Ghost stories from Canada

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...

The Understudy of Room 14B

Ever since I could remember, I’ve been obsessed with the paranormal. Ghost stories, EVP recordings, blurry photographs—I devoured them all. But my interest wasn’t born from a love of fear;...

The Melted Circuit

I remember the night it started: a Tuesday, the air thick with the promise of rain, and the low hum of the old computer in the corner of my studio...

The Click of the Toggle

The first time I noticed the lights, I thought it was the wiring in the old lighthouse keeper’s cottage. We’d moved there that summer, my father having inherited it from...

The Aisle of Static

The first time I saw her, I was six, standing in the checkout line at the old Shopwell grocery, the one with the flickering fluorescent lights and the smell of...

The Draft Beneath the Stairs

Three months after my grandmother Elspeth died, the house on Crane Hill began to breathe. It wasn’t the usual creaks of an old structure settling, but something deliberate—a slow, rhythmic...

The Amber Pendant

It was a humid July evening when my friends and I decided to visit the newly consecrated shrine of the goddess Kali in the outskirts of our city. The shrine,...

The Hollow Tap

The summer I turned eight, my parents packed me off to my Aunt Marlene’s farmhouse while they took a belated honeymoon to the coast. The farmhouse sat at the end...

The Brass Oil Lamp

My name is Anjali, and I was born in a small village in Tamil Nadu, but I’ve spent most of my life in Toronto. I consider myself spiritual, though I...

The White Veil

In the small town of Ashford, nestled between rolling hills and a dense pine forest, there was a place the locals called the Hollow. It was an old, forgotten cemetery...

The Rooftop Gardener

I never believed in the supernatural until the night I found the thimble. It was a small, rusted thing, lying on the windowsill of my third-floor apartment, as if placed...

The Weeping Moth

The summer I turned thirteen, my parents sent me to stay with my great-aunt Miriam in the town of Cinderwood. It was a place of rusted mailboxes and weather-worn clapboard...

The Wardrobe’s Gaze

Maya had always been attuned to the subtle shifts in the atmosphere of her home. Since she moved into the old farmhouse on Cedar Lane, a year before her daughter...

The Coal Room

The house on Meridian Lane was a mistake from the first key turn. My parents, Lena and Marcus, had fallen for the honeyed words of a realtor who promised ‘character’...

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