Ghost stories from Illinois

The Backyard Chant

Our house sat on the edge of a sprawling pine forest, and the family room, a recent addition, jutted out toward the darkness like a wooden finger. We had moved...

The kettle’s Grudge

Our little apartment above the old laundromat had never felt particularly haunted. It was a cramped, sun-starved box with peeling linoleum and a radiator that clanked like a dying man’s...

The Mudborn Toll

The day my sister insisted on dragging me to the old chapel ruins in the swamp, the sky was the color of a bruise. It was November 2019, three days...

The Chapel Bell Toll

The autumn of 2015 found me, Marcus, a collector of urban legends, driving through the rust-belt outskirts of Millbrook with my girlfriend, Elena. We were headed to the abandoned St....

The Great, Empty Rooms

The house in Mercer, a town that boasted exactly one blinking traffic light and a grain elevator that smelled of old dust, had been my husband’s bachelor project. He’d bought...

The Chartreuse Lantern

When I was six years old, my father was stationed at a remote research outpost in the high desert of Nevada. The base was a scattering of prefab buildings and...

The Pawnshop Television

The house at 13 Carrowmore Lane had always felt watchful, but never outright hostile—until the morning the television in my son’s room switched itself on. I was in the living...

The Keeper of Order

When I moved into the house on Mulberry Lane, I thought I was escaping the weight of grief. My husband, Arthur, had passed in the spring, and the old Victorian...

The Third Invitation

Mara lived alone in a studio apartment on the fourth floor of an old building that smelled of dust and slow decay. The unit had one window, facing a brick...

The Room Behind the Wall

The summer I turned fifteen, my best friend Mira invited me to her family’s estate in the Virginia countryside. The house, once a stagecoach inn, had been in her family...

The Unseen Grocer

The old house on Maple Street had a way of settling that felt like breathing. It creaked and groaned, but some sounds weren’t just settling. I grew up in that...

The Hollow Ceiling

The rental agreement called it a ‘charming cottage,’ but the moment I stepped inside, the air felt wrong. It was a standalone house, the last one on a gravel road...

The Occasional Tune

When I was seven, my grandmother used to tell me stories about the old lighthouse on the cliff. She said it was haunted by a keeper who had gone mad,...

The Bone Chime Cadence

My name is Evelyn Marsh, and I’ve spent the last decade chasing whispers from the other side, armed with a voice recorder and a stubborn belief that the dead have...

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