W hile in the cozy living room of the Thompson household, the Christmas tree glowed with twinkling lights, casting a warm ambiance over the festive decorations. Eric, twelve, and Kim, ten, sprawled on the couch, munching popcorn as the TV blared a horror movie they’d snuck past their parents’ usual restrictions. It was Christmas Eve, and the siblings had begged to stay up late, arguing that the holiday spirit deserved a little thrill.  Their parents, exhausted from wrapping g

The cemetery behind Plymouth’s old First Church smelled of salt wind and wet leaves. Charlie—eight years old, knees scabbed, pockets full of acorns—had slipped away from the school field trip. The other kids were inside the replica village learning how to churn butter. Charlie preferred the quiet company of headstones. He found the grave by tripping over it. The stone was thin, half-sunk, the lettering worn to whispers: HERE LYES YE BODY OF EZRA BLACKWOOD DIED NOV. 23, 1621

In the crooked little town of Hollowmere, where the fog clung to the cobblestones like a secret, lived Ebenezer Grimsby, a man who had arrived on the Mayflower with nothing but a scowl and a trunk full of grudges. Every year, on the 31st of October, the townsfolk draped their quaint homes in cobwebs, carved grinning faces into pumpkins, and let their children run wild in sheets and masks. Ebenezer hated it. The laughter grated on his ears like rusted hinges. The flickering ja

’Twas Halloween Eve, and all through ParaHouse, Not a spirit was stirring—except one louse. The cobwebs were hung by the banisters with care, In hopes that fresh mortals soon would be there. The portraits were crooked, the floorboards all groaned, The chandelier swung, though no wind had moaned. Grandfather clock struck a quarter to twelve; Its hands spun backward, then rang like a crack of a helve. Young Jasper had come with his flashlight and grin, Dared by his cousins to s

Story by Melisa S. Kennedy - On Ghost Hill, where the full moon hung like an old lantern, Victoria Rider’s historic mansion loomed with its gothic sprawl of turrets and gargoyles, and its large windows glowing like jack-o’-lanterns. The eccentric billionaire witch, with her long black and silver hair, and dress woven with raven feathers, stood beside her third husband, David, a handsome man with a smile sharper than a cursed blade. It was Halloween, and thirteen strangers ha