Ghost stories from Alaska

The Lake Below the Old Bridge

Last autumn, I found myself with nothing to do. All my cousins were away, and the house was too quiet. To pass the time, I took my skateboard to the...

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The Lantern-Eyed Stray

Three months before my fifteenth birthday, I woke to a pressure on my chest, as if something heavy and cold had settled there. My room, a converted attic in my...

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The Wall-Face

The summer I turned fourteen, my family moved into a sprawling Victorian that had been abandoned for nearly a decade on the outskirts of a town called Greyhollow. The locals...

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The Salted Earth

I’ve always been a collector of small signs, the body’s quiet warnings that the universe is about to tip. It’s not prophecy, not some mystic gift—just a deep, physical certainty...

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The Carpet’s Memory

The end of June, 2015, and my marriage had dissolved like sugar in rain. I found myself in a claustrophobic studio in the basement of a converted warehouse in the...

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The Pale Visitor

When I first moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of the Blackwood, I thought the creaks and groans were just the house settling. I’m a practical man, a...

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The Compass of Flesh

My name is Elara Vance, and I am nineteen years old. Before I tell you what happened, you need to understand what I am. Since I could talk, I’ve seen...

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The Garden’s Debt

It was a Tuesday night, a little past midnight, when the clock in the hallway stopped. Not the battery kind—the old grandfather clock I’d inherited from my uncle, with its...

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The Fourth Passenger

In the autumn of 1975, my mother, Eleanor, often spoke of her first months in the remote town of Larkspur, where my father, a geologist, had been assigned to survey...

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The Moonlit Path

Winter in the Yukon is a long, silent beast. It smothers the land in white, and for months, the sun barely climbs above the horizon, casting a perpetual twilight. My...

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The Night the Floorboards Remembered

I was nine the summer we moved into the house on Juniper Lane, a place my parents called ‘a fixer-upper with character.’ The character, I soon learned, was a sound....

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The Weeping Well of Morrow Hill

Marlow had always prided herself on her rationality, a trait that made her the steady anchor in her chaotic family. When her younger brother, Ethan, first mentioned the flickering shadows...

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The Stairwell at Copper Creek

Five years ago, when I was twelve, my family moved to a small town called Copper Creek, nestled in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. My dad was a forest...

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The Frozen Star of Kivalina

The day I inherited a pair of star-shaped earrings was the day the frost began to follow me. My cousin, Lena, had died in a truck crash on an icy...

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The Lantern in the Hall

Three autumns ago, when I was eleven, my family moved into a sprawling ranch house on the edge of a town called Stillwater. It had long, empty corridors and a...

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The Porcelain Garden

My old friend Marcus and I were inseparable back in the day. We’d spend hours crafting elaborate tales of knights and dragons in the woods behind his apartment complex, our...

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The Ledger of Unfinished Hours

I never thought I would be writing this, not even in the dark hours when the clock on my desk glows like a single yellow eye. My name is Elias,...

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The Last Page

My grandmother kept a private library in the attic of her old house, a cramped space with a slanted ceiling and a single window that looked out onto the cedar...

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The Terminal Chime

The first time the phone buzzed with that particular tone, I nearly dropped my spatula into the sizzling pan. It wasn’t the usual text alert—it was a low, guttural hum...

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The Frosted Mirror

Mara stood at the kitchen window, watching the snow fall in thick, silent flakes. Her cabin sat alone at the edge of the Boreal Forest, a two-hour drive from the...

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The Locker Room and the Pines

I never believed in ghosts—not really. I thought my imagination was just too vivid, especially after lights out. But three years ago, I moved into this house, and it changed...

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The Corner That Ate the Light

It wasn’t long after I started telling people that the old lighthouse keeper’s cottage was haunted that the trouble really began. Ever since we converted the old generator shed into...

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The Concrete Choir

In the autumn of my ninth year, our class was moved to the old annex—a squat, brutalist block of raw concrete that seemed to swallow the weak afternoon light. There...

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The Static in the Ledger

The chalk dust drifted in the stale air, catching the single cone of light from the projector like a miniature snowstorm. Mrs. Voss was droning about quadratic equations, her pointer...

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