Ghost stories from Texas

The Ash-Room

Our house was only twelve years old, but it sat where a century of scrub oak and red clay had been. They cleared the land and laid the foundations without...

The Weight of the Night

For years, I had kept this secret to myself. I had studied the phenomenon of night terrors thoroughly, convinced that they explained my unsettling experiences. Yet, they only seemed to...

The Concrete Choir

I was 21 when I traded keg stands for EVP recorders. After a string of bad decisions in Waco, my cousin Marcus and I found a new obsession: documenting the...

The Alabaster Bloom

Elias adjusted the collar of his worn canvas jacket, the damp chill of the derelict textile mill clinging to him like a shroud. The air hung thick with the ghosts...

The Wax Bloom

My grandmother worked the night shift at the Wickhaven Candleworks, a sprawling brick maze of a factory that had stood on the banks of the Sable River for over a...

The Glass That Trembled

The night of Cassie’s middle school graduation, we were all crammed into her basement rec room, the air thick with the smell of cheap pizza and nervous excitement. The floor...

The Water’s Grim Embrace

The air in Aunt Carol’s sunroom was thick with the cloying sweetness of cheap perfume and teenage laughter. Maya, Chloe, Bianca, Sarah, and I, fresh out of our respective middle...

The Static Visitor

In the sweltering summer of 1974, nine-year-old Milo and his twelve-year-old cousin, Edgar, were exiled to the living room of Aunt Ruth’s farmhouse in rural Kansas, forced to sleep on...

The Static Visitor

In the sweltering summer of ’94, my brother Arlo and I lay sleepless in the den of our aunt’s old farmhouse, the pull-out couch creaking beneath us. The room was...

The Uninvited Broadcast

I had just moved into a converted mill building with my friend, Ben. The lofts were industrial chic, all exposed brick and steel beams, but the walls were solid concrete,...

The Night the House Watched

The last guest had left my friend Clara’s birthday celebration, leaving just the five of us for the sleepover. We were gathered in the den, sprawled on cushions, sharing secrets...

The Chair by the Window

I am 33 now, but I still remember that morning it happened. It was a sweltering August morning in the small town of Millbrook, nestled in the Appalachian foothills. I...

The Basement Dial

I moved into the old Harlow House in the autumn of 1996, drawn by its cheap rent and the nostalgic charm of its 1970s architecture. The house sat on the...

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