Ghost stories from Colorado

The Ceramic Tulips

After my grandfather passed, I inherited his old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, a place I hadn’t visited since I was a kid. My friend Leo, a skeptic with...

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The Chill in the Chlorine

The summer I turned sixteen, I spent every day at the municipal pool. It was a sprawling complex of concrete and turquoise tiles, tucked behind the old high school, and...

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The Phosphor Vein

The house on Marrow Lane was my eleventh birthday gift, a rambling Victorian with a swollen porch and windows like bruised eyes. My father, an academic who studied the archaeology...

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The Map’s Grey Passenger

The afternoon sun was weak, a pale disc behind the haze that hung over the industrial district. I had been searching the satellite images of my new neighborhood, not for...

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The Left Ear’s Visitor

My mother, Elena, has always been a rock. She never flinched at spiders, never cried at funerals, and could stare down a drunk at a bar without blinking. So when...

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The Hollow Roots of Redwood Court

In the summer before our final year of middle school, my best friend Maya and I spent countless hours trading tales of the macabre. Our suburb of Cedar Crest was...

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The Ceiling’s Promise

Mira had never believed in the old house’s stories. The creaking floorboards, the drafty corners, the way the wallpaper peeled like dead skin—it was all just age, she told herself....

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The Glitch in the Grain

The first time I noticed something was off was with the bread. I had just moved into my grandmother’s old farmhouse, a sprawling Victorian relic with peeling wallpaper and a...

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The Persistence of Static

My name is Elias Thorne, and for thirty years I have kept silent about what happened in the house on Bramblewick Lane. My family thought I was hysterical, my friends...

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The Painted Oak

The July sun had baked the yard into a pale, brittle carpet, and my arms were already slick with sweat as I dragged the garden hose across the lawn. The...

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The Static Hour

My name is Mira, and this is what I know to be true, though no one will believe me. Three months ago, I moved into a rundown apartment above a...

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The Cue Ball Rattle

It was the summer after junior year, and Marisol’s birthday party was in full swing at her cousin’s lake house. The place was a sprawling A-frame with a screened-in porch...

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The Winter Hand

Mara lived in a small, isolated cabin at the edge of the Bitterroot Forest, where the snow fell from October to May. She had moved there to escape the noise...

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The Basement of Beulah Road

Beulah Road in Crayne was the place to be on Halloween night. Everyone from the county would drive up and down the stretch, honking, scaring each other, then head home...

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The Cartographer’s Debt

It was the summer I turned twenty-six, and I’d agreed to spend it with my best friend Elena at her cabin outside a town called Grayrock, Colorado. The mountains there...

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The Chalkboard Equation

I’ve lived in the old Merriweather house for eleven years, ever since my wife left and I needed a cheap place to hole up and write my thesis. The house...

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The Unwanted House Guests

For twelve years, this house has been my shelter, but also my prison. I have tried every method I know to coexist with the presences that share these walls, yet...

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The Constant Wringing

I’ve always prided myself on being a lighthouse of logic in a storm of superstition. But that was before the incident at the Marrows, before I learned that some things...

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The Old House on Maple Lane

I spend most of my time in a small city apartment with my father. It feels safe and cozy. But on weekends, I stay at the old house on Maple...

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The Flickering Hallway

I only ever visited the old farmhouse on weekends. During the week, I lived with my mom in a cramped city apartment, where the walls were thin and every sound...

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A Day of Strange Dreams

It had been a while since I shared anything here. Life felt uneventful until today, when everything changed. Just yesterday at school, I’d barely slept. Noises had kept me up,...

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The Hollow Bell

Marta hadn’t slept properly in three days. It wasn’t the usual insomnia, the kind you can blame on too much coffee or a racing mind. This was different. It started...

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The Cradle of Ash

The summer heat clung to the cracked vinyl seats of the old Ford as we rolled through the Badlands, the landscape shifting from the flat, dusty plains of the reservation...

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The Haunting of Maple Lane

The summer of my sixteenth year was one I would never forget. After a heated discussion with my father about my curfew, I stormed to my room and slammed the...

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