The Clock in the Dark
The house on Mango Street was a colonial relic, all creaking wood and dusty corners, and it had been in our family for generations. My parents had moved us there...
The house on Mango Street was a colonial relic, all creaking wood and dusty corners, and it had been in our family for generations. My parents had moved us there...
In the sweltering summer of 1998, I was staying at my grandfather’s farmhouse in the remote countryside of New Mexico. The old adobe structure had been in our family for...
I was eleven when my family moved to the town of Merrow, a place where the humidity clung to you like a second skin and the moss crept over every...
I never believed in the supernatural, not really. But there are things that happen in the quiet hours that defy logic, and I’ve learned to accept that some mysteries are...
It began three weeks after I moved into the old Marrow House, a creaking relic at the end of Cedar Lane. The previous tenant had left in a hurry, and...
In the autumn of 2009, I was a graduate student living in a decaying Victorian house on the outskirts of a small, rain-soaked town in the Pacific Northwest. My only...
The day after the festival, the air in my grandmother’s village still smelled of burnt sugar and marigolds. I had come to help with the harvest, but the real reason...
The afternoon sun hung heavy over the town of San Isidro, a sleepy municipality where the heat shimmered on the asphalt and the only sound was the drone of cicadas....
I was eight when we moved to my grandmother’s old house in the countryside, a sprawling structure with creaking floorboards and a cellar that smelled of damp earth. My cousin...
Our ancestral house is located in Malolos, Bulacan. It is the seat of the first congress of the Philippine Revolutionary Government of Gen. Aguinaldo during the revolution against the Spanish...
The winter of 1987 was unusually bitter, and the inheritance of my great-aunt’s cottage in the remote village of Blackwood Fen felt less like a holiday and more like a...
In the cold October of 2014, I visited my partner Daniel’s family in the outskirts of a small town called Millbrook. We arrived at his mother’s house just after dusk,...
I had never been particularly sensitive to the supernatural. Growing up, I was the one who slept with the lights off and never felt a chill run down my spine....
The first time I felt it, I was eight, sleeping beside my mother in our cramped one-room apartment on the third floor of a building that smelled of boiling cabbage...
In the autumn of 2018, I worked at the Marlow County Records Office, a place of dust and dead paper. One of our archivists, a kind woman named Janet Harker,...
I am twenty-six now, and I’ve long stopped calling myself sensitive to the unseen. But the older I get, the more the world seems to press in with its silent,...
As I sorted through my belongings, my roommate Mia walked in. We had shared the same apartment for three years, attending different colleges. Mia was usually cheerful, but today she...
I was folding my last shirt into the suitcase when my flatmate, Mira, walked in. We were both graduate students at different universities, but we had shared this cramped two-bedroom...
I was folding my laundry, the familiar hum of the dorm’s ancient radiator a constant companion, when my roommate, Lena, slipped in. We’d shared this cramped room for three years,...
It was a Thursday in late October, and the air in the cafeteria tasted of sour milk and desperation. My best friend, Mira, and I were in the middle of...
In the humid afternoons of my childhood in Cebu, the old school building stood like a weary beast under the tin roof. It had been a maternity ward during the...
The old van sputtered to a halt outside the dilapidated manor, its headlights cutting weak swathes through the encroaching twilight. Rain, cold and relentless, slicked the crumbling drive. Inside, Anya...
The old mill house sat at the edge of the village of Greybrook, its timber frame leaning like a tired grandmother. We were seven students from the city, sent to...
The island of Siquijor had always been a place of whispers, but not the kind that came from the wind. It was a place where the old gods still lingered,...
Listening to the woods...
🕯 Log in to view your wish history and Willow's responses.
LOG IN TO THE WOODS