Ghost stories from Oregon

The Looms of Bellhaven

In the autumn of that year, I moved to Bellhaven, a town that time seemed to have forgotten. The house I rented was an old Victorian relic, its paint peeling...

The Cold Hearth

Our family of four had traded the choking heat of Phoenix for the damp, gray embrace of Portland in October 2008. I was eleven, my brother nine, and the house...

The Concrete Womb

The day started with rain—a fine, needle-like drizzle that clung to everything and made the world feel wrapped in damp gauze. I was waiting on a crankshaft for my ’92...

The Drywall Arithmetic

When my family and I moved into the sprawling A-frame lodge outside of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, I expected maybe a few scorpions or a stray rattlesnake. I didn’t...

The Map That Breathes

In the dusty attic of their new house in the Arizona desert, the Holloway family found a rolled-up canvas map. It was hand-drawn, depicting a town that didn’t exist on...

The Persistent Brushstroke

The nursery always smelled of lavender and baby powder, a scent that clung to the walls like a promise of peace. Clara spent her evenings there, shuffling through the endless...

The Red Note

I was seventeen, living in a rented bungalow on the edge of town with my mom and her new husband, Gerald. The place had a strange smell, like old paper...

The Seventeenth Stroke

The house on Cinder Lane was a crooked little bungalow with a basement that smelled of wet paint and old newspapers. My parents had bought it right after my sixteenth...

The Persistent Draft

The old farmhouse in rural Iowa had a way of holding onto things—dust, the smell of woodsmoke, and, I was beginning to suspect, something far less tangible. My wife, Clara,...

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⚡ WILLOW LIVE
Listening for whispers in the dark...
Real-Time Whispers Stream
REAL-TIME

Listening to the woods...