Windows
Tim hadn’t been to the town he was born in in years. His parents moved away from the small town in the Midwest when Tim was very young, after his father got a job offer at a major law firm in Chicago. Tim was sure proud of that man. He […]
haunted houses
New Houses can be Haunted Too, Here’s My Story
I remember the day, not too long ago, that I stood in front of my brand new home. After the year-long headache of the over-budget and over-delayed build process, I finally held the keys to the castle of my 11.4-acre Kingdom. The exhaust note from the contractor’s truck finally faded,
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The Tomb of the Dammed
Mark sat in the heart of the Tomb of the Dammed. The Tomb of the Dammed was not an ancient crypt where the undead lurked but a year round haunted house attraction in the middle of a tourist trap district. When it first opened it’s doors in the 1975 the
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A Night at the Farm House
As they walked up the front steps of the house, Tommy could feel his fear set in. The view of the old farm house in the fading sunlight was enough to send chills into your bones, and for some reason, they were going into it. He could feel his arms
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The Lights in Papa’s Room
It was the year of my 25th birthday that my dad told me he was sick. It was hard to hide, really. Obvious. But I suppose it would be hard for such a mountain of a man, someone who’d never needed help from anyone, to admit that, he was, in
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The Dead Man’s Mouth
Would you believe me if I told you that genies were real? They are, but they’re not like anything you’d expect them to be. The stories say that you have to rub a magic lamp to get them to come out, but that’s only half true. It doesn’t have to
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11 Rules for Idiots Who Bought a Haunted House
Well you really screwed up this time, didn’t you? You found a gnarly deal on a beautiful home that almost seemed too good to be true, and you jumped at it. And now that you’re all moved in, you’ve started to notice some anomalies. You know the type: the spooky-dooky
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Little Lucy
Grandma Elouise had strictly forbidden everyone in the family from going into the attic of her old farmhouse. She insisted that the ceiling door was far too heavy, and that someone would throw out their back, get a splinter, or smash their fingers if they tried to lift it. She
Father Cooke: Part 6 – Don’t Stop Believing
I sat on the wide ledge looking down at the people walking by on the sidewalk far below. They really did look like ants when viewed from so far away. I hope I don’t land on anyone. That would royally suck, for them. I wasn’t too worried about it because if it did happen, I’d be seconds away from never having to worry about anything ever again.
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Whistling
When people whistle, it kind of irritates me. Not like Axl Rose from “Patience” whistles, but just does so to pass the time. When people whistle or hum to themselves it’s always just kind of grated on me, but only when it’s been tuneless. When there’s a tune to it, a melody, it doesn’t get on my nerves, it just makes me… unsettled.
Laughing in the Dark
Bill Tanner, a retired USPS mail carrier, ran a local haunted house that had become quite well known in the city where he lived. Established as a terrifying and fun way to unleash people’s greatest fears upon them, it was aptly named “Tanner’s House of Horrors.” People came from miles
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Father Cooke: Cat’s in the Cradle
Publisher’s Note: This story is a prequel and takes place before all of the previously released Father Cooke and Magister Alexander stories, which you can find here. The author invites you to read the other tales in the series after completing this one. Oh shit, I thought as I walked
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The Valentine House
“Damn, Valentine shit already?” I asked my friend Gabriel as we were walking inside a Wal-Mart post Christmas. “Yeah, bro, and it’s still December. It’s like they’re completely ignoring the months in between the other months that have major holidays.” “True, true, annoys the shit out of me though, you
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Box Fort
Alright, we all remember those cardboard castles of our youth, the ones that were better than any Fisher-Price playhouse precisely because they had been painstakingly cut out, taped together, and decorated with our own hands. And unlike the fancy plastic cottages your parents spent a fortune on, these ones could
Father Cooke: Part 5 – Burning Down the House
Publisher’s Note: This story is part of the author’s Father Cooke series of interrelated stories. If you enjoy it, the author invites you to click here to read the other tales in the series. “1…2…3…4…5…6…7.” I flicked the light in the bathroom off and then on again seven times, counting every
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All My Friends Are Dead
Part 1 All my friends are dead. Don’t take that the wrong way though. I can’t say I knew any of them when they were still alive. Well, at least most of them anyway. I guess I’m what you could call a psychic. I’ve never liked that word though. I
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The Crooked Room
Call me Bramwell Alden. I can’t give you my real name because my prick of a family is too well known. My ancestor William Alden came over on the Mayflower, and my grand aunt has been bragging about it since the day the boat landed on Plymouth goddamn Rock –
NoEnd House
Let me start by saying that Peter Terry was addicted to heroin. We were friends in college and continued to be after I graduated. Notice that I said “I”. He dropped out after two years of barely cutting it. After I moved out of the dorms and into a small apartment, I didn’t see Peter as much. We would talk online every now and then (AIM was king in pre-Facebook years). There was a period where he wasn’t online for about five weeks straight. I wasn’t worried. He was a pretty notorious flake and drug addict, so I assumed he just stopped caring. Then one night I saw him log on. Before I could initiate a conversation, he sent me a message.
The Dionaea House
10.7.2004 Jennifer, friends and family of Mark, As promised, here are copies of the correspondence I received from Mark over the course of the last month. For the most part, I have merely copied and pasted them from my email application. As you’ll read, he requested this, in hopes that
Turn Off the Light When You Leave
In Finland, there is an old but still inhabited yellow apartment, situated in a small city near an important railroad. Almost all of the people living there are over 70 years old, and in fact it seems that younger people simply won’t stay there for longer than a year. If
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