I took a digital archiving job with the van der Voort Estate Historical Society. It’s an old manor home dating back to the 1800s on a soft cliff overlooking Precipice Bay in upstate Vermont. I’m majoring in Library Science with an English minor at Castleton University but was feeling pretty […]
I Took A Job in Northwest Vermont: Entry One: The Witch’s Children Read More »
I found the following letter in a music text book in our school library.It’s pretty weird, but thought it would be best to share it here…make of it what you will. “Hey.I’ve been mulling over sharing this or not for the past two weeks. I can’t tell anyone, no one
“What’s that sound?” Matthew looked around, and then looked at his friend, Violet. They’d both abruptly stopped walking, and were now standing completely still in the middle of the trail. Matthew was leaning forward slightly, straining to listen. “It sounds like singing,” he whispered, “Who would be out singing in
When a heart fell out of the medicine cabinet, Carrie Pickett screamed. Not two seconds ago, she’d wandered in, relieved herself, and opened the swing-door for her sleeping pills. Out it rolled, rebounding off the sink and against the floor with a sickening plop! The sudden movement startled her, and
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“Have you ever heard about the curse of Snake McQuinn?” I switched the beam from my flashlight off. It was Halloween night, and sure enough, there were some kids trespassing in Farmer Huxley’s old hay barn. I’m the sheriff in Walnut Brook, and it wasn’t the first time the old
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This story happened when I was about 13 years old. It was a hot summer afternoon and my buddy and I were bored and looking for something to do. For the purposes of this story, I will refer to my friend as Hank. Hank’s older brother heard us talking about
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Yvangela raised herself slowly from her bed, still covered in heavy blankets, after a sudden, excruciating pain in her head disturbed her from her deep sleep. She knew exactly what this meant.
December 23, 1975 Brookfield, Montana 1 AM To John, it didn’t seem as if it was going to get colder. But to his dismay, it did. The temperature on the train he rode on stated it was 45 degrees, even with the heaters. The train with its beautiful Christmas decorations
In the spring of 1953, when I was nine years old I saw my brother die. I’ll remember that day for the rest of my life. The memory has never left me and it never will. Part of it is the trauma, the slow, insidious realization that he was gone, that crept into my life afterward. But there is more to it that I don’t talk about. I’ve held onto it for years, and I don’t want to hold onto it any longer.
Hello. My name is Raymond Daws. This recording should be considered my last will and testament. It is intended for whomever takes possession of this house at 12874 N. Pryor Road. After setting aside some money for family and other concerns, I should have approximately three hundred thousand dollars left
I know they say Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, but for me it’s Halloween. I deck the hall with cobwebs and fake spiders. It’s just such a special time. Autumn is here and the leaves are beginning to fall. It’s a time for dressing up and
Stories For My Daughter Read More »
I live in a country where, unfortunately, Halloween is not a big thing. It’s almost not a thing at all, and this fact disappoints me to no end. I’m a bored 19-year-old living in a small town where everyone I know still acts like they did when they were 14.
Unfinished Business Read More »
The Stanwyck Ghost Tours used to be a tradition in my hometown around Halloween. It was always cheap and heavy on the schlock. Hammy tour guides, cheesy music, cheap decorations. Picture Monster Mash as a two-hour ghost tour, and you get the idea. But given the town’s limited history and
During my junior year of college, I was on a bit of a bender. My high school girlfriend finally called it quits for the third time and the lure of the one night stand caught in the sweaty mist of beer and perfume was too much for my angry brain
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The land beyond the bridge had been in my family for generations, forty-four acres of farmland. My father was as rooted to it as the oak tree in our front yard. Although he was sympathetic to my plight, he was certainly not going to move just because his daughter’s college
In the spring of 1953, when I was nine years old I saw my brother die. I’ll remember that day for the rest of my life. The memory has never left me and it never will. Part of it is the trauma, the slow, insidious realization that he was gone, that crept into my life afterward. But there is more to it that I don’t talk about. I’ve held onto it for years, and I don’t want to hold onto it any longer.
The rain beat a steady rhythm on the asphalt. In the dark sky above, the rumble of distant thunder rolled slowly toward us. “Daniel.” The sound of my name pulled me from my reverie. I turned my head away from the drenched playground and toward Miss Wasson. “Are you with
“Halloa! Below there!” When he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was standing at the door of his box, with a flag in his hand, furled round its short pole. One would have thought, considering the nature of the ground, that he could not have doubted from what
There wasn’t much about 2015 that didn’t completely suck. My marriage was falling to pieces. My spouse had grown cold and indifferent. Our son hadn’t been diagnosed with autism yet. He was still a toddler. But, we knew there was something off about him. We knew something was wrong. By
This happened years ago, but it is still something that sticks with me. This all happened like a sequence. You never know if things are supposed to happen for a reason or if some unknown outside force influences it. But first, a backstory. My friend, let’s call her Jenny, was
The Thing I Saw the Day My Friend Died Read More »
I was a beautiful young woman once, full of love and life. My lily-white skin was soft and warm, my belly swollen with new life, and my hand held by my husband, Edward. Edward was a good man. We married young, in the spring, when the air was heavy with
This is not meant to scare anyone. Calling it a creepy story would be a bit of an insult, because it isn’t one. This is an expression of gratitude toward a friend, a friend who was always there for me. He watched over me as I was growing up and
Curtis held on to an unfulfilled joy for exploring. The prospect of discovering new places always enthralled him, and often, whether he was just lazing around at home, slacking off during a lecture, or just hanging out on a sober night with his friends, he would often daydream of traveling
