Ghost stories from California

The Cinder Path

The Cinder Path The apartment complex on Meridian Street was a squat, brown-brick thing that hunkered like a tired animal against the gray sky. I moved there in late autumn,...

The Grin in the Static

My name is Elias, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the strange and unexplained. I devour books on cryptids, ghost stories, and conspiracy theories....

The Painted Promise

The morning light through the kitchen window caught the dust motes floating in the air, and for a moment, Elara thought she saw her mother’s silhouette in the steam rising...

The Ivy-Choked Lantern

Before I get into this, you should know that weird things have always been a part of my life. I’m no psychic, but I’ve got what my grandmother called ‘the...

The Dirt Road Pact

It was late September, two years ago, when my sister Lena and I were given the chore that would haunt me forever. Our house sat at the end of a...

The Freezer Room

I had grown up moving from town to town, my mother chasing work and my father chasing anything that would keep the lights on, but we always landed in houses...

The Grateful Tenant

I’m writing this because I’ve found a lot of comfort in reading other people’s stories here, so I thought I’d share mine. We’ve been in this rental house for about...

The Coal Cellar

For as long as I could remember, the dead had a way of finding me. It wasn’t a gift I asked for, nor one I could return. I saw them...

The Mimic in the Static

The clock on my nightstand glowed 1:47 AM, and as usual, sleep was a distant country I couldn’t find a visa for. I’d been scrolling through playlists, trying to drown...

The Sweater on the Ridge

I never thought I’d write this down, but seven years can feel like seven seconds when a memory carries a chill that never thaws. It started on an ordinary Tuesday,...

The Drowning Game

My name is Leo, and I’m sixteen. I know what you’re thinking: another teenager on the internet spinning a tall tale. But I swear on my mother’s grave that everything...

The Marble Note

The summer I turned twelve, my grandmother passed away, and my family inherited her old farmhouse in the dusty hills of eastern Oregon. We went up the day after the...

The Hollow Welcome

I was thirteen when we moved into the old farmhouse on Larkspur Lane. Dad had inherited it from a great-uncle he’d never met, a man named Silas who’d lived there...

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