Ghost stories from Tennessee

The Hallway Recorder

We drove out to my grandmother’s farmhouse in the dry Oklahoma panhandle every summer, the same dusty two-lane road that turned to gravel about a mile from her porch. In...

The Cinder Ward

In the autumn of that year, I moved into my grandmother’s old house on the edge of a dying town. The house was a relic of a time when people...

The Twin of Dust

I was a normal kid. I had friends, a family who loved me, and a room full of toys. But there was always this ache, a hollow space in my...

The Hollow Frame

My aunt Rosalind used to tell me about the summer she spent at her great-grandmother’s farmhouse, a place called the Hollow because it sat in a dip between two hills...

The Sibilant Threshold

My name is Elara, and I’ve lived in the Atwood Flats for five years now. It’s a converted textile mill, all exposed brick and industrial-chic, but the charm wears thin...

The Porcelain Keeper

I never believed in inherited curses, not until the summer we moved into the old Harlow house. My grandmother on my mother’s side had been a ‘seer,’ as the family...

The Painted Door

My earliest memories are not of lullabies or picture books, but of the woman who sat on the porch swing of the old farmhouse. I was five, maybe six. She...

The Yellow Sticker

I never believed in anything I couldn’t see or touch. That’s why, when my cousin Mira and I moved into the old farmhouse on Birch Road, I laughed off the...

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Listening for whispers in the dark...
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Listening to the woods...