Ghost stories from Australia

The House on Maple Lane

When I was very young, my family moved into a large, old home on Maple Lane. We did not have to pay to live there because my father was hired...

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The Clay Court Covenant

When I was barely two, we lived in a sprawling Victorian manor in the sleepy town of Maple Hollow, Vermont. The house, known locally as the Ashford Estate, was a...

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The Red Weeping

My friend Elara told me a story I wasn’t supposed to repeat. She’s always been a bit strange, with her wild hair and eyes that seem to see things that...

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The Unwanted Inheritance

My friend confided in me about her situation, swearing me to secrecy, but I feel I must share it out of concern. She lives with her grandmother, who insists that...

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The Room That Breathed

My grandmother moved into the old farmhouse when I was eight, leaving behind her cramped apartment in the city for the wide, lonely fields of Nebraska. The house had been...

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The Third Name

I’m 22, and last Saturday night I found out that some stories don’t stay buried, no matter how many miles you put between them and yourself. I was at my...

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The Hollow Between the Pipes

After my father passed, I inherited the old house that had been in our family for generations. It was a sprawling Victorian with creaking floors and drafty windows, but what...

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A Night of Unease

One evening in 2010, as the clock struck midnight, I found myself restless and uneasy. I tiptoed downstairs to grab a glass of water, the house quiet except for the...

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The Unlatched Gate

The first time it happened, I thought it was my imagination. I was seventeen, living in a small town where nothing ever changed, in a house that had stood for...

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The Wooden Solitaire Board

My great-uncle Fergus was a man of few words and many habits. He lived alone in a crooked timber house at the edge of the Ponderosa Pine forest, where the...

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The Pale Visitor

For over a year, every few months, I’d catch a glimpse of a figure—dressed in white, with skin like porcelain and hair black as a raven’s wing. It would appear...

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The 4:30 A.M. Thud

It was a Tuesday in late October, and the rain had been drumming against the windows all night, a steady rhythm that usually lulled me into a deep, dreamless sleep....

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The Day the House Spoke

It was a quiet Tuesday in late October when it first occurred. I was in the backyard with my cat, Mittens, enjoying the afternoon sun. My music player had just...

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The Last Broadcast

The clock on the nightstand read 3:17 PM when I finally surrendered to the pull of sleep. My sinuses were a swamp of congestion, each breath a wet rattle, and...

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The Mirror’s Debt

Mara had never believed in ghosts. Not really. She was a pragmatic woman, a librarian who dealt in facts and reference numbers. But when she moved into the old farmhouse...

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The Scent of Rain and Lilies

I’ve lived in this house for three years, ever since my grandmother passed and left it to my mother and me. It’s a narrow, two-story Victorian on a cul-de-sac that...

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The Constant Pinch

When the pinching started, I assumed it was a laundry tag or an allergic reaction to the new detergent. But it wasn’t long before I felt the sensation on bare...

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The Flickering Halogen

The renovation was supposed to be a fresh start. After years of yellowed tiles and a dripping faucet that haunted my sleep, I finally had the money to gut the...

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The Moth in the Static

The first time I saw the moth, I was nine, sprawled on the shag carpet of our rented duplex in Poughkeepsie, watching the TV snow. The screen wasn’t just static—it...

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The Groaning Room

I never believed in ghosts, not really. I thought they were stories for children and the gullible, something to scare yourself with on a dark night. But then the groaning...

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The Loop of Light

I never told anyone the full story of what happened in the old lighthouse. Some things are better left unsaid, but I feel I owe it to the living to...

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The Pale Runner of Redwood Lane

The house on Redwood Lane had a way of settling into your bones. We moved in during a wet March, the kind that turns dirt to soup and leaves a...

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The Looming Thread

I’ve never told this to anyone before, because it sounds insane, but I need to get it out. I’ll try to piece it together as best I can. For as...

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The Third Eye on the Window

Mara’s four-year-old daughter, Elsie, had taken to scribbling on the frosted glass of the bathroom window with her finger, tracing patterns in the condensation after a hot shower. It started...

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