Ghost stories from Missouri

The Glass Trap

I left for the mill at 5:45 AM, the same routine I’ve kept for eight years. My dog, a wiry terrier named Gus, circled my legs as I laced my...

The Last Broadcast

My friends and I had always been obsessed with the unexplained, but we never actually expected to find anything. It started as a joke, really, after I found an old...

The Painted Door

The Painted Door Mara had always loved the old farmhouse, even if it wore its age like a shroud. It sat at the end of a gravel lane, surrounded by...

The Static Hour

It was the summer before my sixteenth birthday, and my family had rented a small, isolated cabin near a dried-up lakebed called Thorn Hollow. The place was a relic of...

The Weaver of Static

The first time I felt the static, I was alone in my grandmother’s attic, sorting through boxes of her things. The house always had a peculiar hum, a frequency that...

The Tapestry’s Temper

My partner, Lena, and I had chosen to spend the weekend at the Ashworth House, a sprawling Victorian manor turned boutique hotel, known for its dark history and alleged hauntings....

The Bone Orchard

The house in the Missouri hills was a monument to ambition, three stories of dark timber and sagging gables, crouched in a hollow where the fog pooled like old milk....

The Cinder Loft

In the autumn of 1987, I was twelve, and my grandparents’ farmhouse in the low hills of Vermont was my kingdom. The house was old, even then, built in stages,...

The Cardboard Ticket

It was the summer of 2003, and my family had decided to visit my grandparents in the dusty town of Red Oak, Kansas. To break the monotony, my aunt suggested...

The Silent Boundary

The wind carried the scent of pine and damp earth as I settled into my elevated blind, a modest platform of weathered wood nailed high among the branches of an...

The Floor Above Remembers

The first time I heard it, I was eleven, spending the summer at my grandmother’s farmhouse in the rolling hills of eastern Kentucky. The house was old, with wide plank...

The Hollow Staircase

The old farmhouse on the edge of Elmwood had always been a place of creaks and groans, but I’d lived there my whole life, and the sounds were as familiar...

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