Ghost stories from Georgia

The Last Harvest

In the autumn of 1989, I buried my mother, and with her, the last thread of my sanity. The farm she left me, a decaying patch of land in the...

The Persistent Rhythm

It was the summer of 2019 when we moved into the old farmhouse on Cedar Lane, a fixer-upper with peeling paint and a wraparound porch that groaned in the wind....

The Frostbite Signal

January 1993. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes the air itself feel solid. My partner, Ray, and I had driven up from Richmond to hunt...

The Indented Cushion

I never felt at ease in my sister-in-law’s house, a sprawling Victorian relic on the outskirts of Millbrook. The air was always a few degrees colder than the rest of...

The Iron Threshold

I was twelve when the first crack appeared in my world, a hairline fracture that let in the cold breath of things that should not be. It happened in the...

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