Ghost stories from Australia

The Clockmaker’s Visit

In the winter of 1948, my great-grandfather Elias, a devout man of the mountains, lived alone in a creaking farmhouse at the edge of the Blackwood Forest. The house had...

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The Lullaby of the Fading Room

Mara and her older brother, Leo, had been inseparable since childhood. They’d weathered the harsh winters in the back of a rusted pickup under a highway overpass, and the sweltering...

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The Porcelain Keeper

The Saturday supper at Aunt Mabel’s farmhouse had become a ritual over the years—a sprawling, creaking relic of a house where the floorboards groaned with every step and the wallpaper...

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The Keeper of the Scrub

I first encountered the station at the edge of the Nullarbor, a rusted windmill and a house that had been bleached by fifty years of sun. The property, known locally...

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The Lantern Maker’s Debt

I was sixteen when my grandmother died, leaving me her old house on the edge of the marsh. The house smelled of damp wood and dried herbs, and every corner...

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The Tremor in Room 12

The old coast hotel had been in our family for three generations, but it had never felt as oppressive as it did that October weekend. My stepbrother, Jake, and my...

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The Carpet’s Confession

The house on Maple Street was a two-story colonial with a wraparound porch, and my family had moved there at the beginning of summer. I was thirteen, and my room...

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The Caged Room

I’m not the kind of person who jumps at shadows. Growing up in Perth, I’d heard every ghost story my mates could muster, and none of them ever kept me...

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The Sickle and the Salt

It was the last weekend of summer before the harvest fair, and my cousin Delia, who had just turned fourteen, had invited three of her friends to stay at our...

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The Hollow in the Hallway

When my mother and I moved into Uncle Ray’s house, I thought I was leaving the whispers behind. At our old flat, the air had always hummed with a gentle...

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The Weight in the Hallway

Mara had grown up with the weight in the house. It wasn’t a presence she could name, just a pressure that settled on her chest whenever she was alone, a...

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The Couch in Room 14

The Haven Rest Home sat on a hill overlooking the gray expanse of the sea, its windows like empty eyes staring at the horizon. I started there as a night...

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The Bitter Taste of Ashes

The old boarding school sat atop a wind-scoured cliff overlooking the North Sea, its stone walls perpetually damp with salt and fog. I was a groundskeeper there, not a student,...

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The Inventory of Unseen Things

The first thing I noticed about Delia’s apartment was the smell—like old paper and copper, with a faint undercurrent of something sweet that made my teeth ache. I’d come with...

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The Hollow Man of Carnation Lane

It was never the mist itself that unsettled me, but the hollow space inside it, the way it seemed to breathe without lungs. After months of haunting that dead-end strip...

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The Glistening Wound

I’ve always been able to see the dead. Not hear them, not feel them, just see them, like smudges on the air. But when we moved into the creaking old...

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The Gilded Hour

The invitation to Blackwood Manor arrived on thick, cream-colored paper, embossed with a crest that looked like a snarling fox. It was for my grandparents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary, a grand...

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The Hollow Door

The first time the dream came, I thought it was just a shadow of my own anxiety. I had returned to the old farmhouse where my grandmother raised me, a...

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Urban Legend Or Prank?

Warning: You may want to read this in the morning, but whatever, it’s up to you, because this may be supernatural or may not be… Have you guys heard of...

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The Mirror in the Static

The old farmhouse sat at the end of a winding gravel road, miles from the nearest neighbor. Its white paint had long since peeled, revealing gray wood beneath, and the...

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The Face in the Static

My name is Leo, and for the past three years, since I was thirteen, I’ve had this persistent feeling of being watched. It started with small things—the creak of a...

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The Quiet Corner

The day we moved into the house on Maple Street, I felt a wrongness in the air, like a note played off-key that you can’t quite place. The previous owners...

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The Vent

The first sign that something was wrong was the smell. It wasn’t the usual musty odor of the old farmhouse; it was a sweet, cloying scent, like rotting flowers mixed...

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The Unfinished Game

It had been years since anything truly inexplicable had happened to me, and I had grown complacent, even a little disappointed. But on the last Sunday of that long July...

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