The Face in the Lantern Light
The cobblestone streets of Savannah were slick with a recent rain, and the iron lampposts cast a sickly amber glow that seemed to stretch our shadows into long, grasping fingers....
The cobblestone streets of Savannah were slick with a recent rain, and the iron lampposts cast a sickly amber glow that seemed to stretch our shadows into long, grasping fingers....
My name is Adrian Cole, and I write about the dead. Not the famous dead, not the historical dead, but the ones who linger, the ones who refuse to finish...
Milo had always been a man of signs. When the fortune cookie at the Golden Dragon unfurled its cryptic message — ‘A long road lies ahead, yet you will arrive...
I had spent years chasing ghosts with a skeptic’s heart, visiting every famed haunted house from the whaling inns of New England to the moss-draped mansions of the Deep South....
I was eleven, maybe twelve, the summer we moved to my grandmother’s old house in the dusty outskirts of Marfa. The place was a relic, all creaking floorboards and peeling...
I’ve always prided myself on being a rational man. Ghosts, demons, cryptids—all of it was fodder for campfire tales and late-night talk radio. But life has a way of sewing...
I used to think the old lighthouse was just a landmark, a rusted skeleton on the cliff that tourists photographed and locals ignored. But after the storm season began, I...
At fifty-one, I’d finally found a place I could call my own—a modest bungalow on the outskirts of Ashford, Maine, where the pines pressed close and the roads turned to...
I was eleven, maybe twelve, when the house on Parchman Lane started to feel wrong. It wasn’t the peeling wallpaper or the draft that smelled of apples and rot. It...
In the autumn of 1987, the Finch house sat at the end of a gravel lane, its peeling white paint and sagging porch a testament to better days. Inside, the...
When I was nine, my mother’s new husband, Gerald, bought a decaying estate on the outskirts of Blackwood, a town known for its dying apple orchards and a history steeped...
In the autumn of 1987, my family moved into an old farmhouse on the edge of a sprawling soybean field, a place that had been vacant for years. The previous...
The first time I noticed the lamp, I was six. It stood in the corner of our parlor in the old Creighton house, a monstrosity of tarnished brass and a...
It wasn’t the crumbling facade of the old Mercy Falls Sanatorium that unsettled me; it was the silence around it. The building squatted on a hill above the town of...
On the last Saturday of August, through the heat-buckled back roads of rural Vermont, my family and I finally arrived at the site of the old Meridian Asylum. I’d begged...
The shift at the canning factory had been brutal, the kind that left your ears ringing and your hands smelling of brine and metal. I got home to my basement...
I remember the day we moved into the bottom unit of the old triplex on Mallow Street. The place had been vacant for months, and the landlord was desperate to...
My name is Lila, and I’m part of a small paranormal team called SERAPH (Supernatural Explorers and Researchers of Anomalous Phenomena). Our latest case brought us to the Aldermere Benevolent...
I was born in the flat, sun-scorched lands of eastern New Mexico, in a town so small it didn’t appear on most maps. The name I won’t give, because the...
The whir of the fluorescent light was the only sound in the sterile white room. I sat at a metal table, two chairs, no windows, just a door. I knew...
My grandmother’s farmhouse in rural Iowa had always creaked and groaned, but that night, every sound felt deliberate. I was there after my great-uncle Earl’s funeral, helping my mother sort...
I never believed in the quiet sort of haunting until I stayed at my great-aunt Miriam’s farmhouse that autumn. The house was a relic of another century, with wide plank...
The house on Maple Street was always just a house. A modest ranch with pale yellow siding and a porch that sagged slightly on the left, it was the kind...
I was six when the knocking started. Not on the front door, but on the wall beside my bed, three slow thumps that never came at the same time of...
Listening to the woods...
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