Ghost stories from Florida

The Cardinal’s Favor

The idea came to me not from a rebellious idol, but from an ancestor—my great-great-grandmother, whose portrait in our inherited farmhouse always seemed to watch me with a knowing glint....

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The Hum of the Broken Fan

The apartment on Meridian Avenue had always been a quiet haven for me. At twenty-six, I had grown accustomed to solitude, the kind that settles into your bones and makes...

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The Seamstress of the Velvet Room

When I took the job as costume manager at the Orpheum, a crumbling Victorian theater tucked behind a row of shuttered shops, I thought I knew what I was getting...

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The Man in the Raincoat

The first time I saw him, I thought he was just another neighbor I hadn’t met yet. It was a Tuesday, the end of October, and I was waiting for...

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The Floorboard That Remembered

When we bought the old farmhouse outside of Hollow Creek, the price was too good to be true. The previous owner, a retired botanist named Elias Thorne, had died of...

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The Ceiling Watcher

When my nephew Theo turned three, he started talking about the man on the ceiling. Not in a playful, imaginary way, but with a stillness that made the hairs on...

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The Fridge Light

I was twelve when we moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of the marsh. My parents thought it was charming, with its peeling paint and crooked porch, but...

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The Man in the Rain-Soaked Trench Coat

I’ve never been one to dismiss the inexplicable, not after what happened the year I turned sixteen, in the autumn we moved to the old farmhouse on the edge of...

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The Last Ferry

When I was sixteen, my aunt Miriam passed away. It wasn’t a shock—she’d been ill for years—but it still felt like losing a lighthouse in a storm. She and my...

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The Constant Guest

The old farmhouse at the edge of Morrow Hollow had never felt like mine. I’d moved in after my aunt passed, mostly to escape the city, but also because the...

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The Cinder Veil

In the autumn of 2019, I moved into a derelict farmhouse on the outskirts of a town that had long since forgotten its name. The property came with a gravel...

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The Dollie’s Invitation

I had drifted off on the lumpy couch in the den, the blue glow of the late-night movie still flickering on the screen. My new apartment was a shoebox, but...

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The Meridian Swing

I was eight, and the summer solstice had baked the blacktop of Oak Hollow Elementary into a sticky tar that grabbed at my sneakers. The bell had rung for afternoon...

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The Rhythm of the Rotting Floorboards

I’m writing this from a rented cabin in the Appalachian foothills, a place I chose for its isolation and its lack of internet. I needed quiet to finally write it...

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The Clockwork Hum

The first thing I noticed about the house on Maple Street was the clock in the hallway. It was a massive, ornate thing, with a pendulum that swung with a...

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The Cereal Smile

The night of May 2nd, 2008, started like any other in the dusty town of Pemberton. My friends and I, fresh out of high school, had spent the evening in...

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The Cyan Feather Oath

The morning I brought Pippin home, the fog was so thick that the pier lights bled into the sky like bruises. I’d driven forty minutes to a damp little shop...

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The Frequency of Glass

The house on Mallow Street had a particular smell, like old paper and cold ashes, but Lena had grown accustomed to it. She’d moved in three months ago, after her...

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The Glass Door Listener

In the winter of 2011, my cousin Emily moved into a brand-new subdivision on the outskirts of Boulder, Colorado. The houses were identical, all pale siding and rectangular windows, and...

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The Glass Apiary

The summer I turned ten, my family moved into a house on the outskirts of a town called Millbrook, nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians. The house was a...

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Grandfather Says Goodbye

I was 12 when my grandfather passed away. For the next few months, me and my brother and sister would stay over with my grandmother once a week to keep...

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The Crooked Music Box

My name is Elena, and I am twenty-two. I’ve been seeing things since I was a child—shadows that don’t belong, whispers that only I hear—but nothing prepared me for the...

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The Third Corner

I’d always thought of my apartment as a place of stillness, a quiet haven on the fourth floor of an old building that creaked only when the wind blew hard....

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The Foot of the Bed

I never believed in ghosts, not really. Not until the summer of 2004, when I was twenty-six and staying at my Aunt Ruth’s farmhouse in the rolling hills of eastern...

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