The Rotating Screen
Mara had always felt watched in the old farmhouse on Cedar Lane. It wasn’t just the creaking floorboards or the way the wind moaned through the eaves; it was the...
Mara had always felt watched in the old farmhouse on Cedar Lane. It wasn’t just the creaking floorboards or the way the wind moaned through the eaves; it was the...
The Emerson House had been a bargain, and that was its first lie. It sat at the end of a dead-end road in Maple Hollow, a town so quiet that...
The first time I saw it, I was eight years old, sitting on the cracked vinyl of my grandmother’s porch swing in the heart of the Dust Bowl. The air...
I have always been a devout man, my faith as solid as the old oak pews in the little chapel my grandmother took me to as a child. That faith...
When I was nine, we lived in the parsonage of Red Hollow, a town that clung to the foothills like a barnacle to a hull. My father, Pastor Elias, was...
When I woke from that dream, my heart was hammering against my ribs like a caged bird. I was twenty-six, not twenty-four, and the woman beside me was Lena, not...
I have never been certain whether what I experienced were genuine paranormal intrusions or merely extraordinarily vivid nightmares. The line between the two has blurred so thoroughly that I can...
I was seventeen that summer, the last one before my senior year, and my family had just moved into a house that felt like it had been waiting for us....
For my thirty-second birthday, I convinced my girlfriend, Mara, to join me for a weekend getaway in the bustling city of Ashford. We had booked a room in the grand,...
My name is Margaret, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid of the dark. Not the absence of light, but the presence of something in that...
The first time I understood that the walls of my grandmother’s house in the dusty outskirts of Enugu had teeth was the summer I turned nine. My father and I...
In 2003, when I was eleven, my family uprooted from our cramped city apartment to a sprawling house on the outskirts of a sleepy town called Millbrook. The house, a...
The farmhouse on Bone Hollow Road had always felt like a living thing to me, its timbers groaning like old joints, its windows like rheumy eyes. I’d grown up with...
My buddy Ravi had been living in that old apartment building on Maple Street for three years, and he always said there was something off about it—a heaviness in the...
My name is Ethan, and I’ve been a chronic sleepwalker of the mind for as long as I can remember. The episodes usually follow a familiar script: I’m yanked from...
My name is Cora, and I’ve believed in the unseen since I was three, when I’d feel a cold breath on my neck in the warmest room of our flat...
The old house on Bramble Lane had a way of holding its breath. I remember the summer I turned nine, when the air inside our rented rooms felt thicker than...
The Bexley house had stood at the edge of the marsh for over a century, its bones soaked with salt and sorrow. I’d rented it for the summer, drawn by...
Maya had always been a woman of logic, a former believer turned atheist, then a brief flame of faith, and now a skeptical agnostic. But the absence of God never...
I moved into the old granary loft at the edge of Millford in mid-May. The building had been converted from a 1920s grain storage facility, and the landlord boasted about...
I was eight when the house on Bramblewick Lane chose us. It wasn’t the house, really, but the land it sat on—an acre of gnarled oaks and a pond that...
The chapel at St. Jude’s had always been a place of quiet solace for Marcus, a retired schoolteacher who found comfort in its cool, dim aisles and the faint scent...
The drive back from the coastal town had been a blur of salt air and endless highway, but by the time I pulled into the gravel driveway of our new...
When I moved into the attic apartment on Calloway Street, I justified the peeling paint and the faulty heater with the promise of a bargain. The landlord, a man with...
Listening to the woods...
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