Ghost stories from United Kingdom

The Puddling

It was the kind of heat that made the air feel thick, like breathing through a wool blanket. I’d lain in bed for nearly an hour, my skin prickling with...

The Clockwork Heart

The old house on Thornwood Lane had always felt like it was breathing. I’d grown up with its creaks and groans, the way the floorboards would settle at night like...

Knock Knock

This happened to me Saturday just gone, 2nd August 2008. My partner has been away for a week and my youngest has gone to his grand parents for the summer...

The Weeping Machine

In the summer of 2005, I was a fourteen-year-old with an unhealthy obsession with the paranormal. My older brother, Marcus, who was sixteen at the time, shared my fascination. We...

The Bindlestaff Ledger

In the autumn of 2019, I was in the smoky hills of Ashford, Maine, for a graduate fieldwork project on rural folklore. My classmates, Derek and Maya, had joined me,...

The Vermilion Door

The house on Marshwood Lane was a sprawling Victorian, a labyrinth of odd angles and creaking floorboards. We bought it for a song, lured by the promise of space and...

The Pink Effigy

In late June, I was biking home from my summer job at the library, taking the shortcut through the outskirts of town. To get to the main road, you have...

The Hollow in the Wall

I have never been certain whether what I experienced were genuine paranormal intrusions or merely extraordinarily vivid nightmares. The line between the two has blurred so thoroughly that I can...

The Lantern in the Attic

My grandmother, Elara, passed away in the autumn of 1998, and I, a lonely teenager, had found in her the only kindred spirit in our small, practical family. She spoke...

The Blue-Gray Man

Maya had always prided herself on being a light sleeper. It was a trait she’d inherited from her mother, who claimed it was a sixth sense, a way of staying...

The Sickle of June

The first time I heard the humming, I thought it was the radiator. A low, vibrating note that swelled and faded, almost like a lullaby. But it was too melodic,...

The Candle’s Revenge

Marina had always felt that the old farmhouse on Mulberry Lane was watching her. It was a sprawling Victorian relic, half-swallowed by ivy, with a wraparound porch that groaned underfoot...

The Folded Bench

In the heart of the city, there stands a building called the Marlowe, a senior living residence that from the outside looks like a grand old hotel. Inside, it’s a...

The Carved Gift

When my mother, Claire, inherited the wooden box from her Aunt Margriet, she didn’t think much of it. Margriet had been a distant relative, a former nurse who had lived...

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