Ghost stories from Australia

The Counting Game

In the autumn of 2019, my younger brother Theo developed an obsession with the occult. Our mother, a former nurse who had seen too much in the psychiatric ward, forbade...

The Cracked Slate

The first time our parents left us alone for the weekend, Clara and I felt like kings of a tiny, suburban castle. Our domain was a two-story house with creaky...

The Cartographer’s Ledger

My grandparents, Elara and Magnus, had been friends with a peculiar couple, the Van Husens, since the 1970s. Their estate, Thornwood, sat on a forested hillside in the Pacific Northwest,...

The Constant Commuter

In the autumn of 2004, my family moved to the outskirts of a small town called Millbrook, into a two-story house on a quiet, tree-lined street. The house was old,...

The Limping Heel

I never liked the staircase in my aunt’s old farmhouse. It was a creaking, winding thing that seemed to hold its breath as you climbed, the woods around the house...

The Crooked Wardrobe

The old house on Maple Street had a way of holding its breath. My mother, Clara, would tell me about the year we lived there, 1996, when the air inside...

The Winter Man

I was six when the first snow of the season buried our town in a soft, silent blanket. That was the same winter my father brought home the Winter Man....

The Rake in the Walls

I’m 14 now, and I’ve lived in this house in the outskirts of Toowoomba for five years. Dad got a deal on it because the previous owners had passed away...

The Beige Pants

The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the peaceful kind that settles over a neighborhood at dusk, but the heavy, expectant kind that makes you feel like the...

The Runner’s Trail

In the autumn of 1981, I was eighteen and had come to stay with my grandparents in their old farmhouse on the edge of a town called Dryden. The house...

The Grain in the Wall

October 2019, a small town in the Pacific Northwest. I was at my desk at the county records office, buried under deeds and property histories, when my sister called. Our...

The Iron Gate’s Hum

The first thing I noticed about the house on Bramblewick Lane was the iron gate. It hung crooked on its hinges, scraping a half-moon arc into the gravel whenever the...

The Unseen Tenant

In the autumn of 1987, I moved into a small, cramped flat on the third floor of a decrepit building in the outskirts of Leeds. My daughter, Ellie, was just...

The Window Tax

I was six, maybe seven, when my father decided we needed to visit his brother in the coastal town of Port Blakely. The drive was long, and we stopped at...

The Red Ribbon Game

In the sweltering summer of 2007, my family packed up our small apartment in the city and moved to the quiet countryside of Maple Hollow. My two younger sisters, Clara...

The Salt Line

My name is Callum, thirty-four, a rigger for a mining contractor in the Pilbara, Western Australia. I’ve been out here for six years, having left a dusty wheat-belt town called...

The Unpainted Rooms

The first thing I noticed that morning was the silence. Not the usual hum of the fridge or the distant bark of a dog, but a thick, waiting stillness that...

The Static Hum

It was the autumn of 2019 when my five-year relationship ended, and I found myself at the lowest point I had ever known. The days blurred into a gray numbness,...

The Carpet’s Memory

We moved to the cul-de-sac of Ashford Close when I was seven, just after my father’s transfer. The house was a two-story red brick with a porch that sagged like...

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