Ghost stories from Philippines

The Static Hum

The summer of 2015 was the hottest in a decade, and my parents had decided to take a rare weekend trip to visit my aunt in the city, leaving me...

The Boundary Line

I was born in the clamor of the city, but my earliest memories are of the quiet hum of cicadas and the smell of wet earth after rain. My family...

The Kite String Knot

In the autumn of 2018, I was a junior at Meridian State, buried in textbooks and the sterile hum of the library. My cousin, Elena, was the one who called,...

The Hollow Floor

In the winter of 2021, I took a night-shift position at a sprawling data center on the outskirts of a small desert town. The facility, a monolithic concrete block, hummed...

The Umbrella’s Gaze

The afternoon sun cast long, distorted shadows across the gravel lot of the Miller Funeral Home, but the air was thick and still, as if the world itself held its...

The Mesh Between Yards

The summer I turned nine, the heat in our little town of Redwood Flats was a living thing. It pressed down on the rooftops, shimmered off the asphalt, and turned...

The Bamboo Veil

I never thought I’d share this, but I need to get it off my chest. My name is Mara, and I grew up in a small village surrounded by rice...

The Glass Reflection

It was a humid afternoon in late September when I took the five dogs out for their usual walk. The neighborhood was quiet, save for the distant hum of a...

The Field of Recurrence

The province had a way of erasing time. Months crawled through the rice paddies like molasses, and years could slip by without you noticing the seams. I was nineteen, or...

The Concrete Orchard

The summer we were nine, the world shrank to a single block of unfinished houses. Our street was a raw, red scar on the hillside, dotted with empty frames of...

The Interference

It was the last night of summer in 2019, and I was twenty-two, housesitting for my aunt in her old farmhouse outside of Marrow, Kansas. She was on a cruise...

The Unraveling Tapestry

The old house on Maple Street had a peculiar way of holding onto the afternoon light, filtering it through dusty windows into long, golden rectangles that stretched across the worn...

The Oakwood Reckoning

In the autumn of 1987, I was nine, living with my parents in a creaking Victorian house we’d rented in the small town of Birch Hollow. The house was named...

The Stuffed Visitor

The first time I felt that wrongness, that icy finger tracing my spine, I was four years old, living in a subdivision called Mapleshade. It was a safe place, a...

The Doorway in Room 7

In the autumn of 2012, I was in the sixth grade at Pine Hollow Elementary, a school that was a maze of old, interconnected buildings. The arts block was the...

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