Ghost stories from Australia

The Rain’s Embrace

The night the power grid failed was the night I met him. My name is Elara, and I live alone in a refurbished lighthouse on the northern coast, a place...

The Locked Door

I’m fifteen, and I live in a renovated farmhouse in the dusty outskirts of Broken Hill, where the red earth cracks under the sun and the wind carries a constant,...

The Weekly Visitation

At twenty, I thought I had left the strangeness behind. My name is not important, nor is the precise name of the dusty Queensland town where I grew up, but...

The Candle That Knew

The year was 1982, and I was thirteen. My best friend’s older sister, Clara, had taken an interest in the occult, and her house on the outskirts of our small...

The Arrangement of Coins

The move was a blur of cardboard boxes and packing tape, but the destination was far from welcoming. Our temporary haven perched atop a narrow, sloped street in a town...

The Salt Oath

Three years ago, I moved into a compact apartment above a 24-hour laundromat in Portland, Oregon. The unit was a railway-style layout: my bedroom sat at the far end, and...

The Hollow Meadow

I was living in my grandfather’s old farmhouse in rural Minnesota when my Aunt Rosa passed. She had been in a coma for a week after a stroke, and I...

The Man in the Gables

I’ve been a member of this forum for a few months now, but I’ve read the stories here for years. It’s comforting to know I’m not alone in experiencing things...

The Sixth Frame

At 3:12 AM on a Tuesday, Mabel Hargrove was yanked from a dreamless sleep by a weight pressing on her chest, as if a boulder had been laid upon her...

The Lullaby of Ashwood Lane

Three summers had passed since the Harlow family moved into the old farmhouse on Ashwood Lane. At fourteen, Elias was old enough to appreciate the solitude of the countryside, the...

The Client’s Wall

I never believed in the supernatural before we moved into the glass house on Ravencrest Road. It was a marvel of modern architecture, all sharp angles and floor-to-ceiling windows that...

The Copper Locket

My father’s last words were not for my mother. They were for me, a ten-year-old boy standing in a pool of his blood, the landing light flickering above us. ‘Elena,’...

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