Ghost stories from Canada

The Latch on the Cedar Door

I was eight when we moved to the old Kessler house on the edge of Hemlock Grove, a town that seemed to exist only in the shadow of its own...

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The Constant Playmate

The old farmhouse had stood for over a century, its weathered boards groaning with the weight of countless generations. When my great-grandfather Elias passed in the bleak January, we inherited...

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The Last Compass

My grandfather, Edwin, was a quiet man with a loud laugh that could fill a room. We were inseparable when I was a boy. Every summer, we’d set off on...

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The Lantern’s Reach

The summer my parents rented the farmhouse on the edge of the Thistlewood, they thought they’d found paradise. Sixteen acres of wild grasses, a sagging barn, and a promise of...

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The Caterwaul of the Drowned Bell

The Venner house was a toothless grin on the edge of town, its windows blank and staring over the salt marshes. My great-great-grandfather, Elias, built it from shipwreck timber and...

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The Static Garden

Mara Delgado had always felt a pull toward the unexplained. As a child, she’d spend hours in her grandmother’s dusty attic, listening to tales of spirits that lingered in mirrors...

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The Sixth Seat

My grandmother used to say that some people carry their own weather. I never understood what she meant until I turned eleven and realized that the sun never seemed to...

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The Salt Flats Incident

My name is Cora, and I live in a small, weathered house at the edge of the Bonneville Salt Flats. My only companion is my dog, a wiry terrier named...

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The Map of Unmarked Graves

When I was eleven, my family moved to the small town of Ashford, and I was enrolled in St. Aidan’s, a school that had once been a sanitarium. The building...

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The Scent of Thaw

The basement apartment in the old carriage house had a peculiar charm—brick walls, a fireplace that didn’t work, and a constant, bone-deep chill that no amount of insulation could cure....

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The Luminous Visitors

After my father’s footsteps faded up the stairs, the house settled into a silence that felt heavier than usual. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to...

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The Hollow Visitor

My name is Ellen Marsh, and I’ve never been one for the unexplained. I worked as a paramedic for over a decade, saw death in its ugliest forms, and always...

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The Chalk Dust Manifestation

I had been living in the old Victorian house on Maple Street for about a year before I understood its true nature. The previous tenants, a reclusive artist and his...

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The Iron Cradle

The town of Gray Hollow had always been a place where time seemed to move slower, as if the clapboard houses and the single winding road were stuck in a...

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The Case of the Missing Things

Lately, a strange pattern has emerged in my apartment. Objects I use every day have started to vanish. I go to sleep certain of where I placed an item, only...

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I approached it, and the sound stopped

I grew up in Thunder Bay, Ontario, a city carved from the Canadian Shield, where the boreal forest meets the cold gray waters of Lake Superior. Most people know the...

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The Last Keeper

The autumn before I turned ten, the old mill pond behind our farm began to change. It had always been a murky, weedy thing, but that year the water turned...

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The Hungry Pocket

The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the usual hum of the apartment at night—the fridge kicking in, the faint hiss of the radiator—but a deep, breathing quiet....

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The Hollow Cradle

The last Wednesday of April, 2008, is seared into my memory like a brand. My girlfriend, Lina, shared a sprawling Victorian house with her best friend, Priya, who owned the...

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The Stitched Fox

The day we pulled up to the old Harlow farmhouse, I knew something was off. The house itself was a sprawling Victorian relic, its once-proud gables now sagging like a...

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The Weight of the Wool

My grandmother’s house stood at the edge of the pine barrens, a sprawling Victorian that had swallowed three generations. I was six when I first noticed the wrongness in the...

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The Mannequin in the Rain

I had been living in the converted lighthouse for three years, ever since I inherited it from an uncle I barely knew. It stood on a rocky outcrop, isolated from...

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The Basement’s Quiet Tenant

That summer, I spent most of my time at my friend Devon’s place. It was a big old Victorian house on the edge of a town that had seen better...

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The Porcelain Tulip

The rental car smelled of stale coffee and the previous driver’s desperation. I knew the trip was a mistake as soon as the headlights cut through the prairie dark, but...

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