Ghost stories from Nebraska

The Weight of the Grid

I’ve seen things my whole life. Little flickers at the edge of vision, sounds that don’t quite belong—the world has always had a thin, worn patch for me. But I’d...

The Warped Floorboards

My parents had always been thrifty, but buying the old Crestwood place was a stroke of financial genius that bordered on the macabre. The previous owners, the Harlow family, had...

The Saffron Palm

In October of 2017, my cousin Maya passed away in a car accident just before her sixteenth birthday. She was like a sister to me, and her death left a...

The Second Night’s Ledger

Dr. Elaine Marchetti had always found comfort in the predictable hum of hotel life. The seminar at the Grand Meridian in downtown Providence was routine, and the hotel, with its...

The Blooming Dread

The first crocuses pushed through the thawing earth, their purple heads bowed like penitents. I remember staring at them from the kitchen window, a mug of tea warming my palms,...

The Linoleum Pattern

My grandmother used to tell me about the winter we spent in that drafty farmhouse outside of Grafton, Vermont. I was barely a year old, just learning to sit up...

The Looming Swing

My name is Mara, and I’m seventeen. I live in the town of Pemberton, a place that prides itself on its quaintness, its apple orchards, and its old Victorian houses....

The Perpetual Wait

My grandmother used to say that the old farmhouse on Cedar Lane was built on a fault line—not of the earth, but of memory. She never explained, just tapped her...

The Christmas Wreath

The last night of the year was supposed to be a quiet celebration. My grandmother, my brother, and I had just returned to our small farmhouse after midnight mass, the...

The Frosted Window

The new year was creeping in, and I was stuck in my grandmother’s drafty old house in the middle of nowhere. She’d gone to a neighbor’s for a game of...

The Lost Key in the Snow

The winter wind howled through the empty street, kicking up flurries of snow that stung my cheeks like tiny needles. I pulled my coat tighter, but the chill had already...

The Terminal Light

The hospital’s administrative wing was a labyrinth of identical beige corridors, each intersection marked only by a faded number and a flickering fluorescent light. My office, number 214, sat at...

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