The Salt and the Staircase
I was barely five when I first understood that our house on Maple Street was not ours. It was a rambling Victorian that had been chopped into apartments during the...
I was barely five when I first understood that our house on Maple Street was not ours. It was a rambling Victorian that had been chopped into apartments during the...
When I was eight, my father, my sister, and I moved into a sprawling Victorian house on the edge of a town that time had forgotten, nestled in the pine...
I’m writing this not as a plea for sympathy, but as a record for anyone who might find themselves standing where I once did. My name is Elias, and for...
The November wind scraped dead leaves across the cracked asphalt of the St. Elmo County Fairgrounds, a place abandoned since the ’90s. I’d come here to practice astral projection, not...
Elara had always loved the old farmhouse, but now it felt like a cage. The walls seemed to breathe with a slow, deliberate rhythm, and the floorboards groaned underfoot even...
My “10 Years Old and New House” story reminds of some experiences I had going out to a friend’s uncle’s farm house. I don’t remember how old the house might...
I haven’t posted in quite a while, but I am hoping for some help from the great YGS community. In the past week, I have begun hearing a very odd...
The house at 13 Thornwood Lane wasn’t just old; it was ancient, built in 1842 by a reclusive clockmaker named Elias Grimsby. I’d lived there for five years, renting the...
The first thing I noticed was the smell. Not the usual mustiness of the apartment, but something sharper, like ozone after a storm, tinged with a metallic undertone. It clung...
I’ve been meaning to set down what happened at the Ashworth house for years, but the memory of it still makes my hands shake. I’m a house-sitter, and in the...
In the autumn of 2011, I was in Denver for a software conference. I was staying at the venerable Brown Palace Hotel, a grand old dame with a reputation for...
I’ve never been one to shy away from the unexplained. Growing up, my grandmother’s house was a museum of oddities—crystals, dried herbs, and a ouija board she swore was a...
In 2014, my partner Leo and I lived in a ground-floor apartment in a converted Victorian house. We were obsessed with paranormal reality shows. Every night, we’d bundle up on...
The year was 2016 when I signed the lease for the ground floor of the Meridian House, a sprawling Victorian nestled on the edge of Lake Caddo in the piney...
Early in February, I was jolted awake by my eldest son’s voice calling ‘Mom!’ in a tone that shot ice down my spine. His room is at the end of...
The first time I saw it, I blamed the margaritas. It was late October, the tail end of a three-day bender in the backwoods of Maine, where the nearest neighbor...
In the autumn of 2022, I moved to the coastal town of Greyrock, hoping the salt air and slower pace would shake the unease that had settled in my bones....
We were leaving the damp gray of the Midwest for the sun-baked hills of the West Coast, a summer move that felt like shedding a skin. My husband stayed behind...
The day we moved into the house was damp and grey, a low pressure system pressing down on the valley like a thumb on a bruise. The realtor had described...
The town of Ashford had a place we all knew to avoid after dusk—the old Miller’s orchard, where the trees grew in crooked rows and the ground was thick with...
The apartment on Meridian Row had always been a little too quiet, as if the walls were holding their breath. I moved in during a wet autumn, when the radiators...
I have always maintained that my encounters with the uncanny have been of the grounded variety—cold spots, shifting furniture, whispers that might have been drafts. I scoffed at those who...
On the last Sunday of October, during the quiet hours of the morning, Dr. Alistair Finch was alone in his inherited Victorian house on the edge of the bog. His...
The drive from the sun-scorched California coast to the iron-gray shores of Lake Michigan felt like a journey backward through time, each mile peeling away the Technicolor of our lives...
Listening to the woods...
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