Ghost stories from Canada

The Cobalt Ledger

My first encounter with the impossible happened when I was six, in the dusty attic of our farmhouse in the high desert of New Mexico. I was playing with a...

The Nightstand’s Rhythm

Three years after the hurricane tore through the Yucatán, the Azul Celeste resort rose from the rubble like a bleached skeleton. My husband, Leo, our daughter, Maya, and his teenage...

The Kitchen Light

I’ve always been drawn to the unexplained, devouring every forum post and grainy video I could find, but I never thought I’d have my own story to tell. My friends...

The Persistence of Static

The first time Sarah noticed it, she blamed the building. The Westbrook Apartments were old, with crumbly brick and windows that rattled in the wind. She’d just moved from a...

The Salt Line

My name is Mara, and I’m not asking you to believe me. I just need to say it, to get it out of my head where it rattles around like...

The Rot Between Pines

In the summer of 2011, my mother, my younger brother, and I drove through the backwoods of northern Minnesota, seeking free campsites. We had wonderful luck that week, finding hidden...

The Stairwell’s Toll

In the autumn of 2008, I acquired a modest two-story house in the town of Millbrook, a place where the leaves turned crimson and the streets were lined with aging...

The Rusty Bell

In the autumn of 2011, I was cutting through the empty lot behind the old Meridian Foundry to reach my buddy’s place. The foundry had been closed for a decade,...

The Corner Listener

The house on Hemlock Lane had never felt like ours, not really. It was a rental, a three-story Victorian that had stood since the 1890s, with peeling wallpaper and floorboards...

The Orange Tape

I’d been reading the forums for weeks, always meaning to contribute, but something always stopped me—work, life, or just the creeping dread that maybe my story wouldn’t be believed. But...

The Moonlit Visitor

It was the summer I turned seventeen, staying with my grandparents in their old farmhouse while my parents were overseas. The house had stood for over a century, its timber...

The Room Below the Stairs

When Elise and her husband, Marcus, moved into the old farmhouse on the outskirts of Ravenwood, they thought they’d found a steal. The rent was a fraction of what they’d...

The Cartographer’s Stain

My grandmother, Elara, was a mapmaker. Not the kind who charts coastlines and mountain passes, but the kind who traces the patterns of old roads, forgotten ley lines, and the...

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