Ghost stories from Poltergeists

The Broken Birdhouse

The house on Maple Street had always been a quiet one, a place where the floors creaked with age and the walls held the whispers of previous tenants. I moved...

Read Story →

The Weaver of the Attic Door

I was six when we moved into the old farmhouse at the end of Larkspur Lane, a place where the fields pressed close like a held breath. The house itself...

Read Story →

The Groaning Room

I never believed in ghosts, not really. I thought they were stories for children and the gullible, something to scare yourself with on a dark night. But then the groaning...

Read Story →

The Maroon Stain

I was sixteen, and I had just moved with my mother and younger brother to a cramped apartment in the industrial part of Grayhaven. The walls were thin, and the...

Read Story →

The Linen Closet

When I was eleven, my cousin Elena and I shared a strange summer in my aunt’s old farmhouse. The house had a second floor that felt like a held breath,...

Read Story →

The Crimson Stare

My name is Elise, and I live in a cramped studio apartment above a twenty-four-hour laundromat in the neon-lit sprawl of downtown. The constant hum of dryers and the faint,...

Read Story →

The Plugged-In Static

The old farmhouse my family rented that autumn had a peculiar smell—damp wood, dust, and something faintly electrical, like ozone after a storm. I was a night owl then, twenty...

Read Story →

The Static in the Attic

My name is Elle, and I’ve always been drawn to the unexplained. At twenty-six, I look back on my teenage self with a mix of amusement and dread. Back then,...

Read Story →

The String That Never Snapped

I was eleven when we moved into the old farmhouse on Marrow Lane, a place my father had inherited from a great-uncle none of us had ever met. The house...

Read Story →

The Lock That Swings

The first time it happened, I blamed the old hinges. I’d moved into the carriage house at the edge of the Novak estate—a rundown, ivy-choked structure that had once been...

Read Story →

The Blanket’s Weight

I’ve lived in this old farmhouse for nearly three years now, ever since my marriage ended. It’s just me and my border collie, Jasper. He’s a good dog, but he...

Read Story →

The Unseen Hand

In the autumn of 2019, I was living alone in a small, rented cottage nestled in the woods of Vermont. The house had a rustic charm, with exposed beams and...

Read Story →

The Broken Circle of Cans

Our family wasn’t big on soda, but my husband, Leo, and I kept a six-pack in the garage for guests. We had a strict rule: no cans outside the garage....

Read Story →

The Hollow in the Drain

I used to think the world was made of solid things. The gravel path behind our apartment in Utrecht, the rusted swing set in the courtyard, the concrete walls of...

Read Story →

The Shifting Porcelain

Evelyn had always taken pride in the immaculate order of her kitchen. Every spice jar aligned, every cup handle facing the same direction, and the ceramic plates stacked with surgical...

Read Story →

The Crossed Footsteps

Evelyn had always been fascinated by the occult, a hobby her sister, Nina, tolerated with amused skepticism. That evening, they sat in the dim glow of a single lamp, watching...

Read Story →

The Hollow Oak

The first time I saw the house, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the January wind. It was a three-story Victorian monstrosity, all peeling paint and...

Read Story →

The Weeping Window

I never believed in ghosts. Not really. I’d spent my childhood in my grandmother’s house, a creaking Victorian that my great-uncle had built from a kit, and I’d heard all...

Read Story →

The Flatline Special

The Salty Dog wasn’t just a bar; it was a rusted anchor lodged in the marshlands of Port Blossom, a town that had long since given up on prosperity. I’d...

Read Story →

The Hollow Morning

We moved to the outskirts of Pinedale in the autumn of 2019, drawn by the promise of space and the quiet hum of the nearby irrigation canal. The house was...

Read Story →

The Amber Dress

I never thought I’d be back in Grandma Ida’s house, not after the summer I spent here when I was twelve. But after Dad’s business went belly-up, we had nowhere...

Read Story →

What my Roommate Brought In

In 2003 I moved into a brand new house southwest of Phoenix in a small farming community that stands in the shadows of the Estrella Mountains. It is a beautiful...

Read Story →

The Lantern of the Hollow

The first time it happened, I was thirty-two, living alone in a rented cottage at the edge of a cranberry bog in western Massachusetts. The place was called Hollow Oak,...

Read Story →

The Flicker in the Hall

The morning light struggled through the grimy windows of the old farmhouse, casting long shadows across the kitchen linoleum. I, Mira, shuffled downstairs, my brain still hazy from a restless...

Read Story →