Ghost stories from Australia

The Carpet’s Weight

I was eleven when we moved to the edge of the Great Sandy Desert, where the red dirt met the last stubborn patches of scrub. My father, ever the optimist,...

The Locked Ward

The glass doors of the Meridian Rest Home slid open with a tired sigh, as if they, too, dreaded the visits. My grandmother, Etta, had been a resident for three...

The Tide Book

The weekend trip to the coast was supposed to be a simple escape from the city’s relentless buzz. My girlfriend, Mia, and her brother, Leo, had been looking forward to...

The Clockwork Hare

The old house in Portland, Maine, creaked like a ship at sea, and I, Elara, had grown used to its moans. But the sound that pulled me from sleep each...

The Cleft

The Cleft started as a crack in the plaster above the kitchen sink. I noticed it one Tuesday, a hairline fracture that seemed to widen every time I washed dishes....

The Unseen Loaf

In the quiet village of Aldergrove, where the mist clung to the cobblestones like a persistent ghost, Marlene lived in a cottage that had stood for three centuries. The walls...

The Static Man

My childhood home sat at the end of a gravel road, where the streetlights gave up and the woods took over. It was a two-story colonial with a porch that...

The Cinder Band

My grandmother, Elara, had been gone for nine years, but it was only in the last month that her absence began to gnaw at me like a rat in the...

The Button-Eyed Visitor

I was nine, living in my grandmother’s creaking farmhouse in rural Vermont, when the thing in the corner chair happened. It was a humid August night, and I’d woken with...

The Steamed Mirror

I was midway through lathering my hair when the bathroom door slid open with a low, grinding sound. The air was thick with steam, and the mirror was fogged into...

Shock Whilst Reading

This one happened about a month or so ago in Australia, whilst I was up one night, reading with my torch under my covers, because my family didn’t want me...

The Unseen Weight

The corridor of my childhood home always felt longer than it should have been, and the air was thicker than the summers outside. I was fourteen when I first saw...

The Patchwork Sentinel

In the autumn of 2018, my family and I moved into a rambling Victorian house on Cedar Lane, our first home. Across the street stood a neglected craftsman bungalow, its...

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