Ghost stories from Brunei Darussalam

The Hollow Click

The apartment complex on Sycamore Lane was a gray monolith of concrete and glass, and Minh, a night-shift data analyst, had grown accustomed to its sterile hum. His world shrank...

The Pattern in the Static

My grandmother’s old transistor radio sat on the windowsill of my childhood bedroom, its cracked amber dial glowing softly even when unplugged. I was six the first time I heard...

The Flush that Counted

The first night at the Armitage Recovery Center was quiet, too quiet. The building had been a maternity hospital decades ago, converted into a small clinic for minor ailments. My...

The Stillwater Pact

The air in the Emberwood Forest clung to us like a damp shroud. My father, Uncle Boran, my cousin Elara, and I had been hiking for over an hour, our...

The Photo Cascade

The first time I saw the dead moth, I thought it was just a coincidence. It lay on the windowsill of our flat in the coastal town of Orford, its...

The Blue Hour Visitor

I was eleven, maybe twelve, the summer we moved to my grandmother’s farmhouse in the dry, flatlands of western Kansas. The house was old, with creaking floorboards and windows that...

The Uninvited Guest

It was a sweltering August evening in 2012 when I returned home with my parents after a long day of visiting relatives. The old Victorian house on Birchwood Lane had...

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