Ghost stories from Texas

Haunted Property Inside And Outside

Again, the people who read some of my other experiences on this site, or are first timers to reading my experiences, you can go back to my first published experience,...

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The Stub-Field Incident

I’d been staying at my cousin’s place near the edge of the Black Hills, parked in a rusted-out fifth wheel that smelled like old dust and regret. The land was...

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The Five Fence Posts

The coffee was bitter and strong, just the way I liked it. I sat on the porch of my rented cabin, watching the mist rise off the lake. The morning...

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Did Something Followed Me?

If you read about my prior published true unexplained experience (sorry, kind of lengthy), but that experience was back to back for about an hour and half, which I had...

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The Gray Assembly

My brother-in-law owned a piece of land off the old Mill Creek Road, just outside of Poughkeepsie. He’d had it for years, and we’d visited often. Nothing out of the...

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The Wound in the Yard

I was sixteen, not seventeen, when we moved into the house on Elderberry Lane, and I’ve long since stopped trying to correct the timeline. The year was 1981, give or...

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The Red Oak Station

I was fourteen that summer, two years after my father walked out and left my mother, my little sister, and me in a rundown farmhouse on the edge of a...

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The Off-Season Lighthouse

I have always been different. Not in the way people say when they mean quirky or eccentric, but in a way that sets my nerves on edge whenever I hear...

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The Soil in His Shoes

The clock on the nightstand read 2:47 AM when I finally drifted off, the rain tapping a lullaby against the window. I dreamed I was in a vast, empty field,...

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The Kitchen Garden

My wife, Elena, and I packed up our life in the dusty sprawl of Albuquerque and moved to the high plains of eastern New Mexico, to a town called Piedra...

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The Gilded Man of the Hollow

The sickness had wrapped itself around my chest like a wet wool blanket, each breath a labor. I drifted in and out of fever dreams, but one clung to me...

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The Bistitch of Beacon Road

The Bistitch of Beacon Road I remember the first time it happened. I was seventeen, creeping in through the back door of my parents’ house in the quiet suburb of...

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The Hollow Feast

My first attempts to explain it always came out wrong. I’d tell my friends about the way the air thickened in our house, how the clocks would stutter at odd...

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The Pallet by the Storm Drain

I moved into the old farmhouse on Meridian Road three years ago. The place was a fixer-upper, and my days were filled with scraping paint and replacing rotted boards. The...

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The Tethered Room

The summer I turned ten, my parents decided we needed a fresh start. They bought a sprawling Victorian manor called the Ashbury House, a place with turrets and a wraparound...

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The Neutral Gear

In the autumn of 1999, I was living in a small coastal town in Oregon, working the night shift at a fish cannery. My parents, Eleanor and Frank, were driving...

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The Pinstripe Visitor

I was seven when the cornfield behind our farmhouse began to whisper. Not with words, but with the rustle of dry stalks that seemed to follow a rhythm, like a...

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The Gilded Parasol

The summer I turned seven, we moved to a crumbling Victorian house on the edge of a dying town. My mother called it ‘a fixer-upper with character.’ I called it...

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The Glass-Eyed Saint

It began with the moth. Not a subtle thing, but a fat, gray creature that beat its wings against the porch light every night for a week, as if trying...

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The Vanishing Register

The last gas station before the Salt Flats was a monument to loneliness. I’d driven that stretch of Nevada highway a dozen times, but never at night, and never with...

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The Weeping Root

It was the summer after my grandfather died that I inherited the key to the old Whitmore place, a plot of thirty acres my great-grandparents had carved out of the...

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The Silent Aisle’s Keeper

Three years had passed since I first told anyone about the presence in our store. The occurrences had dwindled to a rare flicker—a fallen box, a distant hum—but I knew...

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The Last Parishioner

The Red River had a way of swallowing sound, but that night it seemed to hold its breath. I’d come to the Bible Belt on a swimming scholarship, a prairie...

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The Dormitory of Hollow Eyes

In the autumn of 1989, I was nineteen and stationed at Travis Air Force Base in California, a thousand miles from the small Texas town where I’d grown up. The...

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