Ghost stories from Canada

The Salted Root

The summer I turned sixteen, my friends and I started calling ourselves the Boundary Boys, after the old county line that ran along the ridge behind town. We’d grown up...

The Cinder Scent

Ten years have passed since we traded the rain-soaked coasts of British Columbia for the dry, endless prairies of Saskatchewan. My parents had gone ahead, a month before my sister...

The Cinder Man

Our new home was a hulking Victorian relic on the outskirts of a town that had long forgotten why it was built. My mother’s boyfriend, Carl, had inherited it from...

The Stray Signal

Mara had always been a light sleeper, but the incident at her cousin’s cabin had changed that. She was sixteen, visiting the remote A-frame nestled in the pine woods of...

The Bell Tower’s Debt

The summer I turned fourteen, my family moved to the dusty, forgotten town of Kettlebrook. The house we rented was a narrow, two-story Victorian with peeling paint and a porch...

The Weeping Juniper

My name is Lena, and I have always been skeptical of the supernatural, despite my grandmother’s tales of the old country. But what happened last autumn in our newly purchased...

The Umber Beast

I never thought I’d be writing this down, but after reading so many accounts on this site, I’ve realized that my own experience is worth sharing. It happened when I...

The Salt Line

I was fifteen when my mother and I moved to the old farmhouse at the edge of Morrow—a town so small it didn’t even have a stoplight. The house had...

The Marble Game

I was six the summer we moved to the house with the cracked foundation and the oak tree that scraped against my bedroom window like a fingernail on slate. The...

The Cloth Press

The autumn after my grandmother passed, I inherited her old sewing room—a cramped, dust-scented space at the back of my apartment that I’d never bothered to use. I had no...

The Hollow Tapestry

Mara had always prided herself on being a light sleeper. The slightest creak of the floorboards in their century-old farmhouse would rouse her, a habit born from years of tending...

The Temperature Drop

My name is Elena, and this happened just last night. I’m still trembling as I write this, hoping someone out there can make sense of it. My partner, Marcus, and...

The Stillness at the Landing

Growing up in the hollow, I always had a strange affinity for the macabre. My grandmother’s farmhouse, with its creaking bones and peeling wallpaper, was a treasure trove of ghost...

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