Ghost stories from Texas

The Cup That Rolled

I’m writing this from the small, sunlit room I’ve been assigned at the old convent turned halfway house for single parents. It’s a place of faded grandeur, with high ceilings...

Hour of the Vessel

For the past month, the alarm clock had been superfluous. I’d jolt awake at exactly 4:47 AM, my heart hammering against my ribs, the primal part of my brain screaming...

The Unseen Guest

When I was seven, my parents uprooted us from our cramped apartment in Chicago to a sleepy town in the New Mexico desert. Our new house, a sprawling adobe with...

The Concrete Chill

I must have been six, maybe seven, when we moved into that house on the edge of Maplewood. It was a squat, gray bungalow with a sagging porch and a...

The Bone Comb

The boarding house at 13 Thornwood Lane was a relic of a bygone era, with its creaking floorboards and wallpaper that peeled like sunburnt skin. I was there for a...

The Farmhouse Tally

I’ve never been one to dismiss the strange. My grandmother used to say that the world is thicker than it looks, and I believed her. But knowing something in your...

The Sixth Drawer

The year I turned thirteen, the world had shrunk to the four walls of my bedroom. I’d stopped speaking entirely, not because I’d taken a vow of silence, but because...

The Unwelcome Call

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the living room floor as I slipped off my sneakers. The house was quiet, the way it always was at 3:10 in the...

The Suit in the Heat

It was one of those Sundays where the sun seemed to have a personal grudge against the city. The asphalt shimmered with heat mirages, and the air hung thick and...

The Unfinished Equation

At Meridian University, the old Mathematics Hall stood like a scar on the campus’s green lawns. It had once been the Fairview Sanatorium, a place where the town’s forgotten were...

The Wet Tile March

The summer I turned eight, my mother and I had a ritual. Every evening, after the sun dipped below the hedgerows, we would walk the gravel paths of our small...

The Locked Grip

The rain had been drumming against the windows of my cramped studio apartment for three days straight, a steady, malicious patter that seemed to seep into the walls. I hadn’t...

The Last Door

In the autumn of 2007, I moved into a two-story Victorian house in the outskirts of Salem, Massachusetts. The house was over a century old, but the realtor assured us...

The Lantern’s Vigil

It’s been three years since I last shared anything here, but what happened last autumn in the small coastal town of Dunmore Bay is something I can’t keep to myself....

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