Ghost stories from Misc

The Place Where Mirrors Wander

Raj and Meera had just finished their A-levels and were thrilled to move to the city for college. After days of hunting, they found a cheap flat in a worn-down...

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The Damp Crease

My name is Elara, and I’ve been living in my partner’s house for six months now—a Victorian relic that creaks and settles like an old sailor. The house has that...

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The Morning Lament

Mara had always been attuned to the subtle vibrations of the world—the way a room could hold a sigh, or how a hallway might hum with a memory. At twenty-six,...

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The Static Between Us

My cousin Maya and I were sprawled across the worn carpet of my basement den, the glow of the TV painting our faces in flickering blues and reds. It was...

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The Boiling Point

The galley kitchen of our rented flat in Reykjavik was barely wide enough for two, and tonight it felt like a pressure cooker. I was at the induction hob, willing...

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The Crying Static

In the autumn of 2011, I was a senior at Ridgemont High, a school perched on the edge of a sprawling pine forest that seemed to swallow sound. I had...

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The Unseen Tenant of the Attic Stairs

It was a hot, sticky July evening, the kind where the air itself seemed to weigh down on you. I was sprawled on the living room floor of my aunt’s...

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The Thrown Bag

I’ve never been one to believe in ghosts, not really. But living in that old apartment on Hemlock Street, with its creaking floors and drafty windows, I started to question...

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The Muddy Hollow

In our housing tract, a concrete drainage channel cut through the center, a scar of gray against the green lawns. It was our shortcut, our secret highway, where we’d walk...

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The Hollow Door

The first time the dream came, I thought it was just a shadow of my own anxiety. I had returned to the old farmhouse where my grandmother raised me, a...

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The Hollow Kiln

The winter of 1962 was cruel to the old brickworks. My grandmother, Elspeth, had settled us in the caretaker’s cottage on the edge of the abandoned factory, a sprawling complex...

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The Tote That Fell

The summer I left for a research fellowship in the remote coastal town of Portharrow, my mother, Eleanor, took in my kitten, Miso. Miso was a tiny thing, barely six...

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The Flooded Corner

In my mid-twenties, I was a restless soul, always chasing the next horizon. I’d been saving for months for a cross-country trip, and finally, the day came when I was...

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The Chant Under the Colossus

I woke up drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around my legs like grave bindings. The dream had been so vivid, so horribly real. I was walking through the old...

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The Fare on the Fernwood Grade

My father used to tell me about the night he nearly picked up a passenger on the Fernwood Grade. That’s a stretch of road that snakes down from the ridge...

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The Unraveling of the Thread

The rain had been falling for three days straight, a steady drumbeat against the glass of my ninth-floor apartment. I sat on the cold, tiled windowsill, my knees pulled to...

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The Night the Motel Breathed

I never believed in hauntings, not really. Even after what happened in that cheap Arizona motel, I tried to rationalize it as a trick of the light, a half-remembered nightmare...

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The Static Between Tracks

In the autumn of my seventeenth year, I spent most nights at a basement apartment in the industrial part of town, a place that smelled of mildew and stale beer....

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The Latch of the Fourth Door

The first time I noticed the wrongness was in the bathroom of our basement apartment. I was scrubbing paint off my hands, the smell of turpentine stinging my nose, when...

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The Veil Between Tides

The first time I noticed her was during a meditation session in the attic of a rented cabin on the coast of Nova Scotia. My sister, Lena, and I had...

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The Hollow Glow of Junction 9

On the last night of summer, 2014, I dozed off on the hood of my brother’s rusted Chevy in the dirt lot behind the old grain elevator. The town of...

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The Fevered Visitor

Every June, my parents shipped me off to my grandmother’s farm in the dusty Texas panhandle while they took their annual trip to the Bahamas. The farm was a lonely...

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The Clockwork Pendulum

Six months ago, I bought a pendulum from a dusty antique shop tucked between a laundromat and a boarded-up theatre. The owner, a gaunt woman with eyes the color of...

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The Fifth Bell

I never believed in ghosts. Not until my junior year at St. Agatha’s Academy for Girls, a sprawling convent school perched on a lonely cliff overlooking the Atlantic in Maine....

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