The Frequency of Nails
Elena had always prided herself on her rationality. She was a sound engineer, a woman who dealt in measurable frequencies and signal-to-noise ratios. So when she moved into the dilapidated...
Elena had always prided herself on her rationality. She was a sound engineer, a woman who dealt in measurable frequencies and signal-to-noise ratios. So when she moved into the dilapidated...
The house on Hemlock Lane had a way of keeping secrets, but the one it kept best was the room at the end of the upstairs hall. I never went...
Evelyn had been harvesting cedar from the ridge behind her workshop for years. The wood was perfect for her handcrafted rocking chairs, and the solitude of the forest was a...
Winter had wrapped the small town of Gray Hollow in a blanket of snow and silence, but the warmth inside the Kowalski house was a fortress against the cold. The...
I am not fluent in this tongue, so forgive the clumsiness. My name is Lena. I moved to this town three months ago, to a crumbling Victorian house that the...
Mara had always felt watched in the old farmhouse on Cedar Lane. It wasn’t just the creaking floorboards or the way the wind moaned through the eaves; it was the...
It was the summer of 2009, three years after my brother Derek had passed. I kept a journal of our earthly adventures, but this one was different. Derek had always...
When I was twenty-nine, I moved with my wife, Elena, and her mother, Marta, into a converted church in the small town of Millbrook, Saskatchewan. The building had been split...
It began on a Tuesday night, three weeks after I moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of the Morrow Valley. The house had been empty for years, and...
The day had been long, and the headache had settled in behind my eyes like a stubborn tenant. By the time the sun dipped below the neighbors’ roofline, I was...
After a tiring day, Elara went to her room early. Her head throbbed, and she needed rest. Outside her window, the old orchard stood dark and still. She often felt...
The bus groaned to a halt at the end of the lane, and I stepped out into the thick, humid air of late September. My head throbbed with a dull,...
The old farmhouse creaked under the weight of an oppressive February wind, a stark contrast to the usual hushed solitude of late winter. Elias, a student weary from an all-nighter...
I never believed in ghosts until I moved into the old Hargrove place on the edge of Hollow Creek. The town itself was a skeleton, its bones picked clean by...
The Carmody family had always been tight-lipped about the old hotel. Even before it burned down in ’74, my grandmother, Nana Rose, would only speak of it in hushed, reluctant...
The house on Maple Hollow Road was a sagging Victorian with a porch that groaned like a dying animal. My parents called it a fixer-upper; my seven-year-old self called it...
The old farmhouse on Mallow Road had a way of holding onto heat in the summer, but in the fall, it let go like a breath held too long. My...
My brother-in-law, Uncle Lance, and I have swapped odd stories for years, most of them the sort you’d shrug off after a beer. But the one I’m about to tell...
The first thing I noticed about the house on Birchwood Lane was how quiet it was. Not the eerie quiet of a forgotten place, but the heavy, comfortable quiet of...
In the small coastal town of Umiak, where winter swallowed the world in white for six months, I spent my childhood listening to my father’s stories. One tale, passed down...
I’ve always been drawn to the unexplained, ever since I was a kid. While other children hid under their blankets from the boogeyman, I’d shine a flashlight into the closet,...
The first time I felt it, I was nine, standing in the hallway of our tiny bungalow on Maple Street. The house was a squat brick box, pressed against a...
I was nineteen, fresh out of a revival meeting where I’d given my life to Christ, and I believed with all my heart that no demon could touch me. My...
The archive wing of the Longacre Historical Society had always been a liminal place. Dust motes danced in the narrow shafts of late-afternoon light, and the air carried the faint,...
Listening to the woods...
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