Ghost stories from Ohio

The Quiet Between Shots

It was late October, 1987, and my friends and I had claimed a stretch of the old logging road that snaked through the Monongahela National Forest. The rusted sign at...

The Hollow Window

Milo had just turned three, and for the past two months, bedtime had become a battlefield of terror. At first, my husband, Tom, and I dismissed the screams as a...

The Last Broadcast

My name is Edwin, and I’ve been living with the remnants of a life that ended before mine began. The house my grandfather built in 1947 stands on a hill...

The Cobalt Hour

The day we moved into the old house on Hemlock Lane, the sky was the color of a fresh bruise. My mother, Carol, kept saying it was a good sign,...

The Salt Line

I never believed in the geometry of fear until I drew a line of salt across the threshold of my sister’s old room. It was a desperate act, a throwback...

The Static Station

It was a Tuesday night when the world tilted. I was in the basement, not because I wanted to, but because the smell of paint from the upstairs hallway had...

The Chalk Marking

I moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of the Cranberry Bog in late autumn, after my cousin and his wife offered me a room. They had been living...

The Hollow Cradle

In the autumn of 1998, when I was seven, my family and I drove from our small house in the outskirts of Salem, Oregon, to the sprawling city of Portland,...

The Crumpled Note

Ever since the incident with my daughter, I’ve felt like the world has a thin, tearable membrane that sometimes lets things through. I had moved to a quiet town in...

The Hollow Gaze

The June sun beat down on the dusty roads of Haskell, Oklahoma, a town so small that the heat seemed to collect in its single main street. I was twelve,...

The Hollow Hum

In the sweltering late summer of 1994, I found myself crashing at my friend Mark’s place in Fox Hollow, a sleepy town nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians. My...

The Cell Block Requiem

The drive from Asheville to the abandoned mining town of Harlan’s Folly took us nearly eleven hours. My partners in this ridiculous venture were my brother, Marcus, and our friend,...

The Harvest of Briar Hollow

The year was 2014, and the place was the disused Briar Hollow Sanatorium, a sprawling, decaying complex of red-brick buildings and ivy-choked courtyards, perched on a windswept moor in the...

The Grip of the Old Warden

In the autumn of 2018, my partner Elena and I joined a paranormal investigation group for an overnight lock-in at the disused Ashford Hill Sanatorium, a sprawling Victorian complex that...

The Hollow Spring

It’s the kind of story that, if I heard it from someone else, I’d think they were pulling my leg. But it’s true, as true as I’m sitting here, and...

The Lantern in the Pines

The summer I turned ten, my parents rented a cabin nestled deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I remember the exact moment we arrived: the gravel crunching under the tires,...

The Glittering Threshold

I never believed in the stories about the old Wentworth Arms. It was just a run-down apartment building near the university, with creaky floors and radiators that clanked like bones....

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