The Lantern in the Hollow
I was fifteen when it happened, and no one believes me except for my cousin Marta, who was there. She doesn’t talk about it, but I know she remembers. We...
I was fifteen when it happened, and no one believes me except for my cousin Marta, who was there. She doesn’t talk about it, but I know she remembers. We...
My name is Cora Bellweather, and I am nineteen years old. At the time of this account, I was eighteen, living with my grandmother in the isolated town of Frosthollow,...
Mara and I had been friends since we were kids, but it wasn’t until that summer in the abandoned farmhouse that we truly tested the limits of our bond. We’d...
In the autumn of 2004, I moved my family into a dilapidated Victorian farmhouse on the outskirts of a dying prairie town called Merrow. The deed listed the construction date...
In the autumn of 1994, I was a sophomore at Thornfield University, majoring in folklore and minoring in cartography. My friend Leo, a lanky art history student, lived with three...
The night air tasted of cut grass and cheap cider when my mate Callum pulled a worn, wooden box from under his bed. Inside, wrapped in a moth-eaten scarf, was...
It started with a note. Not the kind you leave for your mom or tape to the fridge, but a scrap of paper, yellowed and rough as if pulled from...
The day we moved into the old farmhouse at the edge of the Morrow Valley, I was eighteen and full of skepticism. My parents had bought the place for a...
Marnie and I had shared an apartment in the old Westerly building for three years. It was a crumbling pre-war walk-up, the kind where the radiators clanked like ghostly chains...
In the summer of 2005, I was a fourteen-year-old with an unhealthy obsession with the paranormal. My older brother, Marcus, who was sixteen at the time, shared my fascination. We...
In the autumn of 1998, I was a twenty-four-year-old graduate student in Providence, Rhode Island, sharing a cramped two-bedroom apartment above a laundromat with my best friend, Marcus. The building...
Mara and I had been in the creaky Victorian at the edge of Maplewood for about six weeks. The house smelled of old wood and dust, and the radiators clanked...
It was the last week of my junior year, and the heat of late May had turned our old farmhouse into a sauna. The place had been in my family...
My introduction to the dead came not in a moonlit, Gothic cathedral of tombs, but in a sun-bleached, almost cheerful plot of land on the edge of our small town....
I was eight when we moved from the sweltering coast of Oaxaca to the dry, flat expanse of West Texas. Dad had a job at the oil refinery, and our...
My friend Margo and I were deep in a late-night chat on an old forum we’d both joined years ago. She lived in a creaky farmhouse on the edge of...
I know no one will believe me, but I have to write this down before it’s too late. My name is Mara, and I live in a crumbling apartment building...
I am not sure where to begin. I guess I will start from the beginning of it all. When I was in the 5th grade my cousin had a sleep...
I was nine the summer my parents sent me to stay with my aunt and uncle in the hills above the old mill town. Their house, a sprawling Victorian with...
After my grandfather passed, I inherited his old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, a place I hadn’t visited since I was a kid. My friend Leo, a skeptic with...
My cousin Ray and I were in the kind of rural boredom that only a dead-end town like Copper Creek could produce. We were spending the summer at our late...
The night we broke the rules, the house on Hemlock Lane became a mausoleum of memories that didn’t belong to us. My cousin Jenna and her boyfriend Marcus had insisted...
The house on Cedar Lane had a peculiar silence, as if the walls were holding their breath. Eleanor, a young woman with a penchant for the unexplained, had recently moved...
The delivery van pulled away from the curb, leaving a long cardboard box on the porch. Finn and I had been planning this for weeks—not the box, but what it...
Listening to the woods...
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