My grandmother’s house had always felt wrong, but I never knew why until the winter I turned thirty-two. The house sat at the edge of a frozen lake, its bones...

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The Night the Dust Spoke

The July heat had baked the small city of Gračanica until the asphalt shimmered and the air itself seemed to hum. My family had driven off to some monastery in...

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The Latch That Wouldn’t Move

My aunt used to say that old houses remember everything, that they keep the echoes of every footstep and every whispered secret in their bones. I never believed her until...

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The Chime of the Falling Room

My name’s Sam, and I’m 24. I live with my parents in a creaky Victorian on the outskirts of Salem, Oregon, a town that prides itself on its haunted history,...

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The Hollow in the Hemlocks

Bascom and his younger brother, Eben, were driving up to a secluded fishing spot called Widow’s Creek, tucked deep in the hills beyond the old ironworks. The summer air was...

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The Blood in the Joists

My grandmother’s cabin sat at the edge of a redwood forest, where the trees pressed so close that the sun only reached the porch in thin, amber slats. I remember...

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The Candle in the Alley

When I was eight, my family lived in a small town where the biggest excitement was the Saturday night bingo at the community center. My friends and I spent our...

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The Stairwell’s Gift

Marlowe had never feared the dark. It was the half-light that unsettled him—the treacherous gray of dusk, the fuzzy edges of dawn. But his wife, Elara, had always joked that...

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The Weaver of Static

The first time I felt the static, I was alone in my grandmother’s attic, sorting through boxes of her things. The house always had a peculiar hum, a frequency that...

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The Soil Under the Nail

The night the power went out, I was finally alone in the old farmhouse my grandmother left me. The wind howled through the cracks in the windows, and the smell...

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The Cerulean Combustion

The old lighthouse on Halcyon Point had a reputation for quirks, but I attributed them to wind and salt. When the sun sank below the horizon, however, the building seemed...

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The Dryer’s Silent Pool

In the autumn of 2022, I moved into a modest ground-floor flat on the outskirts of a town that never made it onto any map worth reading. The flat was...

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The Dead Patch

I never believed in the old stories, not really. My grandmother used to whisper about the place where the oaks grew in a perfect circle, where the grass refused to...

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The Knocker of Orchard Lane

Two weeks ago, I was at my friend Mira’s house for a sleepover. Her parents were celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary at a fancy restaurant in the city, leaving us...

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The Green Glow

My name is Elias, and I never believed in ghosts. My house was brand new, built just three years ago in the quiet outskirts of Maplewood, Oregon. It had that...

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