Ghost stories from Misc

The Stillness of Room 14

My name is Elias, and I’m a light sleeper—or at least, I used to be. Since the incident at the Harlow House, I haven’t slept more than two hours a...

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The Spliced Stitch

In 2004, I was nineteen, living with my aunt in the crook of a mountain valley in the province of Antique. Our house, a weathered bamboo structure, perched on stilts...

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The Cartographer’s Debt

I never believed in the old tales, the ones my grandmother used to whisper about the Deepmire Fen. I chalked them up to superstition, the fanciful warnings of a rural...

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The Frame in the Darkroom

The silence in the old farmhouse was a physical thing, pressing against my ears after weeks of relentless knocking and shuffling. When it finally stopped, I dared to breathe. I...

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The Crosswalk’s Cold Shoulder

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve carried a secret. Not the kind you tell your friends at a sleepover, but the kind that burrows into your bones and makes...

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The Copper Hail

I should have listened to my gut the day I bought the ’67 Pontiac Firebird from that sun-scorched old man outside of Barstow. He said it was his grandson’s car,...

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The Last Turnoff

It was close to midnight when my sister and I left our aunt’s farmhouse, the gravel crunching under the worn tires of my old sedan. The night was thick with...

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The Last Sledge on Fenwick Hill

It was the winter of the great freeze, when the snow fell for three days straight and the world turned to bone-white silence. I was twelve, my brother Theo was...

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The Frozen Room

My name is Clara, and I’m eighteen. I live in a small town in upstate New York, in a house that was built in 1967, just after the Great White...

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The Culvert Grate

In the quiet town of Ashwick, I rented a small cottage that bordered a sprawling, untamed forest. The previous tenant had left in a hurry, and the landlord only hinted...

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The Rag Doll in the Attic

The house on Maple Street had always felt heavy, as if the walls were holding their breath. When we moved in, my father said it was a steal—a fixer-upper, he...

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The Couch That Ate the Night

It was the summer of 1988, and I was eleven, living with my mother and her boyfriend in a cramped apartment on the fourteenth floor of the Meridian Towers. My...

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The Hollow Between Pines

The last time I saw my grandmother alive, she was kneading dough on a flour-dusted counter, humming a tune I didn’t recognize. That was back in March, before the azaleas...

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The Carpenter’s Cadence

When my father began remodeling our old farmhouse, I thought the strange occurrences were just the residue of sawdust and paint. But the first time I heard my name called—a...

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The Perfume of Rain

I never believed in ghosts, not really. I was a practical woman, a retired botanist who found solace in the predictable rhythms of soil and seasons. But when I inherited...

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The Cistern’s Tenant

The summer I turned thirteen, my family moved into a crumbling farmhouse in the Finger Lakes, far from the suburban noise of Rochester. My parents hoped the isolation would cure...

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The Bathroom Lock

I’ve always thought of our apartment as a sanctuary, a quiet refuge from the bustling city below. But lately, the silence has been anything but comforting. It started with small...

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The Constant Thrumming

The summer I turned thirteen, my best friend Maren lived in a house that seemed to sweat age. It was a two-story Victorian on the edge of our small Ohio...

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The Button Pusher

I lived in a brownstone on the edge of a sprawling campus, sharing the top floor with my brother Leo and two friends, Mira and Jenna. It was a converted...

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The Bone in the Glass

In the summer of 1998, I was nine years old, living in the town of Ashburn, a place so small that the only notable event in its history was a...

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The Knocker at the Wall

As a child, I had my share of imaginary friends and night terrors, but the peculiarities that began in my early teens were different. I’d catch glimpses of movement in...

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The Kettle Whistles at Midnight

In the sprawling, ivy-choked Victorian house on the edge of the Lancashire moors, life had always been a tapestry of the bizarre. The Halliwells had lived there for fourteen years,...

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The Unlatched Night

In the summer of ’94, the Ashford family had just moved into a cramped ground-floor unit on the edge of a sleepy town called Barrow’s End. The apartment complex was...

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The Man in the Fuchsia Coat

In the autumn of 2004, my little brother, Liam, was four years old. We lived in a creaky Victorian house on the edge of a sprawling, fog-laden moor. The house...

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