Ghost stories from United Kingdom

The Midnight Modem

The morning of March 4th, 2023, was wrong from the start. I woke at 4:47 AM, a full three hours before my alarm. The clock blinked accusingly in the dark....

The Constant Hum

Ever since my brother Daniel passed, the house on Maple Street has felt wrong. It’s not the creaking floorboards or the drafts that worry me; it’s the silence that isn’t...

The Stairwell’s Ledger

The old Victorian house on Cedar Lane had always creaked at night, but for the past three weeks, the sounds had become more deliberate. Every time I passed the stairwell,...

The Window Nod

On the last night of January, the old farmhouse creaked like a ship in a storm, though the air outside was still. Marta had just settled into the back bedroom,...

The Old Man

This is my first experience and my first story so it might not be as good as some. I am very scared of ghosts and have never thought they were...

The Lantern’s Reply

Mara Voss had spent twelve years coaxing the dead to speak. Her agency, ‘Threshold Audio’, specialized in EVP sessions for the grieving, and she had grown numb to the static...

The Hollow Stairwell

My name is Elias, and for most of my life, I’ve kept what I’ve seen locked away. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust anyone; it was that I didn’t know...

The Wet Halo

The bedroom was a tomb of dampness. Rain hammered against the cheap plastic sheeting I’d taped over the broken window, a frantic drumming that matched the throbbing in my temples....

The Hollow Step

The house on Marrow Lane had always been a little too quiet, even for a converted Victorian vicarage. Elias had moved in three months ago, after his aunt passed, and...

The Last Comb

I’m a data entry clerk, thirty-two, and I live in a converted lighthouse on a rocky headland that juts into the North Sea. The nearest village is a twenty-minute drive...

The Hollow Mannequin

Mara had always been a light sleeper, but the past three nights had been torture. Each night, at precisely 2:00 AM, the grandfather clock in the hall would chime, and...

The Morning Ritual

My name is Clara, and I’m twenty-two. I’ve been reading this forum for years, but I’ve never posted until now. I need to share what happened in my aunt’s house,...

The Curtain Twitch

It began, as these things often do, with a dream that felt less like a dream and more like a memory being stitched together from the wrong cloth. I woke...

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