Ghost stories from United States

The Riverside Mirror

The town of Ashford had always been quiet, nestled among the rustling cornfields and the slow, muddy river that cut through the county. I was seventeen when I moved there...

The Stained Glass Sentinel

My partner in these investigations, Marcus Webb, had always been a skeptic. He’d joke that our EVP sessions were just us recording the static of downtown Meridian on a Friday...

The Hollow Feast

The first time I saw Great-Aunt Marguerite, I was six years old, and we had driven eleven hours through a rain that never seemed to end. My mother had just...

The Concrete Ledger

The summer I turned eleven, the municipal pool in our town—a sprawling, blue-tiled basin that always smelled of chlorine and damp concrete—was my entire world. My parents would drop me...

The Weave of Static

I had been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the digital clock on the nightstand glowing 1:03 AM in accusatory red. My mind was a churning river...

The Cradle of Stone

The house sat at the end of a gravel road in the high desert of New Mexico, a crumbling adobe hacienda that had once been a way station for travelers...

The Clockwork Visitor

The summer I turned twelve, my family moved to a small town in the Midwest, a place of endless cornfields and quiet roads. My only friend was a girl named...

The Locked Window

Mara had been familiar with the tethered darkness of sleep paralysis since childhood. The familiar weight on her chest, the suffocating stillness, and the creeping certainty that something watched from...

The Lantern Keeper

In the autumn of 1997, I was living in a small coastal town in Maine, working as a night auditor at a rundown motel called The Gull’s Rest. The motel...

The Chartreuse Lantern

When I was six years old, my father was stationed at a remote research outpost in the high desert of Nevada. The base was a scattering of prefab buildings and...

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