I never used to believe in ghosts. That was before the girl started crying on Miss Tilly’s front steps. It was the middle of September, and the leaves were already changing like they were embarrassed about something. My mom says I have an “overactive imagination,” but I know what I saw that day. She was … Continue reading Flash Fiction: The Girl on the Steps

The Harringtons had only lived in the old Victorian house for a week when strange things began to happen. At first, it was small—a spoon spinning on its own, a chair slightly turned from where it had been left, a soft creaking from the attic when no one was up there. But soon it escalated. … Continue reading Flash Fiction: The Ghost in the Attic

There was once a woman named Liora, who lived at the edge of a forest that few dared to enter. They said it was haunted — full of echoes, shadows, and things better left alone. But Liora knew better. The forest wasn’t haunted. It was honest. One morning, with no map and a heart that … Continue reading Flash Fiction: The Way Through

I never believed in ghosts. I still don’t, not really. But something’s living in our attic, and it’s not a raccoon. We moved into this old Victorian house three months ago. It had character—wide creaky floorboards, stained-glass windows that caught the sun just right, and that musty charm of a place with a past. My … Continue reading Flash Fiction: The Thing Upstairs