Ghost stories from Australia

The Stitch in the Yarn

My fingers moved in the familiar rhythm of the knitting needles, a comforting click-clack that filled the silence of the small apartment. I was finishing the left sleeve of the...

The Painted Window

The summer I turned sixteen, my little sister Mira and I started cataloging the impossible. It began with small things—a flowerpot that had moved three inches overnight, the persistent smell...

The Mulberry Man

I’ve always found comfort in the pre-dawn hours, when the world is still and the only sounds are my own footsteps and the occasional rustle of a nocturnal creature. Last...

The Oakwood Incident

When we inherited the Oakwood house from my great-uncle, we knew it came with history. The deed mentioned the property had been in the family for generations, but the house...

The Pale Runner

It was late October, and my wife Elena and I were driving home from a dinner party in the countryside. The quickest route back to the city was a narrow,...

The Widow’s Drain

I live in the coastal town of Saltmarsh, a place that sits on the edge of a sprawling salt marsh. The town is riddled with drainage ditches, concrete channels that...

The Vet’s Report

I never thought I’d see a lion in the middle of a Kansas wheat field, but that’s exactly what I saw the first time I laid eyes on the boy....

The Amber Room

I am writing this on a crumpled receipt, the only paper I could find in the dark. The power’s been out for three days, and the phone lines are dead....

The Drip in the Static

The Drip in the Static I moved to the outskirts of Reykjavik three months ago, into a converted fish-canning factory that now boasts ‘industrial-chic’ apartments. My girlfriend, Sigrid, loves the...

The Circuit’s Lament

The house was an old Victorian on Bramblewood Lane, its bones creaking with every gust of wind. I was fourteen, staying with my grandparents while my mother worked abroad. The...

The Third Crossing

The old man who ran the ferry across the Umber River had a reputation for silence, but not for lies. My grandmother, a woman who kept her feet firmly on...

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