Ghost stories from Maine

The Weight of June

I’m not proud of what happened that summer, but it happened. It started on a sweltering Tuesday in June, two days before my big piano recital at the community center....

The Hollow Man of Mire Lake

When Elias was eleven, his grandfather took him and his older brother, Marcus, into the Hightower Range, a stretch of tangled forest and sliding shale that locals called the Hungry...

The Ledger of Hollow Creek

The autumn of 1842 lay heavy over the Sawyer homestead, a sprawling 900-acre tract along the eastern bend of Hollow Creek. Margaret Sawyer, widowed two years prior, ran the farm...

The Bone Cradle

I remember the exact afternoon the nursery rhyme changed. I was five, kneeling on the cold linoleum of the hallway in our new house, a converted church on the edge...

The Cardboard Sun

The old textile mill on Meridian Street had always felt heavy, even before the fire. When the renovation crew unearthed the tin box with the names and dates, we thought...

The Weeping Birch

I have two stories I rarely tell. One I’d rather forget, the other I keep as a sort of test. This is the one I’d rather forget. In the autumn...

The Blue Hour Stand

The alarm clock read 4:47 AM when I peeled myself out of bed, the floorboards of my old farmhouse creaking in protest beneath my feet. I’d been hunting this stretch...

The Glass Wedge

When Lila and her partner, Julian, moved into her mother’s old farmhouse, they expected creaking floorboards and drafty windows, not the silent, persistent strangeness that greeted them. The house sat...

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⚡ WILLOW LIVE
Listening for whispers in the dark...
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REAL-TIME

Listening to the woods...