Ghost stories from Georgia

The Salt in the Walls

Lena pressed her back against the cold bedroom door, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The shouting had finally stopped, but the silence that followed was worse—it hung in the...

The Frame’s Grudge

The day we moved into the Henderson house, I knew something was off. Not the creaking floorboards or the drafty windows, but the massive portrait in the hallway—a stern-faced woman...

The Cold Ladder

It began three weeks after we moved into the creaking farmhouse on Hemlock Lane. The place had a sour smell, like old cooking grease and decay, and every room seemed...

The Static Visitor

I’ve never told anyone about the man in the static, because who would believe me? They’d say it was sleep paralysis, a trick of the mind, a night terror. But...

The Marble Kite

The day I buried my friend’s spectacles under the old oak in Morningside Park, I thought I was done with the impossible. For three months after Theo’s death, the world...

The Catawba Switch

I grew up in the low country of South Carolina, where Spanish moss drips from live oaks like frayed nooses and the marsh fog creeps in with the tide. My...

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