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...
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...
Two summers ago, my friend Mara and her family moved into the old Wainwright estate on the edge of Cedar Hollow. It was a sprawling Victorian monstrosity, all gables and...
My name is Elias, and I’ve spent most of my life trying to convince myself that the things I saw as a child were just nightmares, products of an overactive...
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;...
I have kept this account buried for thirty years, and only now do I dare commit it to paper. I was not a believer then, and I am not a...
The move had been a mistake, I realized that now. My new apartment in the city was supposed to be a fresh start, a place where the shadows from my...
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 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...
I never thought much about the loading dock behind Fenwick’s Market until the day they hauled away the compactor. It was the last week of July, and the heat had...
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 summer of 2008 was the hottest on record in our small valley town, and the air in our old two-story farmhouse hung thick and stale, even at seven in...
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...
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,...
Mara had always been attuned to the hum of the world, the faint electrical pulse beneath the surface of things. Growing up in a lighthouse on the jagged Oregon coast,...
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...
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...
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...
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 autumn air had a bite to it, the kind that promised early frost, and our family had decided to celebrate my cousin’s twelfth birthday at the Old Granary, a...
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 summer I turned twelve, we moved to a house on the edge of a town called Marrow’s End, a place where the sun set behind a skeletal forest and...
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...
Our family moved to a small town in the middle of nowhere, into a house that was practically brand new. The walls were still the color of fresh plaster, and...
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’...
Listening to the woods...
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