Ghost stories from Sleep Paralysis

The Salt-Rotted Door

I never believed in the kind of horror that creeps up on you slowly, the kind that settles into your bones like damp. I was a thirty-two-year-old carpenter, hands calloused...

The Coil of Unraveling

The house on Hemlock Lane had always been a quiet sort of terrible. It wasn’t the creaking stairs or the way the wind moaned through the gaps in the window...

The Ceiling Ticks

Dr. Alistair Rook had spent a decade in the dry, fluorescent halls of the Somnology Institute, cataloging the strange and the sleepless. His specialty was the borderland between wakefulness and...

The Hollow Hover

It was 3:47 a.m. when the lamp on my nightstand flickered, not electrically, but as if something passed between it and my eyes. I had been staring at the ceiling,...

The Static in the Walls

The old farmhouse had always hummed, a low vibration that Marlena had learned to ignore over the three years since she and her partner, Ellis, had moved in. It was...

The Sigil of Salt and Iron

I’ve always prided myself on my rational mind. Sleep paralysis, they said, is just a glitch in the sleep-wake cycle. The hallucinations are projections of your own fear. I read...

The Plaster Saint

Nadia had always been a light sleeper, but the paralysis came like a sudden tide, pulling her under while she was still awake. She lay in her childhood bedroom, the...

The Graphite Scratch

I’ve spent my whole adult life cataloging the invisible, mapping the spaces between our world and whatever lies beyond it. Most of my encounters have been benign—a flicker of light,...

The Weight of Still Air

My brother Marcus is thirty-four, a former cross-country runner with a kind smile. He lives in a renovated schoolhouse on the outskirts of a town that never quite shakes its...

The Aster Garden

The Aster Garden had always been a place of stillness, a half-acre of overgrown flowers and gnarled trees behind my grandmother’s house. After she passed, I inherited it, and I...

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