Ghost stories from Wyoming

The Clockwork Hum

In the autumn of 2015, I found myself in the small, dust-choked town of Marrow, North Dakota, sent there by my company to oversee the digitalization of the local archives....

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The Pale Custodian

I was eight when the house on Bramblewick Lane chose us. It wasn’t the house, really, but the land it sat on—an acre of gnarled oaks and a pond that...

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The Lantern in the Yard

The night air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine, a fragrance that clung to the small bungalow like a second skin. My name is Elara,...

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The Lantern of the Hollow

Ever since I was a child, I’ve carried a peculiar burden: the ability to see what others cannot and glimpse moments yet to come. It has never been a gift...

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The Pale Lantern of Miner’s Ridge

The summer of ’23 found me and my partner, Elara, in the dusty little town of Cinder Falls, nestled in the foothills of the Pale Mountains. We’d rented a cabin...

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The Ashen Meadow

There is no easy way to recount the events that unfolded on the last Tuesday of October, but I’ll try. My name, I’ll keep to myself, but call me Mara....

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The Static Between Floors

The motel sat at the edge of a dying town, its neon sign flickering a desperate pink against the gray November sky. I’d been driving for nine hours, and my...

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The Window Gaze

The old house on Maple Street had always been a talker. Its walls hummed with memories, its floors creaked with the weight of vanished footsteps. Margaret had grown accustomed to...

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The Hollow Wings

It had been two years since my daughter, Lily, first mentioned the bird. At first, my husband, Tom, and I dismissed it as a child’s fancy, a trick of the...

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The Vanishing Riders of Hollow Creek

It was the tail end of the Harvest Moon Festival in the sleepy town of Millbrook, and I was driving back from a three-day agricultural expo with two colleagues from...

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The Keyhole Watcher

I was nineteen when my father, still raw from my mother’s death a decade earlier, introduced me to Elara. She was a widow with a quiet smile and a house...

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The Gilded Antler

I never thought much about the dead until I started working the night shift at the Ravenhollow Estate. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d expect to find in the...

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The Cradle in the Attic

I never told anyone about the attic. Not because I was forbidden, but because the door was always locked, and the key hung on a rusted nail just above the...

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The Pipe-Backed Walls

We moved into the gray house on Maple Street six weeks after Dad’s transfer. It sat at the edge of a town that smelled of pine and damp asphalt, with...

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The Hollow Bark

The house on Cedar Lane had always known the sound of paws on hardwood, the jingle of tags, the wet nose at the screen door. That was before Milo. Now,...

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The Long-Distance Call

The static on the old rotary phone in my grandmother’s attic always sounded like the ocean, but tonight it carried a different undertone—a low, rhythmic pulse, like a heartbeat through...

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The Cartographer’s Revision

The first sign was the alarm clock. I set it for 6 AM, but when I woke at 7:15, it was on the floor, face down, its cord stretched taut...

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The Lentil Soup Incident

The house on Maple Street had always been a bit drafty, but I never thought much of it until the afternoon I found the lentils scattered across the kitchen floor....

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The Lantern Maker’s Visitor

In the autumn of my fifteenth year, my family moved to a remote village nestled in the folds of the Carpathian Mountains. The house we rented was an old forester’s...

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