Ghost stories from New Zealand

The Kneland Prayer

The house on Kneland Avenue was a mistake from the first day we moved in. My parents saw ‘character’ in its crooked porch and overgrown garden, but I saw a...

The Brake Van of Remembrance

Marta’s husband, Erik, had flown to Oslo to be with his ailing mother, leaving her alone in their ground-floor apartment in the converted railway station of Blackwood Junction. Her younger...

The Second Visit

It had been nearly four months since I first saw the crawling girl. I had almost convinced myself she was a product of a sleepless night, a trick of the...

The Hollow Face

My first memory is not of a lullaby, but of a hollow stare. It was born in the crooked silence of our rented house on Thornwood Lane, a sprawling Victorian...

The Cold Spot in Ward 3

It happened three winters ago, when I was working the night shift at St. Agnes Hospital, a crumbling relic of a building that had been scheduled for demolition for years....

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