Ghost stories from Pennsylvania

The Porcelain Gate

For those of us who feel the cold breath of the other side on the back of our necks, who see the flicker of movement in the corner of our...

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The Last Three Steps

The old farmhouse had a way of holding its breath. Every floorboard groaned with the memory of a hundred years, and the stairwell was its throat. I was twenty-three, back...

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The Weeping Glass

Mara had always been drawn to the old hotel on the edge of town, its Victorian facade crumbling like a forgotten hymn. When her husband, Leo, suggested they spend their...

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The Draft in the Tiled Room

The first time I noticed it, I blamed the old pipes. I was standing under the spray, the water hot enough to turn my skin pink, when the shower curtain...

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The Sentinel in the Static

It was a Tuesday in late April, and the house on Maple Street felt heavier than usual. I’d been awake since three, unable to shake the restless feeling that had...

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The Shape in the Screen

My grandmother often spoke of seeing spirits. I never believed her until last Tuesday, just days before my uncle passed away. It was very early, before the sun was up....

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The Twelfth Door

I’m a 22-year-old recent graduate, and I’ve been working the night shift at the Crestview Grand, a sprawling hotel tucked into the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s not...

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The Man in the Blue Overalls

Last Thanksgiving, after the pie was finished, my aunt Clara and my cousin began talking about things they had seen. My aunt told us that a few years back, near...

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The Man in the Saffron Uniform

It was the Tuesday after Easter, and the rain had turned the gravel driveway into a quagmire. I was visiting my aunt Clara at her crumbling farmhouse, a place that...

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The Quilted Signal

The summer I turned seventeen, my father decided it was time to clear out his childhood home. My grandmother, Elara, had been gone for six years, but her house in...

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The Sweeper Behind the Oak

I moved into the old Harlow House in late September, a crumbling Victorian split into student apartments. My room was on the third floor, a converted attic with sloped ceilings...

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The Mold in the Foundation

It was a little past midnight when I finally decided to dump the flat ginger ale from my glass. I’d been up updating my blog, a habit that had kept...

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The Midnight Visitor

Last night was unlike any other. Around eleven-thirty, I found myself awake, enjoying the peace of a quiet weekend at home. With a late-night snack in hand, I went to...

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The Unraveling Thread of Cobalt

The salt spray had long since dried on Elias’s skin, leaving a gritty residue that chafed under his loose linen shirt. He sat on the weathered dock, the splintered wood...

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The Boy in the Blue Robe

My grandmother once shared a memory from when my father was a boy. They lived in an old house with a long hallway leading to the bedrooms. Every night, my...

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The Finger in the Mouth

I’m writing this from my small cabin in the woods, where I’ve been trapped for the past week. It started about two weeks ago, when I began feeling a presence...

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The Aisle of Unfinished Things

It was the last week of November when I clocked in for the first time at Crenshaw’s, a family-owned pharmacy that had somehow survived the sprawl of big-box chains. The...

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The Painted Parlor Game

At fourteen, I was convinced that the dead were just quiet neighbors—present but silent, waiting for the right password. My name is Jamie, and I grew up in the flat,...

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The Face in the Grain

I was snapping a few shots for my fiancé, Leo, who was away on a business trip. I’m not the most photogenic, and our apartment’s lighting was a nightmare—the late...

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The Ragged Doll on the Stairs

Mara’s family moved into the old Lambert House at the edge of town, a sprawling Victorian that had once served as a waystation for the sick and the orphaned during...

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The Ticking Wall

It was the summer after my junior year of college, and I was desperate to escape. My roommate, a nightmare of passive-aggressive notes and stolen yogurt, had finally pushed me...

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The Salt in the Walls

My first memory of the house on Cinder Lane is the taste of salt on my tongue, though I didn’t know it then. We had just moved in, and my...

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The Basement Offering

We had been in the old farmhouse for barely a month when the first oddity surfaced. My wife, Elise, was convinced she’d lost her grandmother’s cameo brooch. She tore through...

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The Saltwater Circle

In the autumn of my sixteenth year, my cousin Tess and I uncovered an old, waterlogged Ouija board in the attic of our grandmother’s seaside cottage. The planchette was a...

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