Ghost stories from Pennsylvania

The Fixed Point

I never thought of my childhood bedroom as haunted. It was just the room I grew up in, with its sloping ceiling and the wallpaper pattern I’d memorized a thousand...

The Brass-Cased Visitor

The Mosin-Nagant M91 I’d bought at the estate auction was a piece of history, but it wasn’t the first antique I’d owned. I’d restored a Springfield from the Spanish-American War,...

The Tallow Man’s Ledger

Our Victorian, painted a sickly shade of seafoam green, squats at the end of Picket Lane, a relic from 1904 when it was Picket’s General Store and Undertaking Parlor. The...

The Lantern in the Field

My husband Evan and I had chosen the old farmhouse bed-and-breakfast in the Virginia Piedmont for our fifth anniversary. Not because we wanted history or ghosts—we just wanted quiet. The...

The Spinning Deodorant

I never believed in ghosts, not really. Not until the summer of 2019, when I was living in a rundown farmhouse outside of Catawba, Ohio. The house had been in...

The Weeping Slate

The old chapel sat atop a windswept hill in the Welsh Marches, its slate roof sagging like a tired spine. My friends had dragged me here for my hen weekend,...

The Umbrella Index

The folder on my passenger seat was heavy with the weight of a hundred photographs, each one documenting a different crack, stain, or structural flaw. My job, if you could...

The Last Tenant

My name is Daniel, and this is the story of the house on Birchwood Lane. We moved there when I was twelve, into a sprawling Victorian that had been owned...

The Ceiling of Glass

My name is Elena, and I’ve always been drawn to the unknown. It started with a dusty book on folklore I found in my grandmother’s attic, filled with tales of...

The Seventh Row

It was a Tuesday afternoon when Lyle and Mira decided to swing by the county fair on their way back from the jeweler’s. Mira had just picked up her grandmother’s...

The Empty Static

I lived in a two-story house with my brother, mom, and dad. We had a crawlspace beneath the floorboards and a loft above the garage. My brother and I were...

The Twice-Sealed Room

It began when I surrendered to the afternoon heat, collapsing onto the daybed in my sunroom with a half-read novel across my chest. I had been lying on my side,...

The Static Call

I’ve spent a decade sifting through the wreckage of other people’s lives—collapsed roofs, flooded basements, fire-scorched kitchens. As an insurance adjuster with a background in law enforcement and the military,...

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