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 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...
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,...
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...
I was eleven when my grandfather moved in after his heart surgery. The doctors said he needed a quiet place to recover, so my parents turned our living room into...
It was a damp October evening when I put little Theo to bed. The nursery smelled of lavender and baby powder, a scent I’d come to associate with peace. The...
Two years had passed since I’d moved to the coastal town of Saltmarsh, taking a job at the old maritime supply shop that smelled of rope and diesel. I was...
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 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...
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 old house on Hemlock Lane had a way of keeping its secrets, but I thought I’d uncovered them all after three years of renting the attic studio. My name...
In the deep of February, when the cold seeped through the old farmhouse’s walls, I lay in my narrow bed, the covers pulled up to my chin. I was eight...
I was twelve that summer, and the world was a place of dust and cicadas. My friend’s older sister, Marisol, was eighteen and carried an air of secret knowledge that...
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...
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...
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...
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 house on Bramblewick Lane was a Victorian relic, its bones creaking with every shift of the wind. I was eight when we moved in, and my room was a...
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...
I was eleven the autumn we moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of the marsh. My father, who had inherited it from a great-uncle he barely remembered, insisted...
It was late October, a chill creeping into the air of the foothills town of Larkspur, and my new girlfriend, Mira, and I had driven out to our usual spot—a...
I’m sorry I haven’t written in so long. But I had to put this down while the details are still sharp in my mind. We’re in New Zealand for my...
I remember the first time I saw her, or rather, heard her. A faint, watery humming drifting down the hallway of our new house in the salt-bleached town of Port...
It was the first truly warm day of the year, the kind that makes you forget the gray months. I was walking home from the market, a canvas bag of...
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,’...
Listening to the woods...
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