Ghost stories from Philippines

The Last Projection

It was during my sophomore year at Meridian State University, a sprawling campus built on the site of a former sanatorium. The architecture was all aged red brick and ivy,...

Read Story →

The Mask of Hollow Grins

In the autumn of 2007, my family moved into my late grandmother’s farmhouse, a sprawling two-story structure that creaked and groaned like an old ship. My mother, her two friends,...

Read Story →

In the salt-weathered town of Port Blaine, winter had emptied the streets. The university’s marine research station, a sprawling Victorian building overlooking the churning Atlantic, stood dark and silent, its...

Read Story →

The Girl in the Wall

The first time I noticed something odd was when my son, Milo, started setting two places at his tiny plastic table. He was four, with a mop of unruly curls...

Read Story →

The Locked Chalkboard

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the late monsoon rain hammered against the windows of St. Agnes Hall, an exclusive girls’ school tucked into the hills of Baguio. My name...

Read Story →

The Moonlit Visitor

In the heart of the Visayan islands, where the sea whispers against limestone cliffs and the jungle hums with unseen life, there is a small coastal town called Malipayon. It...

Read Story →

The Paprika Dress at the Landing

The first time I ate at Julian’s parents’ house, I remember thinking how the dining room felt like a stage. The table was set with china that had little blue...

Read Story →

The Choking Sound in the Willow

I had always loved the old willow that sprawled against my bedroom window. Its long, sweeping branches swayed gently in the breeze, filtering the morning light into a soft, green...

Read Story →

The Floor’s Cold Embrace

I remember the night it happened with a clarity that burns. We were on the floor, as usual, the thin mat barely a barrier against the cold that seeped up...

Read Story →

The Fading at Fernway Crossing

It was a sweltering July evening in 2007 when Mira and her aunt Luz returned from the mall. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a...

Read Story →

The Painted Door

I never believed in ghosts as a child. My father, a stern and practical man, would laugh at any mention of the supernatural, attributing it to overactive imaginations. But my...

Read Story →

The Glass-Eyed Mannequin

When I was six, my family moved to a sleepy town called Hollow Creek, where the only exciting thing was the abandoned department store on the edge of Main Street....

Read Story →

The Red Umbrella

The rain was coming down in sheets, drumming a frantic rhythm on the tin roofs of the shanties that lined the narrow alley. It was the last night of the...

Read Story →

The Third Track

The house on Maple Street had a peculiar history, but the Ashfords didn’t care about that when they moved in. They were drawn to the wrap-around porch and the ancient...

Read Story →

The Lantern in the Larch Grove

The air in the countryside on New Year’s Eve is supposed to be crisp and clean, but this year it felt thick as oil. I was with my three cousins—Mara,...

Read Story →

The Unfinished Birthday

In the autumn of 1996, with my immigration papers still tangled in red tape, I enrolled in a typing and word processing course at a small community college tucked away...

Read Story →

The Cinder Fields

I never told anyone about the counting. Every night, at 3:15 AM, I’d wake to a soft, rhythmic thump against the wall—one, two, three, pause, four, five, six—like a child...

Read Story →

The Painted Hall of the Seventh Lamp

The mountain road to Saint Aloysius Seminary was a scar in the jungle, a ribbon of red clay that clung to the cliffside, hemmed in by ferns and dripping moss....

Read Story →

The Clockwork Hummingbird

It had been six years since Elias passed, and I had finally started to breathe again. The nightmares had faded, the hollow ache in my chest had dulled to a...

Read Story →

The Clockwork Pestle

The autumn of 1995 pressed against the windows of the old Harbinger House, a sagging Victorian that had been carved into a boarding house for six university students. Each room...

Read Story →

The Fare on the Fernwood Grade

My father used to tell me about the night he nearly picked up a passenger on the Fernwood Grade. That’s a stretch of road that snakes down from the ridge...

Read Story →

The Petal Clock

In the autumn of 2007, I received a call from my friend Mira at 3:17 in the morning. Her voice was thin, like a wire about to snap. She spoke...

Read Story →

The Night the Motel Breathed

I never believed in hauntings, not really. Even after what happened in that cheap Arizona motel, I tried to rationalize it as a trick of the light, a half-remembered nightmare...

Read Story →

The Whistling Cistern

We called it the Whistling Cistern, not because of any musical sound, but because of the long, thin, high-pitched noise that seemed to seep from its metal skin when the...

Read Story →