Ghost stories from New York

The Gaping Silence

The first thing I noticed about the cottage on Hemlock Lane was the quiet. It wasn’t the peaceful quiet of the countryside I remembered from childhood holidays; it was a...

The Salt-Worn Porch

The old house on Pender Street had a way of holding onto things. My grandmother, Elara, used to say it was the salt in the air from the nearby cove—it...

The Box of Small Hours

I never knew my grandmother beyond the scent of mothballs and the way she’d press a dollar into my palm at Christmas. So when the call came that she’d passed,...

The Pale Afterimage

The day I moved into my late uncle’s house in the dust-veiled town of Morrow, I found a box of his old photographs. They were all of the same woman,...

The Hollow Heartbeat

I never believed the rumors about the old Rowan House. The townsfolk whispered about the previous owner, Elias Thorne, a reclusive clockmaker who died in his sleep fifteen years ago,...

The Lantern Keeper

The house at 13 Cinder Lane had always been a quiet one. Nestled at the end of a cul-de-sac, it was the kind of place where nothing ever happened, where...

The Marble Pattern

Nana Rose had always said that the house on Acorn Lane breathed. It creaked and sighed with the settling of old bones, and when the wind was just right, the...

The Clockwork Parlor

My grandmother died before I was born, but her presence—or something—lingered in our Victorian house like dust in the sunbeams. I inherited her bedroom, which my parents had preserved as...

The Salt Shaker Incident

I’ve lived in this old farmhouse on the edge of Morrow County for over thirty years. It’s the kind of place where you expect creaky floorboards and drafts, but nothing...

The Last Solid Thing

The autumn light in the hospice room was the color of weak tea, filtering through blinds that hadn’t been adjusted in weeks. My father, Elias, lay propped against a mountain...

A Flight of Memory

Fifteen years had passed since that fateful day. I still remember the sun shining brightly as I returned home, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers. My heart...

The January Ward

I was four when I first dreamed of the other girl. She had my face, but her skin was pale like winter milk, and her hair fell past her waist...

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