Ghost stories from Kentucky

The Tenant in the Hall

We moved into the Ashford Arms three years ago, after my husband, Daniel, got a job at the mill. The building was old, with creaking radiators and peeling paint, but...

The Farther Boy

I’ve told this story to a lot of people, but almost no one believes me. Even my parents insist it was a bad dream, but I know what I saw....

The Last Crayon

My earliest clear memory is of my third birthday, when I received a box of 64 crayons. I was so proud of that box, with its sharpener in the back,...

The Hairline Fracture

The first time I saw the woman in the stairwell, she was a smear of static, like a television channel that didn’t exist. I was seventeen, working the evening shift...

The Fifth Bedroom

My wife’s family had a habit of gathering at her grandmother’s place for holidays, but this was just a weekend visit. The house was a modest split-level in a rural...

The Man in the Rain

The first time I saw him, I was eleven, standing at the window of our third-floor apartment, watching the rain streak the glass. He stood under the streetlamp across the...

The Grinning Basin

The first time I noticed something off was the day we moved into the cul-de-sac at the edge of town. The houses were all alike, beige and boxy, with lawns...

The Hollow Greeting

The old farmhouse on Cedar Lane had a way of holding sounds long after they should have faded. When Marisol and her husband, Evan, first moved in, they chalked up...

The Wall That Opened

I was eleven when we moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of Lark’s Hollow. It was a rambling, two-story place with peeling paint and a porch that sagged...

The Man in the Static

It was the first semester of my junior year at Blackwood University, a campus that looked like it had been plucked from a Victorian novel and dropped into the middle...

The Cold That Bites

It started the day after I found that old board game in my grandmother’s attic. Not the creepy kind with a planchette and letters, but a battered Monopoly set with...

The Last Morning Light

I was twenty-six when my husband, Alan, and I moved into the old farmhouse on Mistletoe Lane. The house sprawled like a tired giant, its bones creaking with the weight...

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